With all my heart,
Logan
She hugged the letter to her heart for many moments, cascading emotions showering through her. Most of them positive, but one niggling doubt plagued her—two, if she were being completely honest. He’d gone to start the paperwork at the duke’s request. She didn’t like the sound of that. She was growing in confidence that he would have asked her to marry him, but he’d never been given the opportunity to discover such a thing on his own. And that festered in the most insecure part of her heart. And then, the other festering thought involved her own dishonesty, and as no one liked to come face to face with their dishonesty, she pushed it aside. She would fix all the problems she had caused, and then she would tell him all one night, when they could simply laugh about the whole of it.
They spent the week preparing for the ball. Kate had convinced them all to be just that much more bold. When she’d explained to Lucy that being a part of the prince’s party meant that a certain fashion was to be expected, she had readily agreed. Charity agreed when Kate had told her she could choose colors, and Grace had always been in agreement. The modiste worked all hours of the day and night that week for them. And when the morning of the ball came, all the dresses arrived.
Kate was almost giddy with excitement. She moved through the rooms. “Sisters. We must arise. Each one of your hairstyles will take well into the afternoon.”
“What?” Charity mumbled as she rolled over. “I am not parading about in a hairstyle that requires so many hours to create.”
“Oh, you are. Wake up. I’ve had them bring you a tray. Chocolate.” Kate pulled open the blinds, the morning sun shining into the room, filling her with energy. She hadn’t seen Lord Dennison in a week, and she was most anxious to see him, and most anxious for him to see their dresses, hers most of all.
When all the sisters were at last sitting at their dressing tables, their maids hard at work, Kate sat at hers. Through the mirror, she smiled at her maid, Hannah. “Are we ready to create a masterpiece?”
“We are always ready.”
“Excellent. Then let us begin.”
When they were at last on the way to the ball, Kate thought that Charity might leave in a huff as soon as they arrived, so tired she was of the process of dressing for the ball.
Lucy rested a hand on Charity’s arm. “An invitation from the prince is a special thing. He particularly might view it as an insult were we to not make such a fuss.”
“Hmm.” Charity looked out the window. “I console myself knowing that so many I long to converse with will be present. I plan to prove them all wrong, one by one.”
“And they flock to you, just for the privilege of being proven wrong on any number of matters.” Lucy shrugged, then put her hands on her hips. “Don’t forget, we must stay close to Her Grace. Amelia will assist you, Grace. And at no time are we to be alone. The prince’s set is not always the safest.”
They each nodded. No longer did they underestimate the dangers of some of these activities. They had seen from experience what could happen.
“Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies should have gone to press already.” Kate clasped her hands together.
“I admit, I’m looking forward to seeing everyone’s reactions. And hearing their speculation. There’s a chance people will actually move to Bath to see the spectacle themselves.” Lucy was enjoying this enough, Kate wondered if she’d ever do something similar, perhaps attempt to write a different column.
They arrived at Prince George’s Royal Pavilion to a royal welcome. Two lines of red-liveried royal servants stood out in front. Two footmen approached and opened the door, bowing as Kate stepped her first foot out. She ducked low enough that her four feathers could fit out the door. She matched her fictional creation in Bath. Her dress was the brightest green she could manage. Prince George stepped outside the door to greet them, and next to him, a flamboyantly dressed man with feathers on a cap that sat at the side of his head.
Kate’s mouth dropped open. “How?”
Her sisters crowded around her. “Is that Lord Dennison?”
“How could that be him?” Grace put her hands at each side of her face.
“Pretend we are perfectly composed.” Lucy smiled through her teeth. “Even though I cannot imagine how Lord Dennison is dressed so suspiciously like our pretend man in Bath.”
“And what will happen when they run the piece, and everyone again thinks it’s him?” Lucy clasped her hands together.
Kate’s stomach clenched. “I fear we’ve just made things worse.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Excellent.” Logan’s grin couldn’t grow any wider as he watched Miss Kate approach. “We match.” He shook his head. “Uncanny how such a thing could happen.” She’d used even the same type of feathers. Her dress was the same color as his colored breeches.
“I admire the use of colors in the breeches. I think it should stick.” Lord Ballustrade had joined him and the prince in a different shade of breeches.
“I wasn’t certain what to make of your assertion that these sisters would be so impeccably dressed, but they are the perfect choice.” Prince George nodded to Logan.
“They are a prime example of why we need a few changes to our law regarding tenants. These sisters are of royal descent, on two lines that we’re aware of. And for the last five years, they have been living as tenants, with barely enough to eat.”
“What has happened to alter their circumstance?”
“The Duke of Granbury took an active interest in their well-being. And you know Lord Morley? He married the eldest.”
“They are lovely indeed.”
Logan studied Prince George, and for a moment regretted that he was about to bring the lovely Standish sisters into the presence of one so after a flirtation with anyone in a skirt.
“There is something to this tenant bill. And my support might garner some popularity with the citizens, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And it might enable me to take a hit at the dukes? My brothers included?”
