The fellow had been kind in commending him for his first cautious questions and the earl found himself wanting to rise a notch higher in the fellow’s esteem, perhaps even earn the man’s respect for his own capabilities. It would be a real challenge, for the standards would be high. But he looked forward to trying.
A packet from Pritchard & Sons containing their latest pamphlet lay by his teacup. Ignoring the sideboard set with steaming shirred eggs, fresh-baked bread and a platter ofYorkshire ham, he tore open the wrappings, his appetite whetted for ideas rather than any meal. With impatient fingers he paged back the thin newsprint cover and began to devour the words.
It was nearly midday before the earl had finished reading and rereading the long discourse. With a shake of his head, he sat back in his chair, full of admiration for both the author’s powerful thoughts and the elegant turn of his phrases. It was rather like being skewered by a sword of jeweled gold, he thought wryly, the glitter and color disguising a lethal sharpness. Why, the language was so richly wrought one could almost forget that the words were a slashing attack on the complacency of theton. He imagined there would be more than a few howls of outrage in the clubs tonight, as well as perhaps a few muted agreements.
Several of the references to other books had caught his attention. He consulted his pocket watch and decided he had just enough time to make their purchase before meeting up with Broadhurst and Wilton at Tattersall’s.
Augusta’s browpuckered as she looked over the notes in front of her. Each small pile was carefully sorted and arranged to document a certain facet of her argument, but on the last few ideas, she was still in need of a better reference. Muttering darkly under her breath, she put her pen down. There was no getting around it, she would have to pick up a few more volumes for her research.
Marianne’s head came up from the copy ofLa Belle Assembleshe was perusing. “What was that you said?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh yes you did. You said ‘damnation’ under your breath.” She repressed a chuckle. “Pray, do be careful Mama doesn’t hear you, else she will sink into a fit of vapors that could last a week.”
Augusta heaved a sigh. “I’m not quite so addlepated as that. It’s just that I had planned to spend the afternoon working and now I find I must go out. Do you wish to come along?”
Her sister shook her head. “I am to go out for a drive with Lord Symonds later and I should never have enough time to make myself ready. Besides, I want to finish choosing a style for the new ball gowns Mama wishes me to have.”
She paused for a moment to regard Augusta’s profile and the way the light filtering in from the window highlighted strong lines of her face and the golden flecks in her hazel eyes—which were now sparking with a flare of annoyance. “Come look at this one. It would look marvelous on you, what with your height and figure.”
Augusta brushed away a loose tendril of hair. “I have more than enough gowns,” she said absently as she rummaged in her desk for some other papers.
“Yes, all of which look perfectly dreadful since you paid not the slightest attention to their cut or color and let Mrs. Huston do as she wished.”
“Mrs. Hulston had been making my dresses since I was a child,” replied Augusta.
“That is precisely my point. The woman is a dear old thing but she has no eye for how you should be attired.”
“It hardly matters. It is you who need be concerned over such things, not me.”
Marianne’s brow creased. “You’re wrong, you know. I can see that gentlemen take notice of you, and if you would give them even half a chance …” Her finger traced over the elegant picture in front of her. “Why I couldn’t help but notice that even Lord Dunham continued to follow you with his eyes the other night,and everyone says he is a man whose interest does not usually lie with young misses.”
“Ha!” Augusta gave a snort. “He was merely trying to decide whether he could get away with pitching me headfirst over the balcony into the garden fountain. And anyway, the interest ofthatsort of man would hardly be flattering. He is exactly the sort of gentleman I find abhorrent—vain, shallow, and self-absorbed.“
“But surely there are others who you find of some interest,” persisted Marianne. “You seem to enjoy the conversation of Lord Harwich.”
“He, at least, has a sensible mind lurking beneath those carefully arranged curls,” she allowed. “But …” Augusta finished scribbling a list of things she needed and stood up.
Seeing that the discussion was at an end, Marianne returned to her original objective. “Why don’t you let me have some gowns made up for you as well? I know exactly what would suit you, and Madame Celeste’s workmanship is superb.”
Augusta stuffed the piece of paper in her pocket. “Oh, very well, if it pleases you.” She gave another sigh. “Enjoy your outing. No doubt Mama will have a host of errands for me, so I shall be not be back for ages.”
Indeed, she was not in the best of moods by the time she arrived at Hatchard’s book shop. Not only had the various stops for her mother taken more time than she had expected, but the conversation with Marianne had stirred up a number of unsettling feelings.
It wasn’t as if she were entirely immune to the attractions of the opposite sex, she mused, or that she wished to spend the rest of her days alone, or as the doting spinster aunt to Marianne’s future brood of children. It was just that the gentleman she knew who possessed a brain had little else to recommend them. While those whose other attributes might have caused her pulse toquicken always proved a bigger disappointment, what with their lack of wit or common sense. In short, all of them left her feeling lukewarm at best.
Other ladies, Marianne included, seemed to have no trouble finding men over whom they could wax enthusiastic. Were her own standards really so impossibly high?
The carriage rolled to a halt and she forced aside such glum thoughts. Leaving her maid at the front of the shop to search out a few popular titles for Marianne, Augusta made her way among the tall shelves to hunt for an obscure work from one of the Frenchphilosophes. Twenty minutes later her arms were full of books, but the one she desired still had not been located. Eyes glued to the very top row of offerings, she rounded the corner in a hurry, anxious to find it and be done.
Whoomph.
The collision nearly knocked her off her feet, but she managed to grab hold of the edge of the polished wood shelf. The gentleman was not so fortunate. He was sent crashing to the floor, along with the assorted volumes that Augusta had been carrying. One rather large book caught him a sharp clip on the head as he made to sit up.
“Hell and damnation,” he muttered, rubbing at his scalp. When his eyes came up, another word followed, though he spoke it low enough that she couldn’t quite make it out.
There was, however, no mistaking the look of annoyance in his glare.
