Her Lady's Whims and Fancies

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  “Forward-thinking.” He studied the dresses and then nodded, approvingly. “Just fashionable enough to reach the current trend, but daring enough to urge people forward.”

  She studied him. “Like your cravat.”

  “Precisely.” He pointed a lazy finger at her paper. “Surely designed by a man.”

  “How can you say that? As if a man knows the finer intricacies of women’s fashion?”

  “And why shouldn’t he? Do you not dress as you do to find yourself a man?”

  She huffed, and he smiled. “You know I’m in jest. At least, somewhat.”

  “How can you pretend such a thing? I dress how I want to dress to please the ladies at Almacks.” She laughed.

  “For those old bats?”

  His mother clucked. “Must you call them something so impolite?”

  “Oh, too true, Mother. I don’t wish to insult your friends.”

  Julia shuddered in mock horror. “They scare me. I live in fear they will reject my voucher.”

  “Well, no one will keep you from the church, you can count on that. And we are almost arriving.” Their townhome off The Strand in Brighton was not far from the church.

  “I’m so looking forward to this wedding. How romantic. Can we discuss how they met?” Julia said.

  “Certainly. Quite absurd, in my mind. His Grace, the Duke of Granbury, lost a property in a card game, but he didn’t tell his best friend about the lovely tenants to go along with it.” Logan thought that devilishly hard of a friend to do to another.

  “And then he fell in love with the eldest.” Julia turned to their mother. “Is that not the most romantic story of our age?”

  “Certainly, dear. Though I don’t wish for you to be about getting your husband in that manner. It’s not quite bad ton precisely. They are of the royal family, after all. Distantly.” She sniffed. “However, it would not behoove us to follow such an example.”

  “Mother. We will never be in a situation where Logan is gambling away our home.” Julia fanned her face. “Unseasonably warm.”

  They had entered a line of carriages and were moving slowly toward the church.

  “This is the party of the year. Lady Morley made certain of it. You can thank me for our invitations.” Logan’s mother looked so pointedly at him, he had to exert real effort not to express his extreme dislike at having to attend at all.

  “Perhaps the almost dowager hopes not to be sent to the northern estate after all.” His sister snickered. “I’ve heard stories of the way she treated those sisters. When everyone else says they are perfectly lovely.”

  “How you know the things you do, I’ll never guess,” Logan said.

  She held up her paper. “Right here. There’s an on-dit where we read the latest gossip—no names, of course. And then the fashion plates. Heavens. I’d never know anything if I didn’t read it.”

  “And I thought all the good news filled the betting books at Whites.” He’d been victim to their merciless jabs once news of Olivia had reached the ton’s ears.

  “Heavens, no. That’s just you men being silly. The real information is right here. You just have to read between the lines a bit sometimes to decipher who is who.” Julia tapped her chin. “They mention you at least three times every week.”

  “Do they?” His interest was piqued. “Advertising my latest cut, no doubt?”

  “Not at all. They are much more interested in the things you say. Or one time, there was a whole piece about why you did not ask Lady Alastair to dance.”

  “That’s what they care to write about? Perhaps I was tired, perhaps she was retiring early—there are so many influences as to why a man might do things.”

  “But in this instance, she was standing nearby. You were free, and so was she, but instead of dancing, you took yourself to get a lemonade.” Julia dipped her chin. “And that is news.”

  He looked from Julia to his mother and back. “I hardly find that riveting.”

  “And yet?” She held up the paper. “Now the speculation is that you shall at last find your heart at the wedding party of Morley and Miss Standish.”

  “Not likely.”

  Of course, now his mother would pipe up. “Oh come, son. Don’t you think it is high time you marry?”

  “Marry? High time?” He braced himself for more comments like this one, and for others, their heartless speculation about how his broken heart might one day mend barely endurable on a good day.

