“But they are,” Crackwilder said. “What did you imagine they would be?”
“I cannot say, but really, Crackwilder?” Giles said. He pulled a paper from the stack. “Look at this one,” he said. “An account of the feet of those animals whose progressive motion can be carried on in opposition to gravity.”
“Yes,” Crackwilder said. “What of it?”
“It is about how house flies land on walls without falling off! And this, the formation of fat in the intestine of a tadpole! Or how about, an examination of fossil remains of a rhinoceros at Plymouth! Or a description of the teeth of a dolphin!”
“The society’s members have varying interests,” Crackwilder said, shifting in his chair.
“And this is the sort of thing Miss Dell is interested in?” Giles asked, incredulous.
“Apparently so,” Crackwilder said. “In any case, it is of no importance whether or not you are interested in a subject, only that you have read the latest research on it.”
“So you are telling me,” Giles said, “that there are fellows who spend their days contemplating such things? Staring at a house fly and wondering why it does not fall off the wall? And that these gentlemen are respected for their observations?”
“Yes.”
“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! What a waste of life! This author, this fool, Everard Home, had been better to call a footman to kill the fly thereby giving him some time to read Shakespeare!I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.”
“Richard II?” Crackwilder asked.
“Indeed,” Giles said. “And why are some of his papers signed Mr. Home and some signed Lord Home? Is he a recent?”
“Very recent. Titled less than two years ago. In any case, I did not think these papers would suit you,” Crackwilder said. “If there were a Royal Society of reading Shakespeare or the romantics, or even Miss Austen I suspect, you would be its president. But scientific observations will never be for you. Therefore, Miss Dell will never be for you.”
Giles crumpled the corner of the paper in his hand. “Nonsense, Crackwilder. I can learn all about flies walking on walls if I must.”
*
Kitty had dressedin her most subdued gown—a pale blue organza with simple trimmings. This evening was the Countess of Thornbridge’s ball and the baroness had thoroughly briefed Kitty on what was certain to be a very odd affair.
The countess had a peculiar interest in the ton’s lineage. It was said she even employed a genealogist to document histories and that she had no interest whatsoever in people she termedrecently arrived.She was determined to make matches between suitably old families and held the ball every year to accomplish just that. As her idea of suitably old was very, very old, the ball would be exceedingly small and awkward.
The baroness said it was only their own bad luck that Lord Penderton’s family had been barons since the fifteenth century and the baroness’ own family reached just as far back. While it would be an affair happily skipped, the countess was known to hold a grudge for as long as the ancient histories she admired.
Frederick had sent a note claiming a serious illness the season before, and this year he wriggled this way and that with every excuse he could think up, to no avail. Both he and Kitty would attend, and console themselves that it was only one evening.
As they waited in the line of carriages proceeding to the lady’s door, that line being short as so few people qualified to attend, Frederick said, “My friend Jost is always forced to come. He told me there is a lady named Miss Blaise who turns up every year, has alarming fish eyes, and will swim toward a gentleman like a carp after a minnow.”
“Frederick,” the baroness said scoldingly.
“It is true, though,” Frederick said. “Jost says he was lucky the past two rounds as Miss Blaise had her sights set on Lord Ashworth, but now that he’s married, nobody knows who she will turn her big eyes to.”
“Aside from your terror of Miss Blaise, does Jost say anything of the gentlemen who will attend?” Kitty asked.
She was certain she would not see Sir John at the ball, a foreign title would not do for the countess. What she was not certain of was whether she was disappointed over it. On the one hand, she enjoyed conversing with the gentleman and could only be satisfied with his recognition of her scholarship.Hedid not treat her like an empty head. On the other hand, he did not set her heart fluttering or her palms or cheeks warm. How she wished that he did! He was precisely what she looked for—comely enough, learned, and willing to engage her intellectually.
“All I know about the gentlemen who will come,” Frederick said, “is there is never enough of them. I shall be on my feet all night. At least, that’s what Jost says.”
“Perhaps Jost,” the baroness said, “might keep his thoughts to himself from time to time. The evening is not likely to be filled with merriment, but one does one’s duty.”
“Father does not,” Frederick said. “He’s home snug in his library with a book.”
“Your father,” the baroness said sternly, “has his own duties to accomplish. Considering the prosperousness of the family’s estate, you can have nothing to object to.”
Kitty hid a smile. Frederick should have known better than to complain of what Lord Penderton chose to do. His wife would defend him to her dying breath.
“Good God,” Frederick said, peering out the carriage window. “There’s Grayson just getting off his horse. It is a miracle he arrives at all—his neckcloth appears to have taken a thousand years to compose.”
