Her Lady's Whims and Fancies: Sweet Regency Romance (Lords for the Sisters of Sussex Book 3)

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  “True.” Ballustrade lifted the paper. “But this gent here even looks like you.”

  “There’s a drawing?”

  “You’ve made the fashion plates.” He held the paper up.

  Of course, Logan couldn’t see it from across the room, but something about this whole situation was really itching him in just the wrong way. What would the old Logan have done? Laughed? Celebrated? Read it aloud to everyone, certainly. As his gaze flitted through the room, he knew that’s what they all expected of him. But . . . earlier today, after . . . Miss Kate, he just didn’t want to play that part anymore. But this room, these people would eat him alive if he didn’t act like it was his purpose all along. He felt his smile relax into the lazy, bored expression he usually wore. He gestured for a servant to bring him a drink, and loafed over to Ballustrade. “Let’s see what we have here, shall we?”

  When the paper opened up to his sight, it took every ounce of willpower to keep his expression bland. He smirked, ran his finger over an oaf of a man with an obscenely sized cravat blocking his head. Then he held the words closer. “Shall we read it?”

  “Read, read, read, read.” They were acting as though they were attending a fight at Jacksons, the women as well as the men. He didn’t dare look at Miss Kate again, though her singular look of guilt had his interest piqued.

  “Wedding, beautiful. Clothing and hairstyle unmatched by the ladies present.” He bowed toward Miss Kate. “Et cetera, et cetera. Ah, here’s the part where we hear about the gentlemen. And you’re saying this is me?”

  He skimmed the rest of the page. “My, oh my, this woman has been spurned.”

  The room filled with laughter.

  “She says . . . some men can’t help but aggrandize themselves. Through oversized cravats, overcolored slippers, overly loud insults, or over-pretentious attitudes. It might make many women wonder for what are they compensating.” He felt his face heat. He couldn’t even stop it, but he hoped to cover it. “There, you see. Spurned. Lashing out. I predict she is hiding away somewhere in a corner. See, a person cannot be so focused on finding fault unless she is truly unhappy with what she sees in the mirror.” He laughed. And some did, too, but he suspected his comments hit too close to home for many of them. “At any rate, do you think I shall make every issue of Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies?”

  “I was mentioned as well,” Ballustrade said.

  “Were you?” Logan pretended to scan the paper anew, though he already had his finger on the spot. “Ah, here it is. The most glorious vest to be worn by any was certainly worn by a certain gentleman. True, indeed.”

  “And to think, today we’ve worn only our more regular clothing.”

  Logan downed the contents of his cup, not certain what he was drinking, and handed the paper back to Ballustrade. “You should frame that.” He raised a hand. “Who has been so fortunate as to see this amazing of all vests?”

  Surprisingly few hands went up in the air. So few, several trains of thought started running at once. Who had written this piece? How many people had seen the vest and witnessed his cravat and shoes? The person was, of course, in Brighton, or had been for the wedding. “This person missed an opportunity,” Logan said.

  “How so?” Ballustrade asked.

  “Well, you yourself saw my jacket. The embroidery on that article of clothing is a piece of art.”

  “Too true. And if they don’t include your face, the cravat effect is all but ruined.”

  “Whoever writes this Whims and Fancies is obviously a spurned woman, as I said, but also an amateur—a fraud. She cannot know the first thing about fashion or presentation.”

  “I shall wear your cravat to prove it.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “Certainly. And the others shall as well. We will be a Croatian cravat-wearing standoff against the spurned.” Ballustrade held up his cup. “Who’s with me?”

  Most of the men in the room raised their cups.

  “All who wish to wear the Croatian, send your valets to mine. He shall instruct you,” Logan said.

  Individual conversation seemed to pick up after that. Most in the room returned to their own pursuits, games continued, and people talked excitedly amongst themselves. But Logan struggled to feel normal. What was normal? He joined a table of men starting a new hand, so they dealt him in.

  After a moment of jabbing about the cravat and the fashion plates, he examined his cards. “I’ll be forming a new committee.”

  Most of the men continued studying their cards.

  “I’d like us to examine our treatment of our tenants and shall bring it up in the House of Lords.”

  The man nearest snorted, and then the game began as though Logan was entirely inconsequential. Had they heard him at all?

  “Shall we wear the Croatian cravat while presenting our ideas?” someone said.

  Everyone at the table laughed.

  They didn’t think him capable of a serious act. Every one of the men assumed he was in jest. He finished the one hand, but then stood to leave before they could deal him in another. Pushing though those standing in the room, he left in a daze. He would walk home. Their townhome sat on The Strand as well.

  He found his sister in the library with a book.

  Soon, he was lost in another at her side. He could only thank his late father for the rescue. Here he felt useful, here his ideas had merit, here he learned from past great men how to be one himself. As he turned page after page, he tried to push the assembly ball out of his mind, but it hovered on the periphery no matter how many pages he turned.

  He wore his most unremarkable clothing for weeks after, but everywhere he went, the men about him seemed to embrace his old ways. Every day, a new lord had mastered the Croatian cravat, and more and more, their jackets had turned brightly colored.

