Her Lady's Whims and Fancies

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  With any luck, all of this attention elsewhere would help Logan. With any luck, he could be spared at least some of the attention Whims and Fancies and society were bound to send his way when it was discovered that the very same outfit was seen in Bath and in Brighton. She cringed whenever she thought of it. How could such a thing be? How?

  At a small break in between people, Lucy stood at her side. “You better just confess about the whole thing.”

  And Kate knew she was right. The more she tried to fix things, the further broken they became. So with those heavy thoughts, she determined to enjoy the rest of her evening and break the news to Logan tomorrow.

  At last, the supper set arrived. She turned down four lords before Logan could make his way over to her. He pulled her into his arms, closer than was allowed, as the music to a waltz began.

  She laughed into his grumpy face. “Good to see you, Lord Dennison.”

  “And now I’m lord again, am I?”

  “How has the ball been for you?”

  He grunted and spun the two of them around. But his frown didn’t stay for long—soon, the corners curled up, and he was laughing. “You are a superb dancer.”

  “Thank you.”

  He twirled them. “See, no matter what I do, you follow as though you have wings on your toes.” He tipped his head down. “You don’t, do you?”

  “No wings, or bells, either.”

  “Ah, you wish you’d worn the bells.”

  “I certainly do, but these slippers will have to do.” She smiled. “I’m sorry to have missed so many sets with you, but see, we have the longest four all to ourselves.”

  “Before and after supper, which is also mine, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  His eyes moved about to take in the edges of the ballroom. “People are talking.”

  “You knew they would.”

  “Yes. I find it odd, don’t you? That Whims and Fancies would know so many details about us, particularly here in Brighton.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. There is talk that the artist and writers are right here.”

  Kate laughed, nervously. “Then I hope they are getting a good look at my best side.”

  Logan appreciated her humor, she could tell, but something was bothering him. “Did Prince George agree to help?”

  “Yes, he is all in, and I think I owe his agreement in part to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you and your sisters, coming from such a difficult time, tenants yourselves and then walking in with such a pleasing array of clothing. It really touched Prince George in just the right way.”

  “Then all is well, isn’t it? You are benefitting from all the attention; you will be able to begin work on important things. You can dress how you want. Envious position, honestly.” She watched him, her hope rising.

  “Yes.” He pulled her closer. “None of that matters compared to the happiness I feel with you. I can hardly wait for us to become married ourselves. You will love my estate. And I love staying here in Brighton. We will go and be and do whatever we wish, and we will be together.”

  Kate relaxed her shoulders and enjoyed the love that Logan was showering down on her, for she wasn’t certain she’d ever feel that same approving warmth from him again. “It all sounds like heaven.”

  “And it will be ours. Kate, come. I can hold back my words no longer; let us go find a quiet room. I have something I wish to ask you.” His face was earnest, his eyes full of love, and Kate ached to hear what he would say, yearned for it like she had an orange when they’d had nothing to eat, but she had to prevent him. Tonight was not the night. This was not the moment. She had to admit to him all she’d done.

  “Come tomorrow. Come as soon as you wake. We’ll go for a walk.”

  He struggled for a moment. His eyes conflicted, his steps slowed. And for a moment, she thought he was going to drag her off the floor anyway, else get down on his knees right there in front of everyone. But he nodded. “Very well.” He was quiet for a moment more, then he pressed his lips to the top of her forehead. “I love you, Kate. I’d wait ten years if I had to.”

  Tears sprung to her eyes, and she didn’t even try to hide them. “I love you, too.”

  The next morning, Kate was still in bed, putting off her conversation with Logan for as long as she could, when Grace bobbed into the room. “Lord Dennison is here to see you. One of the servants put him in the library.”

  Kate shot up out of her bed. “Oh no!”

  Grace watched her for a moment. “Your drawings?”

  She scrambled up and grabbed a morning dress. “Here, help me put this on.”

  While Grace threw It up over her head and fumbled with the buttons, Kate ran a brush through her hair. “I left it all out during the night. My drawings, the plates, everything.” Her heart sank. She was about to tell him, but he would never know that. To stumble upon her secret first was the worst possible scenario.

  Kate didn’t even bother putting her hair up. She raced through the family wing, down the stairs in her bare feet, through the main hall, down the other corridor, and into the library, breathing hard.

  As she’d dreaded, Logan stood behind the desk, going through the fashion plates she’d left on top. With any luck, he wouldn’t know they were for The Morning Star.

  “So, you’re Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies?” His face was blank, but his eyes showed hurt. And she wished to wipe away the distrust. She wished to wipe it from her memory. Her heart tore in two at the sight.

  “I am. Sometimes. Please, before you start thinking anything, we need to talk about this.”

  “What do you mean sometimes?”

  “I recently started. And I’m not the only one. Another has been posting opinions lately as well.”

  “But it was you? My cravat? The Cravat Magician?”

