by Archer, Kate
Kitty pushed the door open with trepidation, lest she find a bird in flight or some other disaster in the making.
“Come, Kitty,” her father said, motioning to a seat. He was behind his desk amidst an array of papers and books. Lord Penderton was a dashing sort of middle-aged gentleman, but for the inevitable ink stains on his hands and cuffs. Both the baroness and the lord’s valet ensured that he was perfectly presentable at breakfast, though both knew he would not be in his study an hour before his person resembled that of any government clerk.
Aside from his scholarship, the lord was known as a particularly skilled master of his estate—Kitty’s dowry was sizable, as was her sister’s, and Frederick would be left exceedingly comfortable. This financial success, Kitty knew, was a result of him leaving his affairs to an experienced steward and having no interest in gambling away any profits. Over a dinner long ago, Frederick had asked his father for the secrets to the successful management of the estate. Her father had no secrets to relay, and only said sometimes the best thing to do is get out of the way.
Now, Lord Penderton studied her gravely. Kitty could not imagine what had happened.
“It seems,” he said, “that you have an admirer.”
“Surely not,” Kitty said reflexively, her mind racing. Had Sir John spoken to her father? No, it could not be so, they were too little acquainted. Though, she could not think who else it might be. She had danced with several gentlemen who had seemed to find her agreeable at the Bergram’s ball. But she did not really know any of them.
She was at a complete loss. There was nobody she even knew well enough to ask for an interview with her father.
Her father picked up a book and handed it to her. “This arrived for you. Naturally, Hidgson brought it to me to examine.”
It was very finely bound, and Kitty laughed as she read the title—An Examination of Geocentric Cosmology and a Defense of Aristotle’s Theory. She assumed some poor fellow had paid richly to have it published. She supposed the author was a gentleman who was convinced that modern scientific theories were an abomination to the church. Who else would argue Aristotle’s now very outdated and disproved geocentric theory of the heavens revolving round the earth?
Could Sir John have sent it? Perhaps he had some notion that they could discuss the arc of advancement from ancient times to modern day?
“You will notice the author’s last name?” her father asked.
Kitty had not in fact noted anything particular about it, it was some reverend or other. Her father, however, had a keen eye and no detail escaped him. Once he’d pointed it out, it jumped out at her as the most obvious thing in the world. The Reverend H. Bête. Bête was foolish in French. The whole volume was meant as a jest.
“It is the note that accompanies the book that I find particularly striking,” Lord Penderton said. “It hints that you have either caught the eye of a gentleman with an elaborate and keen sense of wit, or you have caught the eye of the stupidest man in London.”
“May I see it, papa?” Kitty asked, entirely at a loss as to what sort of note might accompany this strange gift.
“I shall read it to you, dear,” Lord Penderton said, picking up a single sheet of paper with Lackington and Allen’s embossed header on it. “It says: in admiration of your scholarship, may this new information add to your already noteworthy amount of knowledge and enlighten you on a subject of interest.”
“Certainly, it is meant as a jest,” Kitty said. “Though, the one person I might have thought would send me a book is not the type of gentleman to jest. At least, I did not think so.”
Though Kitty had not thought so, and had wished Sir John to be more lively, perhaps she had been wrong? Perhaps his stiffness had only been on account of an early acquaintance? Perhaps Sir John was not so stiff after all. Perhaps he was learned and liked to laugh.
“It is only signed as ‘G’,” her father said.
“G?” Kitty said. Good Lord. G? No, it could not be from Lord Grayson. As soon as she thought it could not, Kitty realized that it could, and that it in fact must be.
“I perceive you make a guess on the sender?” Lord Penderton asked. “Who is the gentleman and is he a wit or the dimmest man in creation?”
“I believe, though I cannot be certain,” Kitty said, “that G stands for Lord Grayson. And, I am sorry to say that I do not believe the gentleman will have any idea that the book is meant in jest.”
“My God,” Lord Penderton said, “where do people send their sons to school these days?”
