Well, in his dreams, of course. For he was quite sure he would have a hard time forgetting the young woman.
Chapter 4
Home at Worthington House
Nearly two hours later
George nudged the napping Angelica with a poke to her shoulder. “We’re home,” he murmured.
Angelica opened her eyes and dared a glance out the window. “Finally,” she sighed. The last train stop was well north of the city, and the last leg of their trip, taken in a hackney that was cleaner than most, was the most uncomfortable portion of what had seemed the longest day of Angelica’s life.
She almost yearned for the days when they did the Hexham to London trip by coach-and-four over a period of four days.
Almost.
Their servants, likewise napping on the bench opposite, stirred to life and straightened.
“I’ll have the butler see to new quarters for you,” George commented, knowing the newlyweds would prefer a shared room as opposed to the separate quarters they had been occupying prior to their departure from Torrington Park.
“Much obliged, my lord,” Mr. Fitzhugh replied, his hand moving to cover his new wife’s hand.
Angelica caught the simple gesture, and she felt a wave of jealousy pass through her. She didn’t envy her lady’s maid for the man she had married, but rather for her blissful state as a result of her wedding. Mary Banks had never been so happy. So pleasant to have in her company. “Do you suppose Cook might make us some dinner?” Angelica asked of her brother. “I am starving.”
“We are expected,” George replied, heartened when two footmen hurried from the front door of Worthington House.
As servants saw to unloading trunks and opening the doors, the travelers unfolded themselves from the cramped quarters of the hackney and made their way to the front door.
Angelica paused to shake out her carriage gown. She gazed up at the Georgian-era mansion before her, relieved to see it hadn’t changed since the last time she had lived there.
Only two months prior.
Her time at Torrington Park had seemed far longer. Given its distance from Hexham, she had felt cut off from all civilization. Not a day went by that she didn’t miss Hyde Park or the pleasures of window shopping in Jermyn Street or New Bond Street or at one of the new shopping arcades.
At least the library was well stocked, although after having spent every Christmas holiday at Torrington Park since she was born, she had read all the tomes that interested her. She would have had to start reading the books on modern farming techniques and husbandry for racing horses had she remained another day longer.
How did her mother abide the quiet after a busy London life of entertaining?
The sound of a coach-and-four had her turning her attention back to Park Lane. The equipage had just pulled up to the curb in front of the adjacent house. Empty when they had departed for Northumberland, Bradford Hall had been owned by Baron Bradford. Excessive gambling had apparently left the baron in dire straights. He had taken his leave of London under a cloud of scandal—and unpaid vowels—and no one seemed to know where he had gone.
Angelica briefly wondered if the baron had returned, but before she could ask, George offered his arm.
Winston stood aside as they entered, greeting them as they stepped over the threshold. He was joined by their black and white dog, whose back end moved back and forth much like a tail would have done if he’d had one.
“Correspondence?” George asked before they had even finished removing their coats. He gave the dog a quick scratch behind the ears.
“In the study, sir,” the butler replied.
“Dinner?”
“Five o’clock.” Winston’s expression indicated he didn’t agree with such a meal time, but George had sent word ahead that an early dinner would be warranted after a long day of travel.
“Anything I need to see to right away?”
Winston shook his head. “Nothing, sir.”
George allowed a grin and gave his sister a nod. “I’ll collect you at five,” he said, and then disappeared into the study off the main hall.
Angelica watched as her lady’s maid and the valet made their way out of the vestibule and toward the back of the house. “Has Baron Bradford returned?” she asked in a low voice. At the butler’s furrowed brow, she added, “A town coach just parked in front of Bradford Hall.”
“Ah. That would be the new owner,” he replied.
Her eyes widening, Angelica regarded the servant a moment before she was forced to ask, “Does he have a name?”
Winston’s appearance took on one of discomfort, as if he were experiencing a gastric disturbance. “I am most sure he does, but it is unknown to me.”
Angelica blinked. “How can that be?” Servants were always the first to know the gossip.
Winston allowed a shrug before he leaned towards her. “Our servants have yet to make the acquaintance of his servants,” he whispered. “All are new except the butler, Peters, since the prior staff left the employ of Baron Bradford well before the house was sold.”
“When did that happen?”
“A month ago, at least. Probably two. The workmen just left yesterday.”
Workmen? Goodness, had the baron left the house in such poor shape that it had to be renovated to accommodate its new occupants?
“I left your correspondence in your salon, my lady,” Winston said then, interrupting her reverie.
“Thank you. I’ll take my tea there.”
With that, Angelica made her way up to the first floor and the letters that awaited her. Even before she could open any of them, though, her thoughts went back to marriage.
She remembered her father’s comment when The Times reported on the recent marriage act that had established civil marriages. I supported it. Had it existed twenty years ago, why I could have married your mother in the gardens.