  Another Whims and Fancies had come out the following week. This time highlighting Prinny as he exited the Royal Pavilion. Mention was made of Logan again. Not by name—never by name—but more interest was again sent in his direction. He walked along The Strand to get some air. Every time a man walked by with a Croatian cravat, he saluted Logan. Until he, the man who’d created that genius of a cravat, could no longer stand the sight of it. Over and over, the drawing of his cravat, filling the area that would be his face, flashed through his mind, and he began to find the whole thing ridiculous.

  When he arrived home from his walk, he told his valet to ready his riding grear and then he went in search of Julia.

  “I’m leaving for London,” he told her.

  “What? Already?”

  “Yes, I have work to do, and none of it can be done here.”

  “Everyone you would want to talk to is here.”

  “But they don’t wish to talk of anything other than my cravat, or my opinion of their jacket, or shoes, or fob.”

  Her eyes filled with sympathy. “If you leave, must I as well?”

  “You’ve Aunt to keep you company while she sleeps. You could stay on as long as you like.”

  “And you won’t be overly lonely if I do so?”

  The loneliness ached like a continuous wound, but Logan shook his head. “I shall be far too distracted.”

  “Though much of your reading might be right here in this room.”

  He considered Julia’s words. “You wish for me to stay.”

  She adjusted her skirts. “I was thinking we might have a dinner party and invite the Standish sisters before you go.”

  Miss Kate.

  “I could delay my departure until then.”

  “Excellent. I’ll get with cook.”

  As much as he wanted to ride out of Brighton that instant, just the mention of the Standish sisters reminded him that he hadn’t explored his feelings for Miss Kate. She was the first woman to catch his eye since Olivia, the first to hold his attention. Indeed, their conversation the other evening was the best he’d had in ages, and she was in fact a part of the reason he had become so motivated to do good an
d be better.

  But her expression at the assembly . . . Did she want nothing more to do with him? Was she tired of his antics? He’d been afraid to see her again, afraid of what he might see.

  Though that was ridiculous. She was the most fashion-aware woman he’d ever seen. Her interest in Ballustrade’s vest was almost comical to Logan.

  But for some reason, she carried with her a higher purpose. Her focus seemed more intently driven, and he found himself desperately wanting to please her.

  Was fashion not the way to do so? He guessed not, as odd as that seemed.

  Once he’d donned his riding gear, he headed for the stables. A good, long run on Firestone would help clear his head.

  Chapter Ten

  Kate trailed her fingers along the trunks of old groves of trees that grew just down from the cliffs. She was heading her way to the brilliant blue skies and the lovely green grasses of the cliffs. She longed for the sea, and some quiet.

  Lord Dennison’s expression from the night at the assembly plagued her. Day in and out, she repeated that brief second when his reaction to the group was honestly and tenderly flitting from his face while he donned his mask. She kicked her toe into the dirt. Of all the wretched timing. He had just opened up to her, had just made plans to bring more meaning into his life. She’d seen a new life about him she’d never noticed before. And then her fashion plates.

  She winced. Would she ever rid herself of this guilt?

  When she walked out into the sunshine, she pulled her bonnet back up onto her head, hopefully hiding from the most direct rays. But she pushed onward and up the gentle slope that led out to the edge of the cliffs. She had an odd and exhilarating desire to hold her arms out at the edge and smile up into the wind and the sun. But concern wore her down. Her feet moved slowly.

  She’d sent off her next batch of plates and her fashion tips and hints. These were more general, did not ring of gossip, and she actually enjoyed them much more, as she utilized some of her practiced habits to help women make the most of any dress, no matter how out of mode. She’d had years of practice making old castoffs look like the latest fashion.

  Her heart cheered somewhat thinking of this new direction. If only she could do something to restore the damage she’d done to Lord Dennison.

  She couldn’t even face him.

  When he’d left the room, he’d brushed past her as if he knew she were at fault. But how could he know?

  And she’d been afraid to approach him ever since.

  But she must.

  As soon as the line of blue horizon reached her view, she smiled. On a glorious day like this, life had to get better.

  The sound of hooves in the distance distracted her.

  She squinted against the sun. A lone rider approached, but he was moving so quickly, she was sure he would gallop right past, which was just fine with her.

  The blue changed colors the farther out into the deep water. The sky was its own shade. Kate held a hand up to further block the sun and studied the water. Small, white-capped waves rolled in one by one. White birds flew overhead, their sharp calls adding to the rushing sound from below. She crept forward, her very bones tingling from the height. But she wished to see the rocky shore below.

  They hadn’t explored the beaches lately, and she’d like to do so without a large picnic of onlookers. Perhaps there were treasures to collect—small animals or shells. The sounds lulled her into a calm that helped her focus on her next steps. Particularly, how to make amends to Lord Dennison.

  “Miss Kate.”

  She spun around, her hand at her chest. “You . . . startled me.”

  Lord Dennison had dismounted from his horse, and approached with the reins in hand. He dipped his head in a small bow. “It is good to see you. Am I disturbing your solitude?” He moved closer, and she reached a hand over to rest on the horse’s soft nose.