“I suspect it matters little where gentlemen are sent if they fail to listen when they arrive,” Kitty said.
“Well, I do not like it. You may have the book, we will keep it as a joke between us. But Kitty, my dear, do not encourage this fellow.”
Kitty made to stand and deliver a forceful rebuttal to the very idea, but her father waved her back into her seat.
“I imagine,” Lord Penderton said, “that the fellow is comely or dashing or handsome or whatever young people call it these days. Nobody ever requires much of men like that, it has always been so. But it will not be right for you, Kitty. You need not marry a scholar, in fact I urge you not to. There is benefit in a marriage between persons of differing temperaments. I should have been miserable having married a lady similar to myself. Your mother balances me, as you may have noticed. However, stupid is another matter entirely! Your mother may not share my love of research, but when I discuss it with her she understands me. You see? We are of equal intelligence and of varying interests.”
Kitty nodded, though she did harbor hopes of marrying a gentleman of precisely similar interests. If only the book had been from Sir John as some entertaining jest!
“In any case,” Lord Penderton said, “you may keep the book and read of how the Reverend Foolish attempts to resurrect Aristotle from the ashes. I expect it will be amusing.”
*
Kitty had flipped through the book’s pages and indeed it had been amusing, though she also blushed for Lord Grayson’s empty-headedness. She would have liked to believe that the gentleman understood the volume to be a jest, but she did not have a shred of hope that it was the case. She had not long to consider it, though, as it was Wednesday. Miss Danworth’s at-home day, and that particular home was the current residence of the vaunted Palaskar collection.
The baroness had been surprised to hear that Kitty would call on Miss Danworth. Lady Penderton had become acquainted with the girl the season before and had not singled her out as somebody her daughter would naturally gravitate toward.
In the end, she’d said, “As you wish, Kitty. Miss Danworth is perfectly respectable and perhaps I have misjudged her temperament. There are those persons who strike one as cold who are only shy. In any case, her companion, Mrs. Jellops, will be a scrupulous chaperone. Take Martha in the carriage.” The baroness had paused, then said, “In any event, I do not suppose Lord Childress will be at home.”
Kitty had been relieved that her mother did not choose to accompany her on the call, as she had not said a word about the collection or that Sir John would likely call as well. It was not that either of those things were wrong, it was only that Kitty could imagine her mother’s frown to discover the call was to be about books and not the usual social meeting. As for Sir John, the baroness had said nothing about him, though Kitty was well aware that her mother viewed him as too serious. Perhaps even tedious, though she had not said so.
The carriage had arrived to 42 Grosvenor Square in good time and Kitty had been shown in. The outside of Miss Danworth’s house was as one would expect, large and of pale stone with oversized windows. The inside, though, had an unexpected gloominess to it. There was a heavy feeling, as if there were not enough light or not enough furnishings and carpets to soften the sounds of walking on the marble floors. The frighteningly stern butler did little to warm the coldness of it.
Kitty felt uneasy as she was led through the front hall, having the strange feeling of being watched
or unwelcome.
She was very much relieved when she entered the library. It was vast, but carpeted and its endless rows of dark wood shelves warmed it. Its air was one of comfort, though she supposed she would always feel so when surrounded by books.
Miss Danworth rose. “Miss Dell, how good of you to call. I have had tea set up in here rather than the drawing room in anticipation of your arrival.”
“You are very kind, Miss Danworth,” Kitty said.
“Nonsense,” Miss Danworth said. “I do not have so many callers as a regular thing. There are those who…well, my father is a rather stern gentleman.”
Kitty did not know how to answer. She hardly knew what Miss Danworth meant by it. Did she mean that Lord Childress was feared in some manner? Her mother had made some mention of assuming the lord would not be at home but she had not thought anything of it.
“This is Mrs. Jellops, my companion,” Miss Danworth said.
Mrs. Jellops was a round and amiable-looking sort of woman. The kind one imagines indulges in cakes and biscuits on a regular basis and never regrets having two when one would do. Her cheeks were plump to fit her person and she smiled pleasantly at Kitty.