“It would protect tenants, certainly, and would require responsible care.”
The sisters approached. Each one of them stared at him in such a strange way, he wondered if he stood beside a ghost. When he bowed over Kate’s hand, he quirked up a brow. “Do I look that shocking?”
“No. You look perfectly fashion-forward.” She wiggled her head to shake her feathers. “We match.”
“In more ways than one.” He tucked her hand at his side as if he wouldn’t ever let her go, which was exactly what he planned.
“How are you wearing feathers? And colored breeches?” She eyed him to his toes, which made him smile. “And more slippers.”
“I could say the same of you, with the bright green of your dress. I couldn’t be more pleased. Shall we go wow our audience?”
“I guess we shall.” Kate tried not to smile—Logan had no idea why—but soon, her grin overtook her face, and he thought her lovelier still.
“You are beautiful. I enjoy your daring fashion sense, but you, Kate, would be beautiful no matter what you wore and no matter how you did your hair.”
She didn’t answer, but her smile remained as they followed at the back of their group. Her sisters were on the arms of some of the other more moderately dressed lords, and for the moment, he felt comfortable with their situation.
“Who will be paying attention to Miss Grace?”
“Her Grace. And we will, of course.”
“Of course.” Logan felt a rising concern. “But that is all? No one else is here to see that you are protected?”
“I feel that their graces should be sufficient, but if you must know, the Duchesses of York and Sussex both take an active interest in our well-being.”
“You don’t sound as if you appreciate the intrusion.”
“I don’t. Much.”
He laughed. “Well, in that case, we shall attempt to stave off some of their efforts to assist?”
Kate’s older sister chatted in between two lords, and they looked to be having a serious discussion.
Kate noticed Logan’s attention. “Charity has strong opinions about most things.” She pressed her hand into his forearm. “In fact, she might be someone to talk to about your plans for the tenants. She has a comprehensive grasp of most people’s opinions about things.”
“Does she now?” He considered her. “Would you mind if I pulled myself away from you for one dance to use the time with her?”
“Certainly, you may. We only get the two, anyway.”
“Unless I choose to be even more scandalous and use every set for you or a Standish sister.”
“I don’t think I would complain. And . . . Logan . . .”
Her intimate use of his name made even his feet tingle.
“I loved my flowers.”
“And my letter?”
“Yes, and your letter.”
“I cannot wait until every evening is ours, until every afternoon spent in a library with my solicitor still meant an afternoon home with you, not sequestered off in a completely different home. Until I wake up to you and go to sleep to you. It’s all you, Kate. I’ve been lonely without you, plain and simple.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you really still want me? You are not forced, you know.”
“I think His Grace might feel otherwise, and I’d venture to guess Lord Morley might echo his sentiments, but Kate . . . My love for you . . . it is dictated by no one but my own heart.”
“But we have time . . . to consider, to still know each other.”
Logan studied her face. A new fear flickered across her features. “Do you need that time?” He watched, waiting. His fear resurfacing. In a way, being forced to act had been a relief to him. But not if Kate felt hesitant in her feelings. “Do you . . . still wish to be with me?”
Their conversation became more and more hushed, their steps slower as the others moved on ahead, and their faces intent and close. “I do. I long to be with you. But I . . . I want us to choose this.”
His breath left in a slow relief as his shoulders relaxed. “Then we are of one mind. About yet another thing.” His fingers rose and toyed with her feathers. “Is it possible that you and I considered the fashions, chose the most forward-thinking possibility we could think of, and wore it on the same day, only to match precisely with each other?”
“It is possible.” She smiled.
“And you know we will attract all manner of attention.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And you know we will be written about in that heathen paper, Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies.”
“I—I know.”
“And you would still like to enter those doors up there, to be announced . . . together?”
“I would.”
“You might have to marry me after all the talk this will cause.”
“There’s that phrase, ‘have to,’ again.”
Logan smiled at her, but he knew of what he spoke. “Kate . . .”
“I love it when you use my first name.” She placed a hand at the side of his face. And he abhorred gloves so much in that moment, he wished to rip hers from her fingers. “Let them talk. I have no cares for any other than you.”
He drank in the sparkle in her eyes and the fullness of her mouth. “I would kiss you right now if I hadn’t already got myself in enough trouble.”
She laughed. “Best save that for later.”
“Oh, ho! Then I most certainly shall.”
They moved closer to the entrance. The emcee called out the next set of names.
By the time they were announced and actually at the ball, Logan had almost grown tired of it. The moment they stepped into the room, every eye naturally turned in his direction, but the gasps and the smiles and the excitement in the room were far more pronounced than he expected.
Kate was immediately surrounded by women. As he stepped aside to make room, he called over, “Do you know these women?”
She just smiled and then turned her attention to the excited chatter.
He wanted none of that and so, reluctantly, he left her to stand with Prinny and his set.
They eyed the group of ladies. “Do you suppose she could bring them all in our direction?” Lord Bester, the man who had Miss Lucy on his arm, nodded toward the ladies.