At the time, she couldn’t believe anyone would want to marry outside of a church, but now the thought of marrying outdoors had a slight grin appearing at the edge of her lips.
Wouldn’t a wedding within the columns of a folly surrounded by pink and white rhododendrons be ever so beautiful? The air sweet with the scent of their blooms and birdsong providing the music?
Angelica gave a shake of her head.
Father would insist she marry in St. George’s, she was sure. Which meant she could end up marrying at any time of the year.
Christmas, she thought with a sigh. With snow falling, and the scents of fresh-cut evergreens and a yule log burning in the large fireplace. Her bouquet of flowers could include holly and their bright red berries.
Cold winter nights wouldn’t seem so cold if she was nestled in the arms of an attentive husband. That’s the way her parents slept.
She knew this only because she had sneaked into her father’s bedchamber several times as a child during thunderstorms and discovered them together. Given the lack of space on the bed, she had simply curled up into a chair and then woke up when her father was carrying her back to the nursery in the morning.
The memory from her youth gave her a jolt.
She loved being carried like that, the familiar scent of her father’s cologne surrounding her as she buried her head in the warmth of his robe.
Would whomever she married carry her like that? Well, perhaps he would carry her over the threshold when they entered his home for the first time after the wedding. Maybe carry her over muddy areas when they walked in the park. Hopefully carry her up to bed should she fall asleep in the parlor after dinner.
Angelica allowed a long sigh. Perhaps she should be looking forward to marriage. If Father wanted her to meet Sir Benjamin, then so be it.
She didn’t have to marry the man. But she did have to give him a chance.
Chapter 5
An Instrument Makes Its Debut
Meanwhile, next door at Bradford Hall
“Do be careful,” Ben pleaded, watching as the footmen undid the leather straps holdin
g his crated telescope to the back of the town coach.
“Where would you like it, sir?” one of the footmen asked. The two had the crate suspended between them as a groom saw to the coach.
“In the observatory. On the top floor,” he replied, hoping they would be able to negotiate the curved staircase that lined the interior of the building.
He had thought to simply have a one-story dome built, but adding the height of a second and third story meant his scope would be level with the tops of most of the nearby houses. The fewer obstacles around it, the more sky his telescope could see.
Engineering the rotating dome had been left to the welder. He had built a track atop the building’s round wall in which several wheels, attached to the inside of the dome, could ride.
As for how the dome moved? “You have to provide the manpower, sir,” the welder replied, adding that he would install several handles to help in the matter as well as provide grease that would make the wheels turn more easily.
Giving the dome an open window through which his scope could see had been the last challenge. The craftsman who built the dome cut out the necessary slice of metal but then wondered how he wanted the opening covered when the dome wasn’t in use.
He had thought to consult a fellow astronomer, Elias Pershing, on just how his observatory’s dome opened, but he learned the man had taken his mistress on a trip to the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. At her insistence.
He probably wouldn’t argue if he’d had a mistress who likewise insisted on such a trip. He had never been to the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, but thought it an excursion he might take if he ever married.
After a spirited consultation, his craftsman fashioned a sliding curved rectangle of metal, secured below and above in tracks welded to the dome. A long pole allowed him to snag the door’s handle so he could open and close it without having to climb a ladder. Which was rather fortuitous, since there was simply no room for a ladder on the floor that housed his telescope mount, a chair, an old desk, and a small cot.
Once his footmen had the crate delivered and opened, Ben began unpacking his treasure. To his relief, a metal cover had protected the large lens. Smaller pieces—various lenses and tools—were tucked inside a smaller pasteboard box in one corner of the crate.
A footman helped him lift the telescope from its bed of packing and place the mount atop the stand he’d had the carpenters construct. A metal plate provided the base for the forked array in which the tube of the telescope was mounted. A bit of finagling, and soon he had the base of the mount lined up with the metal plate. He was in the process of threading large screws through the matching holes of both when he noticed how the footman watched his every move.
“What is it?” he asked, sure the footman was frowning.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” the servant whispered. “But what’s to keep the whole thing from tipping over?”
Ben’s attention went to the floor, where wooden braces had been installed on all four sides of the base. He tested the strength of the assembly with an attempt at jiggling the base, relieved when it gave no quarter. “Lots of wood and screws,” he replied with relief.
The footman nodded. “Ah, well, that’s good, since I wouldn’t want this to fall off and roll down all them stairs.”
The very thought of such a catastrophe befalling his new instrument had him visibly shaking. “Me, neither.” He glanced down at the packing materials and the wooden crate littering the floor. “Perhaps you can see to removing all this?”
“Right away, sir,” the servant answered, giving him a bow.
“And let Peters know I’ll be taking my dinner up here this evening. I have every intention of putting this to use once it’s dark enough.”
“Even if it snows?”
Ben blinked. “Snows?” he repeated.
“Might not be now, but it smells like it will.”