A man walking with a cane entered the room. “Ah, Mr. Crackwilder, this is Miss Dell,” Miss Danworth said. “The lady I mentioned as having an interest in the Palaskar collection.”
As Kitty had noted when she’d seen him at Mrs. Herschel’s, Mr. Crackwilder was not dressed richly, but exceedingly neat. There was not a crease to be found on his person.
He bowed and said, “I was fortunate to be introduced to Miss Dell at Mrs. Herschel’s salon. I was just now going to pull some of the more interesting works for her perusal.
“That is most appreciated, Mr. Crackwilder,” Kitty said warmly.
He smiled kindly at her and went to the shelves. The door opened and the stern-faced butler announced Sir John.
Before Sir John could say anything, a loud knocking could be heard from the front hall. The butler hurried off to let in whoever was doing the banging.
“Mrs. Jellops, this is Sir John Kullehamnd,” Miss Danworth said. “Who else may have arrived, I have not the faintest, though I presume we shall soon see.”
The party looked toward the door with some anticipation. Kitty hoped it might be a scholar come to examine the Palaskar collection.
“Heavens, Lord Grayson,” Miss Danworth said, as the lord entered the room.
Chapter Six
Kitty was both astounded and embarrassed that Lord Grayson had arrived to Miss Danworth’s house. Of course, he had been aware of their plan to meet with Mr. Crackwilder and examine some of the Palaskar books, but it had nothing to do with him! Further, there was the ridiculous book he’d sent to her that must be acknowledged.
Kitty had assumed she would see Lord Grayson again at some ball or dinner. She’d planned to thank him and delve no more deeply into it than that. She was certain he did not know the volume he’d sent her was a jest and she had no intention of pointing it out. He rather deserved it, she was certain he’d not looked at the volume for a moment before buying it. Always, the intellectually incurious would seek out shortcuts and easy ways, and that was precisely what he must have done to have fallen for the literary ruse. For all that, she would not intentionally embarrass him—one should never point out a fault that another could not rectify and she was certain that Lord Grayson’s mind could not work any harder than it currently did.
For all her consternation at seeing him, Kitty could not ignore the little flutter that went through her. How could he look so dashing absolutely all of the time?
“I am pleased you have come, Lord Grayson,” Miss Danworth said pleasantly, “though surprised to find you interested in my father’s library. Here is Mr. Crackwilder, is he the same that you knew in the war?”
“Indeed, he is,” Lord Grayson said, nodding to Mr. Crackwilder. “And I consider him a friend, as he does me.”
“Such as he is,” Mr. Crackwilder said.
Kitty looked with some surprise at Mr. Crackwilder. It was not so usual for a person of his standing to speak to a lord in such a manner.
Lord Grayson seemed to take no notice of it and said, “As for your surprise in my interest in the Palkar collection, Miss Danworth, I cannot account for it. Naturally I am interested. Who would not be interested?”
“Palaskar,” Sir John said. “It is the Palaskar collection.”
Lord Grayson ignored Sir John’s correction. He said, “Miss Dell will comprehend my interest in literature, having just received a volume of some note.”
Kitty felt her cheeks pink and prayed Lord Grayson would go no further. To end the topic, she said, “Very kind, Lord Grayson.”
“Lord Grayson has sent you a book, Miss Dell?” Miss Danworth asked.
Before Kitty could answer, Sir John muttered, “Some dreadful French novel, I presume.”
“Indeed not, Sir John,” Lord Grayson said, staring him down. “It was in fact an examination of geocentric cosmology and a defense of Aristotle’s theory written by Reverend H. Bête, a book I am certain you’ve never heard of. And, it was magnificently bound.”
“A jest?” Sir John said derisively. “I would not have thought Miss Dell would be interested in satire. It is rather a waste of paper, in my opinion.”
“Jest?” Lord Grayson said, rather more loudly than was called for.