  She thought of the night everyone had made fun because of her plate. She’d made it so much more difficult for him to make a difference right when he had started to set goals and make plans. “I didn’t know you then.”

  He closed his eyes. “And after that?”

  “I kept attempting to show you in a new light. It didn’t work. And then I tried to distract the readers from you by giving them something else to focus on. And . . .” She hated to say this next part. What could she possibly do to prevent what was about to happen?

  “And?”

  “And we created a new person, a fake . . . lord who dressed in the most outlandish manner possible. I even wore a matching type of outfit to give believability to the story should people read it, and placed him in Bath.”

  Logan blinked five times before he said anything. “I don’t understand.”

  “But you showed up in the same clothes, the same imagined up plate we had created, and I matched you, it. I could never have guessed such a thing would happen.”

  He nodded, slowly.

  “And it will be delivered to all the homes tomorrow. And then the other writer and artist, whoever it might be, will be certain to say that another sighting of the same clothing happened right here in Brighton.” She wrung her hands together, his stoic and unreadable face making her feel worse and worse. “And so in the act of attempting to deflect some of the attention, in trying to create a new fashion obsession, I only made it worse.”

  He stared at her for a very long time, long enough that her legs trembled beneath her, and she moved to sit. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I’ve been plagued with unhappiness about my terrible dishonesty. You had to know this before you asked me to marry you.” She choked on the last word. “If you still wish to.”

  His gaze shot up to her eyes. Then he held up a drawing. “And you were going to send this in?” He held a picture of the two of them, side by side with their matching outfits. She’d even included their faces.

  She nodded. “And I was going to quit.”

  He read the words she already knew by heart. “Dear Reader. It is with great reluctance that I must tu
rn in my resignation as your fashion plate designer and writer. As much as I love to share bits of fun from everyone we know, I feel that to some, my actions have been harmful. Please accept my deepest apologies and remember that each of us is more than what we wear. We are real people with hearts and dreams and desires. Sometimes, the best dressed among us are the most interesting, but do they have the truest hearts? In the case of the Cravat Magician, I would say that his heart is far grander even than his creativity with his apparel.”

  His hand shook, and he dropped the paper. “And you think this? This . . . will solve all our problems?” He lifter their image again, showing her. “Don’t send this.”

  She could hardly look at him, with his eyes turning steely, his mouth pressing together, his hands stiffening.

  “I . . . I tried. I wanted them to focus on someone else. I tried to fix what I’d done.”

  He shook his head. “The attention was not the problem . . .” He cleared his throat. “In and of itself, it was a nuisance, but nothing I couldn’t fix. I was using it to my advantage with the prince and the others of his set.”

  She thought she might be relieved at what he said, but something about his face made her suspect that more was coming.

  He gripped the table. “The problem here is that . . . is that you are just like Olivia.” His eyes flashed. “You said things, acted one way, but really, in your heart, you are someone else entirely. And I cannot . . . I cannot even trust who you claim to be now. You used me. Would you have ever told me? Or just continued to write about me, your husband?” He shook his head. “I know I said I would do right by you, but as you seem in no hurry to be entrapped by me, I think I’m going to need some time.” He nodded his head and then made his way around the desk to leave the room.

  “Is there nothing else to say?”

  “Is there?” He stopped, waiting. “Have you any other reason for your actions?”

  She sighed. “No. I’m sorry, Logan. If there’s anything more I can do to make it right, I will.”

  “No. Don’t do anything else.” He lifted his chin and walked out of the room.

  As soon as he was gone, Kate’s face fell into her hands, and she cried out all her hopes that she’d ever see him smiling into her face again.

  Chapter Twenty

  Logan lifted The Morning Star and read Kate’s last article for Whims and Fancies for the thousandth time in the last three weeks. He ran his finger along their faces. He chuckled at her last statement. “Because I’m not certain you will believe that two people could show up with something so new and so alike on the same evening without planning it first, here is the evidence. Those who know us will not be surprised.”

  He rubbed his face and forehead with his hands.

  A knock at his opened door jerked him to his feet.

  “Easy there. Archer said I could just come in.” The Duke of Granbury stood in the doorway.

  Logan fell back into his chair. “I assume you are here to challenge me to a duel?”

  His Grace laughed. “May I?” He pulled out a chair to give himself some legroom.

  Logan nodded.

  “I am come for no such reason. But you look a mess. If Whims and Fancies could see you now.”

  “Stop.” Logan eyed him for a moment and then sat up straighter. “But now you’re here. Have you been sufficiently convinced to support our tenant bill?”

  The duke waved his hand. “Yes, yes. I threw my hat in at the very first.”

  “Ah yes, you did. Thank you.”

  “It’s a generous and important move. I hope some of those stodgy Tories will lend their votes.”

  “I as well.” Logan leaned back in his chair, wondering why His Grace had come.

  “I’ve come back to London for the rest of the season.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, Morley—well, the Morleys—have joined me, and the sisters.”