  They stopped at last in front of the church. Logan stepped out of the carriage, breathing the freedom of air in which no one was urging him to choose a wife, and then he turned to hand down his sister and mother.

  They each took an arm, and the three made their way into the church. He braced himself. She would be here somewhere, in the very church where he’d proposed like a lovesick ninny, a weak-lipped idiot. His gaze flicked to the front, the sanctuary where the vicar stood. If he looked closer, Logan would see the scratch in the stone, scuff marks, and a discoloration right where his knees had rested, where he held out his hand with his mother’s ring, and where Olivia had denied him.

  He looked away. Why relive such a moment? But his eyes flitted immediately to the back of the head of the other member of the memory. He knew it was her—even with the mobcap of the married, even with another man’s arm around her shoulders, he would know her anywhere.

  Logan resisted straining against his cravat. That would only leave an unwelcome space between his neck and the material, causing the whole knot to sag.

  With his sister and mother on each arm, he walked to the front of the church and sat in the third row, reserved for the Marquess of Dennison. He knew every eye was on him. He knew hers must be as well. And he knew he looked like the paragon he was. Lord Dennison, the Marquess of Dennison, Magistrate as well as Baron of Hampton, as well as an active member of the House of Lords, Whig leader, fashion paragon, and not to mention, overall charming person. He sat precisely, telling himself all the eyes on him was a good thing, and waited for the wedding to begin.

  Julia scooted as close as she could. “There they are.” In her lap, almost hidden by the folds of her skirts, her finger deftly pointed out a row of women to their front.

  He hadn’t yet looked at a single other person in the great cathedral. He meant to follow the direction of Julia’s finger to appease her and then glance away, but his attention was caught by the woman directly to his front. Her hair was lovely, dark, shiny. Each of the women on their row had magnificent hair, honestly. Evidence that they were no longer destitute relatives to be passed from one family to another was in their whole presentation. Their dresses were new, their gloves crisp and white. All women’s gloves were white, but they were only crisp for the first few months of wear.

  His attention returned to the woman directly at his front. Her neck. Lovely soft skin. The curls adorning her creamy skin were perfectly formed and looked as though they would spring back at his touch. And the piece at the top. She gave almost the impression of wearing a crown. And he was quite enchanted by her whole appearance. The neckline was lined with jewels and lace, and the braided effect of ribbon handled so expertly that his eyes naturally traced it. Well done. She had created a masterpiece. He must know her designer.

  His attention was pulled away by the beginnings of the ceremony. He braced himself for the hurt he knew would come.

  As soon as Lord Morley had agreed to love the new Lady Morley and none else as long as he lived on the earth, the congregation stood as the new, overly happy couple hurried down the aisle together and out to a crowd of cheering people.

  Logan murmured at the top of Julia’s head, “His cravat could have been something more creative. But her dress. It was perfection. I hope you took note.”

  Julia nodded as though she only half-heard. She’d begun chattering away with their mother about every person in the room.

  A set of eyes burned his side, and before he could stop himself, he turned, then cursed his distraction.

&
nbsp; Olivia stared large and doe-like eyes right at him.

  Her husband nodded his head, once.

  But her expression was almost soulful, asking. What did she want from him? He almost snorted. Nothing he was willing to give. He schooled his featured and looked away without any reaction. He had no mind to give attention to married women who had rejected all he had to offer.

  Two other women on the same row, with similar wistful expressions, eyed him. That was the trouble with weddings. It put every female mind in the mode of marrying. He’d best escape as soon as he dared.

  Logan forced his eyes to the front. Every sister in the row to his front had handkerchiefs out, dabbing their eyes. Their row moved to exit together while he waited. His gaze flickered to the woman with the fascinating hair. Her eyes were squarely on him, and when she had his attention, she curtseyed, watching him, before she followed her sisters.

  “She’s so beautiful,” Julia whispered at his side. “Which sister is that? She’s absolutely stunning. And that hair. Did you see she is wearing the very style that the plates suggest is coming next month? And the turn of her nose.”