“I don’t know. They seem unapproachable at the moment,” Logan said.
“Yes, why must they travel in flocks?”
“I will never pretend to understand the mind of a woman, not entirely.” Lord Ballustrade joined them at his side. “But your Miss Kate. She is a stunning woman. How did you know she had such uncommonly gifted fashion sense?”
“I could only but briefly suspect such a thing when I saw her at the church. She is quite a paragon of her own making. See the women? They seek out her fashion advice.”
“Uncanny.”
“Yes, I’ve said the same.”
They moved about the room together, the prince laughing and puffing out his own cravat, the Creation, while discussing his wildly floral purple breeches. “We’ve created a sensation,” he said. Logan looked about the room. Most people looked in their direction. He’d venture a guess that every conversation involved them at that moment.
“What shall we do with such attention?” Logan asked.
“Pardon me?” Ballustrade took a sip from a wine cup he’d grabbed from a passing servant.
“Do you ever wonder how much good you could do if you exerted yourself in the House of Lords? If we worked together on a bill?”
Ballustrade looked at him like he’d grown a peacock to join the feathers on his head. “I spend calculated effort attempting never to attend a meeting.”
“But consider if you did . . .” He stopped talking. Lord Ballustrade’s attention had already wandered, and Logan knew swaying him to anything other than his focus on fashion would be useless.
At last, the music began, and he went in search of Kate for their first set.
But she had moved out onto the floor with another, a weaselly baron with a boring tweed jacket and bumbling feet. Her gaze met his, which was full of questions, but her helpless response reminded him that he hadn’t asked her for the set. “Of all the . . .” He gritted his teeth and waited at the side of the dance floor for the music to end.
A group of women stood not too far behind him, and their chatter was loud enough to reach everyone’s ears, his particularly, as they discussed his Kate.
“She is the very best person to go to for fashion advice. How does she always know the fashions before they appear in Whims and Fancies?”
“I know! It’s like she wrote them herself, she is so savvy. I asked her about her feathers, and she said that she and Lord Dennison didn’t even plan such a thing. They just know.”
The others giggled and continued discussing something but moved out of earshot. He considered their words. How did Kate seem to always know? Why was she wearing the precise descriptions that were found in Her Lady’s Whims and Fancies? He shook his head. And she’d been rather destitute just a few months’ past, if the rumors were accurate. So how would she know, being so far from London and so far from any of society’s elite? He couldn’t account for it. Perhaps she’d been a regular reader for all this time; perhaps she searched catalogues? Ackermans? They did say they’d had regular visits from the duchesses with last season’s gowns. He had no way of knowing. A tiny suspicion worked its way into his thoughts. How could she possibly know?
Another group of women passed behind him. “They are saying the Whims and Fancies editor is here in Brighton. Else how would they know so much about the fashions right now? We are at the edge of fashion. Perhaps they’ll write about me!” The group passed by, each voice blending into another.
How indeed did they know so much about him particularly, even here in Brighton? How had they described his cravat so carefully? How had they known
the details for the wedding so intimately? The editor was here in Brighton, perhaps at the Royal Pavilion even now. His gaze traveled over the group. What man here doubled as a fashion expert for The Morning Star? He would have thought someone from his set, but not one of them would have portrayed his cravat as anything less than glorious. No, this person had a vendetta, or a strong opposition to creativity at the neckline . . . or some other bitterness of soul. He gave up searching. No one was going to pop out at him. He laughed. What would they say about the matching feathers?
At last, the dance ended, but then Kate was swept into the arms of another. Logan opened and closed his hands three times before he could breathe normally. What was she doing?
Julia stepped up beside him. “Why aren’t you dancing with Miss Kate?”
“She keeps dancing with others.”
“Did you ask her for a set?”
“No.” He ground his teeth together. “I just assumed, and rightly so, that she would want to dance with her almost fiancé.”
“Never assume, brother. Never assume.” She watched Kate glance in their direction twice. “I wonder how many sets she has lined up already for her evening.”
“Do you think she saved any for me?” His voice sounded more pathetic than he meant, but the ball was going to be one long, bleak lesson in endurance if he did not get to hold Kate or dance with Kate, or even talk with Kate for the duration.
“She might have saved you the supper set?” Julia shrugged. “How would we know unless we ask her?” Her smile held sympathy, but Logan knew she was laughing inside at him, and he didn’t appreciate it, especially not when someone came to collect her for a dance.
He crossed his arms and waited out another dance, his face probably glowering, but he didn’t even care.
Chapter Nineteen
Kate went from one man to the next, unsure of how to respond to a man she’d already agreed to dance a set with. She hadn’t known what Logan’s plans would be. He hadn’t asked for any sets. She knew he wanted to dance with her, but she’d already agreed to others. He couldn’t really dance every set with her, no matter what he boasted. She had kept the supper set open.
Her Lady's Whims and Fancies: Sweet Regency Romance (Lords for the Sisters of Sussex Book 3) Page 14