Sir John appeared disdainful of a happy temperament and Kitty was sorry for it. Lord Grayson might be an intellectual buffoon, but hewasalways 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 later,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. Hehadbecome 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 Johnwassuperior 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 lethimself 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 hedidhave was a sharp intellect, and that must be his entrée into the ton.
He had become, to his satisfaction, one of those gentlemen who was always included on the larger guest lists and even some of the more intimate soirees such as musical evenings, card parties, and dinners. He was not conceited enough to conclude that this was a result of any personal charm, but that he had the most shining endorsements a man could have—a title, though it was foreign, the ability to speak creditably on a variety of subjects and, most importantly, he was unmarried.
He bent down to start the fire the charwoman had laid. Once the flames began to lick the kindling, he settled himself into the chair in front of it. He picked up the small book that lay on a side table and thumbed through it. Its binding was worn and soft, and it was the only book in the house. It was the only book he required—the remarkable diary that outlined every outrage that had been done to men like him.
As he read this page and then that page, all of them as familiar as his own hand, he contemplated the future. Soon enough, he’d find himself very comfortable. He would be the master of his own house, and the master of servants so plentiful that he would not blink without something being fetched for him. Most interestingly, he would be the master of his wife and the bane of his father-in-law’s existence.
That he knew who that wife would be had been settled before he’d even arrived to town. It had been no great decision, it was as if the gods had arranged it all for him. He had studiously laid the groundwork over the past two years. Now, he was approaching the crucial months and nothing must get in his way.
As he understood his faults fairly well, he reviewed all that had occurred since the start of the season. He was prone to prickliness and not very skilled at hiding it. Grayson had provoked him and he had provoked back, though it did not particularly serve his purpose. He was all but certain that book of poetry originated on Lamu, but he found he could not allow Grayson to claim the victory. He must not be so self-indulgent!
As well, he was not naturally a romantic and he did not think he had fared very well in those efforts so far. In truth, he could not even measure those efforts they had been so little. He must try harder.
There was work to be done, refinements to be made. He would make them. His plan would not fail.
He would succeed, where another had not. A certain old man would smile down from the heavens when all that Sir John Kullehamnd had accomplished was revealed. That it was likely that nobody else would be smiling was not Sir John’s concern.
*
It was tobe a night in for the Dell family. The baroness had insisted that, as busy as the season was, there must be one night a week when they all gathered together. She was of the opinion that a weekly dinner would be the glue that held them all together.
Kitty had not been surprised by it; her mother liked nothing more than to have her flock gathered round her. Nor was Kitty surprised by her father’s acquiescence to the plan—he counted on his wife to be the sensible dictator of he and his children and would never think to imagine he knew better than she on such a matter. He might prefer to be left on his own with a book in one hand and port in the other, but he knew that it was not prudent to always be left to his own devices. His wife’s instincts on these matters were always more reliable.
In truth, nobody was opposed to the dictate of a weekly night in, not even Frederick. As much as he loved his club, Dell family dinners were invariably interesting and often jolly.
The wine had been poured and the first course had just gone round. Lady Penderton said, “Kitty and I happened upon an interesting bit of news while calling on Mrs. Herschel the other day.”
“Mrs. Herschel?” Lord Penderton said. “I would not have thought the learned lady one to engage in idle gossip.”
Kitty hid her smile, her father thought absolutely every piece of news was idle gossip. Unless it interested him, in which case it was simply news.
Lady Penderton did not bother to hide her smile. “It’s to do with the Royal Society, my love. Apparently, there is a viper in their midst.”
Lord Penderton laid down his fork. “A viper, you say? Now that is something worth knowing. Who is the fellow? We’ll have him to dine.”
“Thatis the amusing part of the story,” Lady Penderton said. “Nobody knows who he is, they are at sixes and sevens over it.”
“They say, papa, that he is another John Hill,” Kitty said. “Mrs. Herschel told us that, long ago, a man called John Hill embarrassed the society terribly.”
“Hah!” Lord Penderton cried. “Another John Hill. That is famous! He was a thorn in everybody’s side.”
“You know the story, then?” Kitty asked.
“What story?” Frederick said, looking back and forth at his father and Kitty.