  Julia’s voice continued in his ear, but it was lost as he had similar yet more elevated thoughts race around in his mind, disturbing his peace. Thoughts that were a risk to his happiness, thoughts that led men to do simplistic, half-crazed things like propose to women of her ilk. “Stop.”

  Julia paused mid-sentence. “Pardon me?”

  “She’s fine. She’s pretty. She’s just like every other woman here—cares nothing for anyone but herself, wrapped up in her own presentation, with probably naught but straw in her head.”

  Julia gasped, and then she turned to watch the sisters still moving their way out of the row.

  The very sister in question had stiffened, and her face colored with a blotchy pink. As she lifted her chin in the picture of defiance, Logan suspected she had heard him.

  “Oh no.”

  “Yes, she might have heard you, brother. Keep your bitter wool-gathering to yourself. Do you wish to hurt feelings?”

  “No. I don’t.” His heart clenched before he, too, raised his chin. “But if she wouldn’t pay such close attention where she is not acquainted, she wouldn’t be hearing things not meant for her ears.”

  Julia just shook her head. “I don’t know how you’re going to mend that, but you best. On the day of her sister’s wedding.” Her eyes bore into his.

  He knew she was correct. And he felt guilty, yes. But more than anything, he was annoyed at the inconvenience. He had been planning to spend his evening doing exactly as he pleased, parading his new jacket, embroidered for this very occasion.

  Chasing after a woman to help mend feelings that might not need mending had not been a part of his plans.

  “Let’s get you home before you punch something,” Julia said.

  “As if I ever punch things.”

  “Perhaps you should. Jacksons might be just the thing.”

  “Well, remind me when we have returned to London. Until then, I best keep myself firmer in control.”

  Her soft sigh made him study her face. “What is this?” Logan asked.

  “Or . . . Perhaps you need to let go . . . of things. I miss you—the real you.”

  He considered her words as they returned to their carriage. He supposed she was referring to Olivia. “Instead, I think I shall wear a new pair of slippers this evening.” They were colorful and pointy, and every person in the room would be shocked by them. He smiled. “Yes. That will be just the thing.”

  “If you say so.” She lifted her paper back up to her face. “At least it will give me something interesting to read about next week.”

  And something besides Olivia for him and all the others to talk about.

  Chapter Two

  Kate smiled and laughed with her sisters, trying desperately to not let the words of one man ruin what should be the happiest day of their lives so far. But ouch, his words stung. And echoed some of the reaction she received even from her sisters. No one considered her interest in fashion to be anything but frivolous. If she had spent the same amount of time gushing over needlepoint or painting, they would have cheered her talents, but fashion just felt inconsequential. To them.

  Little did they know she had begun this path as a way to keep them all from starvation. Bitterness tinged the air as she threw flower petals high into the sky.

  And of all people to make that comment. Lord Dennison? The fashion king of the ton? How dare he pass judgement. His cravat was nothing short of ridiculous. It was one thing to design a new knot that added to his appearance, and quite another to distract her eye from his appearance to focus solely on the space below his chin. If he were wise, he’d be drawing attention upward into his face. His jawline and on up to his strong nose and eyes . . .

  Her traitorous stomach leapt. No matter how handsome, his words had given window to his heart, and she wanted none of that. Whether or not she could learn from such a man, from his own ridiculous focus on fashion, she would watch from afar and send her opinion to Whims and Fancies in the morning.

  Her fingers itched to start drawing. Perhaps for the first time, she could do a satire. She laughed to herself as she imagined an overly large, towering mass of white bursting forth from below his chin. The next image of him, trying to see around the massive cravat in his face. Her laughter added to the joy around them, and Grace clung to her arm. “Isn’t this wonderful?!”

  “Yes. Oh, it really is.”

  June and Morley climbed into their carriage and waved. She blew kisses to the sisters. Kate wished to catch one and hold it close. “When do they return?” she asked.