Not having given the weather a thought since his arrival, Ben had only noticed the skies were clear for his telescope’s maiden night. “Then I have much to do before it does.”
As for the weather inside the dome, it was chilly, but not yet cold enough to warrant wearing a coat and leather gloves.
“Very good, sir.” Not exactly sure what the contraption might be used for, the footman went about collecting the refuse before he made his way down the long, spiral staircase.
Ben regarded his new instrument with a sigh of satisfaction and got to work.
Chapter 6
A Discovery Out the Window
Meanwhile, over at Worthington House
Angelica reread her correspondence one more time before carefully refolding the missive. Draining the last of her tea, she furrowed a brow when she realized she had eaten both cakes and all the biscuits that had been delivered with the teapot the hour before.
Well, she had been hungry. Was still hungry. Dinner could not be served soon enough.
The reminder of the evening meal had her rising and shaking out her skirts. The sun had nearly set, although the sky was still light in the west. The dusting of snow that had settled since their arrival glistened in the waning light, at least in the places where it hadn’t turned gray due to soot.
Making her way up to her bedchamber to dress for dinner, Angelica was soon joined by Mary.
The lady’s maid had changed out of her traveling clothes and into a simple, drab gown, but her cheeks still displayed a rosy hue. No doubt from her afternoon delight in the train, Angelica thought as she allowed a smile.
She turned so Mary could undo the buttons up the back of her gown and then quickly whirled around to face the lady’s maid. “What...!?”
Mary furrowed a brow before she slowly angled her entire body so that she might look beyond her mistress to see whatever it was that had the earl’s daughter turning a ghastly shade of white. Her gaze shifted to the bedchamber’s second window and the view beyond.
Or rather, the lack of it.
Mary’s eyes widened. “Oh!” she let out, stepping backwards as her hands went to cover her mouth. “What is that?”
Angelica shook her head. “I’ve absolutely no idea,” she whispered. She glanced over her shoulder and finally moved toward the window. “It’s a building of some sort,” she murmured. “A round building.”
At first, she thought it might be a very tall greenhouse—they had become all the rage in recent years—but it wasn’t covered in oil cloth. The roof, in fact, appeared to be rounded and made of metal.
“With a round top,” Mary said. “Sort of like Winston’s head.” She was standing in the window on the other side of the dressing table, her eyes shielded by her hands as she gazed at the building that had been erected while they were at Torrington Park. “Or one of those churches where the Greek people worship.”
Angelica straightened at hearing the last comment, wondering how her lady’s maid would know such a thing. Then she remembered that despite being a valet, the girl’s father was an educated man. Alonyius Banks had probably even been to Greece. “I don’t see a cross anywhere,” Angelica murmured.
“Is it allowed?” Mary queried.
About to ask what she meant by the question, Angelica suddenly understood. Someone had built a rather ghastly building right behind their house. Was such a garden structure allowed here in Mayfair?
“I’ll speak with my brother about it during dinner,” Angelica said before pulling the drapes shut with a huff.
Whatever it was and whatever its use, the monstrosity was an eyesore.
Chapter 7
Discussing a Dome Over Dinner
An half-hour later
“Are you quite sure?” George asked, his expression indicating disbelief. “It’s dark. How could you even see such a thing?”
Angelica gave him a quelling glance. “It wasn’t dark when Banks noticed it,” she argued. “It has a domed roof, and it’s... it’s round.”
“Most domes are,” George remarked.
If she hadn’t been dressed in one of he
r very best dinner gowns, and if she hadn’t been a lady, Angelica would have picked up one of the boiled potatoes from her plate and hurled it at her brother. “The building is round,” she said from between clenched teeth.
That seemed to get George’s attention. “Like a ball?”
He didn’t duck quickly enough, for a boiled potato sailed directly into his cravat. “Angel!” he scolded as he moved to capture the offending food between a thumb and forefinger. He plucked it from the silk and held it up before tossing it to Muffin McDuff Paddlepaws. Despite his apparent lack of eyes, the Olde English sheepdog caught the root vegetable in his mouth and swallowed it whole.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Angelica remarked.
“Oh, I shouldn’t have done that?” George half-questioned.
“Now you’ll have to let him sleep in your room.”
George frowned. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“He’ll be windy all night,” she whispered hoarsely. “So I don’t want him in mine.” Usually she welcomed having the huge dog sleep at the end of her bed, if only because he kept her feet warm on cold winter nights.
Rolling his eyes, George turned his attention back to his plate, his fork stabbing a boiled potato. He had half a mind to throw it at his sister, but she was wearing one of her very best dinner gowns, and her lady’s maid would be forced to clean the silk. “Is the dome blue?”
Angelica angled her head to one side. “No. Why do you ask?”
Her brother shrugged. “Our new neighbors could be Greek Orthodox and simply built their own church on the grounds of their house. It’s very common in Greece.”
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