  “You are most welcome to join me. I have been walking already for many hours.”

  “Have you? Do you often walk here?”

  “Not here. Usually, I am down in the groves below the hill. Our castle estate property borders those trees. And I find great cool shade and solace as I walk among their ancient branches.”

  “So poetic.”

  “Perhaps I am of a notion to think of lovely words at the moment.”

  “Are you?” Lord Dennison considered her. “Shall we walk? Or sit?”

  He pointed to a large rock outcropping that sat back enough from the cliff edge so as to feel safe.

  “I’d love to sit for a moment. And then, I was considering just how I might walk down to the water’s edge.”

  “Were you?” He followed behind.

  Once Kate was seated, he joined her, almost touching. They both stared out at the water for a moment, and then he chuckled. “I’ve been avoiding society.”

  She didn’t need to ask why. And her guilt churned inside. “I as well.”

  “Have you? Why?”

  “Something doesn’t sit well with me right now, and I’m trying to figure it out. I’m assuming you are hiding because of Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies?”

  “Partly. The fashion article painted me in a most exaggerated fashion, but, I fear, accurately.”

  She shook her head.

  “True. How can you ever portray the full measure of a man?” Lord Dennison said. “The author merely chose to exaggerate a quirk of mine. It does not represent me.”

  “But will the others let you grow past it?”

  He shook his head. “Not here, I don’t think. Not when they are all in a loyal manner supporting my cravat.” He laughed. “Have you seen?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “They are teaching their valets to tie the Croatian cravat and wearing it everywhere, coming to find me to show their support. They will continue in London, they say.”

  “That’s sweet, in a way.”

  “I suppose.”

  “And your efforts for tenants?”

  “You’ve hit upon the very problem. I cannot speak of anything beyond the lighthearted without people turning away or assuming I’m in jest.”

  “Tell me of Olivia.”

  Her question jarred him. She could tell. His face contorted for a moment, and then the mask of boredom slid across his face.

  She braced herself for some response that would send him further in hiding. But instead, he stared out at the sea so long, she suspected he might not answer.

  “I thought I had found the love of my life. She had seemed so accepting of me, of all my advances, my small gifts . . . the talks we would have. She bore her soul, or so I thought. I assumed I was the only one courting her. I assumed she cared.” Lord Dennison’s pained face made Kate almost wish she hadn’t asked. To spare him the pain of retelling.

  “But when I bent on one knee, she said no.” He turned to her, the pain in his eyes sharp. “I never imagined she would say no. She gave me every reason to believe her love as powerfully consuming as mine.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She married someone she’d known since they were young. I could have never known she had such an acquaintance. He returned from touring the continent, proposed immediately, and she accepted.”

  Kate tried to imagine his pain but could not. “What a wretched thing to do to another.”

  “You’ve perhaps not come across some of the truly careless among us, but such is to be expected, I’m afraid. The Whims and Fancies of the world will never consider the heart of another as dear as they should.”

  Her involuntary wince shook her body.

  “Are you unwell?”

  “I . . . I am well. Though I think I would like to walk.” She stood, fighting every inclination to run.

  Lord Dennison stood as well and continued speaking, “And so I have learned. We all have our secrets. When is there an opportunity to tell our deepest desire or thoughts to another? So I’m unsure I will ever be able to ask again.”

  She stepped closer to walk at his
side. “Ask?”

  “Propose.” The flit of desperate sadness that crossed his eyes for a moment clenched in her own heart. “I’d like to. But I don’t know if I can.”

  “I think I understand.” They walked farther along for a moment, Lord Dennison leading his horse beside him, with only the waves to entertain them.

  “How can we know another?” Kate said. She had never considered such a thing.

  “Some don’t care to know the people they will marry. They don’t plan on love matches. The marriage is more of convenience than anything else.”

  “Might you consider that some day?”

  “I might.” He studied the side of her face, but she could not look at him yet. She didn’t trust her expression. “And you? Might you consider such a thing?”

  “I had hoped . . .” She studied the ground at her feet. “I had hoped for love, or at least warm affection. I had hoped such feelings would grow over time, even in marriage. I had hoped so many things.” She shook her head. “And then I have told myself for years to dash those hopes, to consider any offer from any man as the best I would ever get. Only recently do I recognize I may have some choice or freedom in the matter.” She stopped walking. “There was a time when I desperately worked and studied and planned for a way to support myself and my sisters.” She pleaded silently for him to someday in some way understand why she did what she did for the newspaper. Perhaps one day, when he discovered it was she who had so carelessly dealt with the heart of another—his heart—when he discovered it was she, greater understanding might warm him toward a matter of forgiveness?

  “But now?” Lord Dennison asked.

  “Now, I suppose I am free to marry for love.” She sighed, the sound lost in the wind. “But is such a thing truly possible? As you said, how would we ever come to know another well enough?”

  “Love is easy. Finding another who loves you in return, that has been the elusive bit for me.”

  They approached the edge, where a path led down to the beach. “Might we walk along the water?” Kate suggested.

  Lord Dennison peered over the edge and then out to sea. “It might be more enjoyable if we were to ride.”