“I do enjoy that sort of thing, as it happens,” Kitty said, working to stop the conversation from going further.
Lord Grayson, seeming oblivious to the ghastly direction he was headed, said, “Satire?”
Mr. Crackwilder hurried to Lord Grayson’s side and gripped his shoulder hard. “Hah! You see, Lord Grayson is such a wit that even now he plays along with the game. Everyone knows how he adores those sorts of books. It is the cleverness, you see.”
Kitty thought she did see. Lord Grayson had not suspected for a moment that the volume was anything less than a scholarly reflection on Aristotle’s theory. As he would not have the first idea of what that theory had been, he would not understand the ridiculousness of a person wishing to defend it. Now his friend, Mr. Crackwilder, had perceived the situation and attempted a rescue.
Lord Grayson looked enquiringly at Mr. Crackwilder. In a low tone, Mr. Crackwilder said, “Just as we discussed the other evening. A magnificent jest.”
“It sounds amusing, Miss Dell,” Miss Danworth said. “You must tell me how you find it. Now, Mr. Crackwilder, if you would select some books from the collection, I will pour the tea.”
While Kitty had not found Miss Danworth to be the warmest of persons, she was grateful beyond measure that her hostess had the presence of mind to change the conversation.
Mr. Crackwilder nodded to Miss Danworth and then requested Lord Grayson accompany him to the table to assist him. It was the silliest thing in the world, on its face. However, Kitty had the notion that Mr. Crackwilder intended to warn his friend to avoid saying another thing about Aristotle’s theories.
If it were so, then Mr. Crackwilder was indeed a good friend.
Sir John, of them all, was not so eager to leave the topic behind. “Did you indeed find the tome amusing, Miss Dell?” he asked.
Kitty had no intention of revealing any opinion at all and only said, “I am afraid I have not had a moment to look at it, Sir John.”
“I do not have the facility for such lightheartedness myself,” Miss Danworth said, “though I admire the ability in others. Lord Grayson has that sort of happy temperament that always seems to find the sunny side of things.”
Sir John appeared disdainful of a happy temperament and Kitty was sorry for it. Lord Grayson might be an intellectual buffoon, but he was always pleasant-natured. She would wish to see some of that pleasantness in Sir John at this moment.
Mr. Crackwilder called them to the table and Kitty left her seat with alacrity. This was what they’d all come for—an examination of the Palaskar collection.
An hour late
r, Kitty made to take her leave. She could have listened for days at a time to Mr. Crackwilder describe the Syrian collection of short stories, or the difficulties of translating a book of poetry written in Swahili, or the surprises contained in the Persian book of herbal remedies, or the early mathematical theories of the Greeks. However, she knew she must not overstay her time and tire Miss Danworth.
Miss Danworth had invited them all to come again, and that must be enough. Though, Kitty did wonder if Lord Grayson would go on with it. He’d been decidedly bored with their extended discussion of mathematics. He had become animated when they discussed the book of poetry, and he and Mr. Crackwilder had debated the likelihood that it must have originated from the island of Lamu. Still, she did not think the lord would turn up for a scholarly discussion again.
It was just as well, as Sir John seemed intent on exposing Lord Grayson’s lack of an education on every topic. Why had he argued so hard against Lamu, anyway? She could not like it of Sir John. One who was superior in knowledge need not set about to prove it. Still, she supposed Sir John was superior in that regard and she could see how the gentleman might be aggravated by the likes of Lord Grayson. It must grate that there were such lords fanning about, being given every consideration and having every advantage in life, though they came with nothing in particular to recommend them.
*
Sir John let himself into his house nearby St. George’s church. It was by no means a large house and contained no servants but for a charwoman who came in during the day, but it had come with some furnishings and the address was good enough to pass as unremarkable.
He had spent the past two years carefully cultivating the society around him. He was not unaware that he did not have the easy manners or impeccable dress of a Lord Grayson and did not attempt to compete in that realm. What he did have was a sharp intellect, and that must be his entrée into the ton.