  Logan grunted, but his heart thundered through him.

  “With so many returning from Brighton, we thought it smart to introduce them to the wider associations that can be had in town.”

  “Did you?”

  “Oh, come off it, man. I’m here to invite you to dinner. You don’t have to pretend you’re not thrilled she’s come.” The duke stood.

  “Does she want to see me?”

  His Grace stared at him long and hard, so long Logan thought he might not answer. “She does.”

  Logan’s breath left in a great, relieving gust.

  “But she won’t admit it.”

  He nodded, slowly. “So . . . where does that leave me?”

  “I think you’d best talk to her about that. But look smart. Bring Lady Julia. Tuesday next.”

  “Thank you.”

  His Grace nodded, and then left the room.

  Kate. In London. He stood. Then he sat. He’d been so angry last they’d spoken. Perhaps a note, a card? Flowers? “Yes.” He pulled his bell pull.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Send some flowers to Lord Morley’s townhome, addressed to Miss Kate Standish. Sign it, ‘With all my love.’”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Any particular kinds?”

  “Kinds? Oh yes, certainly. Every kind. Make it the most outlandishly, mismatched bunch she’s ever seen. Eye-poppingly dreadful.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He paced the room. Kate. In London. Each one of those sisters would get snatched up so quickly, they might have three weddings this year. He sat back down. Might his be one of them? Oh, he hoped so.

  He had plenty of reasons to be hurt. She hadn’t confided in him. She’d caused some difficulty. But she’d also paved the way for some of his notoriety to aid him in his new efforts. When he’d considered the timing, she would have sent the first cravat drawing right after he’d insulted her dreadfully. Could he blame her for having the most ill feelings for him at the time? He really couldn’t. Especially now that it had been so long since he’d laid eyes on her at all. He couldn’t be anything but anxious to see her, to hold her in his arms, to kiss her once again. To marry the woman—oh, he’d give anything to marry the woman. Swallow any amount of pride, apologize for not accepting her apology, whatever it took.

  He dug through his drawer. A small, folded paper—a letter from Miss Grace.

  “Kate wrote Whims and Fancies because she is afraid to be hungry ever again. She loves you. And we’re all miserable until you two make things right.”

  He pressed the missive to his lips. “She loves me.”

  His appointment to ride though Hyde Park called to him. He must dress. This crowd was his more conservative Oxford bunch. They’d joined with him on the efforts to support tenants. And he found their conversation invigorating, and their friendship true and sensible. But their clothing was so dull, it almost hurt his eyes.

  When he was at last on his horse riding amongst friends, he realized that life was about to get sweeter than it had ever been. If she would have him, if they could have but a moment to converse, perhaps they could make something of themselves, make a life together.

  Lord Connolly called over to him, “At least you’ve not been parading about in the ridiculous color choices of earlier this season.”

  Logan laughed, and the others did, too, but he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. He liked the ridiculous color choices.

  “Who knows, Connolly, but I might bring back the feathers.”

  “Oh please, Dennison. I’ve seen enough men in feathers.”

  “Have you? Well, what exactly would you like me to bring into fashion?”

  They didn’t seem to have an opinion about fashion at all, so he turned back in his saddle and smiled. How could they abide such grey and black and white and tan lives? Where was the fun in that?

  “What in the blazes?” Connolly squinted his eyes at something very brightly colored up ahead.

  Logan followed his gaze and then laughed out loud. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” He dipped his head in their direction and kicked his horse
. Kate’s clothing was more delightfully outrageous the closer he came. When he was close enough, he slipped off his horse, left him to graze close by, and approached a very vibrantly dressed Kate. He tried not to laugh, but she was almost ridiculously attired, the purple and the orange and the yellows clashing in such a discordant mix, it almost hurt his eyes. “What is this?”

  “It’s all the rage, haven’t you heard?”

  “I must have missed this part of the rage.”

  “Pity.”

  His friends approached on their horses. Sounds of them shifting and pawing the ground behind him made him equal parts protective and irritated. But before he could say anything, Kate shook her head. “I’ve got this,” she whispered. Then she turned to them and curtseyed. “Pleasure to see you gentlemen.”

  Conolly tipped his hat to her, and the others snickered.

  “I’m going to give you an inside scoop on a bet going on at Whites.”

  A few more perked up their ears.

  “Yesiree. There’s some speculation about whether or not Lord Dennison and Miss Kate Standish will ever forgive one another.” She turned wide and hopeful eyes in his direction.

  “Yes, we will.” Logan stepped closer to her, wanting nothing more than to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. “So, why don’t you gentlemen go place your bets. I think odds are against us, according to that pessimistic running.”

  They took off with their horses, shouting thanks over their shoulders.

  Then she lowered herself to her knees.

  “What are you doing? Stand up.” He checked to make certain none of the departing lords had looked back to notice.

  “Oh, fine. But I have something to ask you, and you’re making me nervous.”