Convince Parliament that the East India Company was an ally, not a threat.
Convince Katherine Aurora Grenville to marry me, and thus secure my inheritance.
After tonight, I wasn’t certain which task would prove harder.
6:Kitty
We are too young to realize that certain things are impossible.... So we will do them anyway.
WILLIAM WILBERFORCE
I found myself perched across from the loathsome Sebastian Sinclair in Grandfather’s landau the morning after the heated dinner conversation. Edward sat beside me, determined to play the proper chaperone as we glided through the bustling streets of London. When I probed him about his studies, he merely shrugged, leaving me to wonder if perhaps he would end up in further trouble with Grandfather by the end of the month.
How I wished we could have invited Fredericka to join us in town, but the mention of my dearest friend made my brother flash me an irritated look.
I settled into the leather seat and adjusted my lace gloves. Edward took in my attire with a raised eyebrow. Eschewing the traditional frosted colors young women wore in London, I had instead chosen a severe burgundy gown with a higher neckline—the whole thing hideous and unflattering. And why shouldn’t I dress in such a manner, especially when Grandfather had denied me a season? I carried the hefty Herscheltome beneath one arm, determined to play the role of a bluestocking and frighten the man intended to be my husband. A pity I hadn’t a lorgnette to appear squinty-eyed.
Mr. Sinclair glanced at the book on my lap. “Astronomy?”
“Yes,” I stated boldly in my effort to repel him completely. “Particularly, I’m interested in charting the stars. Nothing thrills me more than the study of comets trailing in the night sky.”
His eyebrow quirked in response. Today he wore his hair in that dreadful queue again with one annoying strand dangling over an eyebrow like a highwayman, and his coat didn’t hide his broad shoulders, even if the cut was stiffer than the styles currently favored. Didn’t he realize his brocade waistcoat was four years out of date? And that cravat—it was far too tight and formal now that Lord Byron’s rumpled fashion had taken London by storm.
Evidently Mr. Sinclair didn’t care about dated attire. My plan to be as unattractive as possible may not be as clever as I had hoped.
“Do you care for books, Mr. Sinclair?” I asked as I clutched my volume the way a warrior might position a shield.
“I can’t say I delve into the sciences,” he answered after a pause.
Edward shifted in his seat with a grin. “Mr. Sinclair is a man of action, Kit. Do not hound him so. Last night we discussed his fencing prowess. He’s studied under some of the best instructors in Europe, haven’t you, Sinclair?”
A man of action? A man who preferred the sword to the book?
I arched a brow. “Ideas travel further than any sword can reach, Mr. Sinclair.”
Edward chuckled at my answer, but a tiny frown formed in the center of Mr. Sinclair’s brow. Good. Let him know I intended to prove a handful to discourage him from any notions of marriage.
“Step lively, Mr. Sinclair. I daresay most men cannot keep up withmy sister’s intellect. She is far too clever for most of them.” My brother smirked.
I remembered how Edward had challenged me to simply say no to others. But he did not understand what I, as a young woman, stood to lose by doing so.
Throughout the sleepless night, I had clung to the thought of Lord Chudley and his connections to the Herschels. Edward had mentioned that Lord Chudley’s father had recently died and the young lord now commanded his own estate. I couldn’t decide what distracted me more—the attention of a handsome man unburdened by parental oversight, or the chance to speak in person with one of the greatest minds in astronomy. I craved a diversion, considering my glum spirits.
Mr. Sinclair tugged at his cravat as if it strangled him. “I daresay the world needs men who do something other than sit in their libraries, smoking their pipes as they pontificate about the world.”
Ah. There was the arrogant, chubby-cheeked boy I remembered.
I glared at him, attempting to ignore how his face appeared more chiseled than my old memory of him, and failing. “Perhaps if the so-called men of actionreadmore, they would be less inclined to make a mess of our world.”
Mr. Sinclair’s lips pinched to a white line.
Success! My insult had clearly touched a nerve. But instead of responding in kind or offering a fawning response, he motioned for my book. “May I look?”
I handed it to him, his fingers brushing against mine, and an odd shiver traveled up my arm.
We were nearly at our destination. He would likely glance at the cover and hand it immediately back to me.
However, when the carriage ground to a halt, he had opened the book and begun perusing the introduction. The introduction! Edwardbarely ever did so, preferring to skip to the heart of the book and sometimes, dash him, even read the ending first.