  “Not for a month.” Grace’s pout immediately brought Kate’s arm across her shoulders.

  “We shall try to endure it.”

  “And is His Grace staying with us?”

  “I believe so. He and Amelia have said as much.”

  “Oh, I am pleased.”

  “And we have Charity.”

  They both turned to watch their sister. She was in high debate already about something with two men standing at her side.

  “Oh, dear. Perhaps we should make our way home?” Grace’s face pinched.

  “Yes, I do believe we should.” Kate laughed. “Nothing to worry about of course. This is our Charity.”

  A handsome man bowed over Lucy’s hand.

  “Who is that?” Grace was watching the same scene.

  “Is that . . .” Kate squinted.

  Charity joined them. “She’s done it. She’s finally met the almost Duke of Kently.”

  Kate studied him. “He’s not as finely dressed as I would have imagined.”

  “Of course, you’d say that.” Charity sniffed. “There are other things to care about than one’s manner of dress.”

  “I know, Charity. It is merely an observation.”

  Her words stung. But Kate tried to remember her words said more about Charity than Kate. The woman tried as hard as she could to diminish the importance of her own appearance for reasons Kate could not understand. But Charity loved fiercely, and Kate would stand by her no matter what she wore. She smiled. “Sisters. It’s just four now.”

  “Not forever. They’ll be back.” Grace frowned.

  They climbed into their new carriage. “Right. We haven’t lost a sister, just gained a brother.”

  Lucy joined them, breathless. “So they say. But surely, that’s true for us. Morley is excellent.”

  They started to move. Charity crossed her arms. “Tell us. You’ve met the almost duke.”

  “His name is Lord Tanner.”

  “But all that matters about him so far is his title.” Charity’s eyebrows rose in challenge.

  Lucy sighed. “I know.” She looked out the window and said nothing more. “I admit, he was not everything I’ve hoped.”

  “But he might grow on you.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Kate felt her energy rise. A few hours more, and they cou
ld make their entrance to the ball. “Sisters . . . ball gowns. They are exquisite. I cannot wait for everyone to see us.”

  Lucy moved closer to her. Grace and Charity smiled.

  Charity nodded. “I can’t wait for the duchesses to see us.”

  “That’s very vain-sounding for you, Charity.” Kate laughed.

  “You know how I feel about their nose-in-the-air condescension. I cannot abide one more meeting in our front room where we are counseled yet again on the blessing of our situation, that so many are interested in our well-being, and on and on.” She leaned forward. “I would imagine that thanks to Kate, we will be the most fashionable people at the ball.”

  Kate’s smile grew. “You will. We are wearing styles that will only begin to catch on midway through the season.”

  “It’s amazing how you keep up on all of this.” Lucy watched her. “How do you even know?”

  “I read the magazines.” She shrugged. “I pay attention. And once you’ve watched for long enough, you do have a sense of what’s coming.” And she created the expectation this time. With her fashion plates. It was remarkable, really. She couldn’t wait to see if others really did follow her fashion suggestions in Whims and Fancies.

  “And you have such a good eye. The dresses you chose, the fabric and colors. We will look better than we ever have.” Lucy’s compliment glowed inside Kate like a happy fire.

  “And June, too. She is the most beautiful bride.” Grace clasped her hands together.

  “Remember all the pieces and adjust your hair for tonight. I just want tonight to be a new beginning for us. The Sisters of Sussex are no longer someone’s poor relations. We are a force all by ourselves.”

  Charity reached for her hand across the carriage. “Thank you, Kate. I think you are correct. After tonight, we will be respected. We have to be.”

  “Just by looking at the guest list alone.” Lucy nodded. “This is the event of the year. Everyone has come to Brighton.”

  “I’m just happy I get to go.” Grace grinned. “And that none of you are thinking about getting married anytime soon.” She looked from sister to sister. “Are you?”