Though it was a lovely room, with rare books carefully placed under glass and large bow windows overlooking the square, Kitty could settle her eyes nowhere. She was to finally meet Mr. Lackington.
Frederick had a cursory look at the books under glass, quietly sighed, and took himself to the window.
Kitty turned as she heard the door open.
Mr. Lackington was a smartly dressed gentleman in his middle age, only an ink-smudge on one of his cuffs giving away his profession. To Kitty’s surprise, he was accompanied by a very tiny older lady in dark bombazine, her small head topped off by a frilled a lace cap. Kitty presumed it was Mr. Lackington’s mother and supposed it was a particular honor that he should bring her.
“Miss Dell! Mr. Dell!” Mr. Lackington said, coming forward to greet them.
Kitty said, “How pleased I am to finally meet you in person, Mr. Lackington.”
“The pleasure is mine, I can assure you,” Mr. Lackington said gallantly. “I have received your letters with much eagerness over the past two years.”
Kitty blushed, wholly unused to anybody beyond her father remarking that the ideas she’d written about so fervently were particularly interesting.
“Your visit could not have been better timed,” Mr. Lackington said, “as I would wish to introduce you to this lady. She has been most interested in my tales of a learned young women from Devon. May I present Mrs. Caroline Herschel.”
“Mrs. Herschel,” Frederick said, bowing. “Delighted.”
Kitty sunk into a curtsy low enough for the Queen, herself. Caroline Herschel! The famed astronomer. The discoverer of comets. The only female scientist to ever receive a royal pension. Caroline Herschel was being introduced to insignificant Kitty Dell. While the lady was shorter than Kitty by more than a foot, she was a veritable giant in astronomy.
“Miss Dell,” Mrs. Herschel said, her English tinted with a slight German accent, “I am gratified to know that a young lady pursues scientific interests. Of course, we are all capable of it, but so few women dare to explore. Though, I am familiar with your father’s work and so I should not be surprised.”
“Mrs. Herschel,” Kitty said, “I am honored, well, I am near overwhelmed, you are, well of course you know—”
“None of that, please,” Mrs. Herschel said kindly. She held out her arm and said, “Now do walk with me and tell me how you confirmed the hemi-parasitic properties of Cornish eyebright.”
As Kitty took the lady’s arm, all thought of Mr. Lackington flown from her, she heard Frederick say quietly, “God, the eyebright again.”
*
Giles remounted hishorse and watched Miss Dell disappear into Lackington and Allen. He had been very surprised to spot her on a London street and his address to her had been exceedingly clumsy. How stupid not to have instantly noted that the lady so interested in books stood in front of the largest bookstore in town. Had he taken a moment to think about it, he might have casually strolled in and encountered her there. He might even have claimed she’d awakened an interest in books in him via their fascinating conversations at Newmarket. There was little a lady liked better than to believe she had affected some positive change in a gentleman. Men were never appreciated more than when they revealed themselves to be clay in a woman’s hands.
But no, he’d been rash about it and had not even stopped to compose himself before throwing himself in front of her. And her brother.Thatperson clearly took only the most cursory care with his dress. Giles supposed the fellow would think of himself as a man’s sort of man—pretending to hardly care what he looked like. It was the height of posing, as absolutely everybody cared how they appeared. Dalton was of that devil-may-care ilk, but let him find a stain on a particular coat he was set on and very suddenly the devil cared very much.
Giles admitted to himself that he’d not been very clever on his first approach since their meetings at Newmarket. But then, she was so very pretty and when he’d seen her, that marvelous dark hair, those lively features. He could not help…well, there was no use analyzing the thing. He must just do better when he saw her next.
He began to get a sinking feeling as he trotted toward Destin’s to meet Cabot. It was not only that he’d been rather uninspired in his speech. She had been downright dismissive! Lord Grayson was to be nothing in comparison to the shopkeeper that awaited her inside.
He attempted to cheer himself with the idea that she would not be so entranced by endless stacks of literature when the balls and parties began. In fact, the Bergrams’ ball was on the morrow and certainly she would attend. He had it on good authority that Miss Dell’s mother, Lady Penderton, was a longstanding acquaintance of Lady Bergram. That most of London was a longstanding acquaintance of Lady Bergram seemed beside the point.
He leapt off his horse in front of Destin’s and strode inside to find Cabot.
The club wasmore casual than White’s, and a deal more pleasant. Destin’s was a young man’s club and Marty Destin was a young proprietor. One might find any sort of bet to lay a wager on, take a room for the night, or have a good dinner when nothing else was on offer. However, what one wouldnotfind at Destin’s was the old guard haunting its halls. Particularly the old guard that was just now engaged in a solemn pact to get their sons married.
Giles strode up to the table at the bow windows, Cabot already having commandeered it for them.
“So,” he said to his friend, “here you are leaving your bride behind in the countryside already?”
Lord Cabot laughed. “Do not be ridiculous,” he said. “I would not very well visit Tattersall’s without Lady Cabot. Of course she has come with me.”
Giles took the coffee Marty Destin had silently supplied the table with. “I do not see why she should have come. A lady cannot visit Tattersall’s anyway. What does she do, stay in the carriage while you conduct your business?”
Cabot’s brow wrinkled. “Grayson, my wife is not an ordinary lady. She is Mendbridge’s daughter. She walks into the subscription room whenever she likes and nobody dares say a word about it.”
Giles should have known as much. Miss Darlington, now to be known as Lady Cabot, had never followed any particular rules when it came to horses. She’d always been given latitude as the daughter of the revered Lord Mendbridge. Giles remembered nearly unseating himself from his horse the first time she’d sailed by at an alarming pace, smartly driving her own Hooper High Flyer.
“I must know, are the rumors true that the lady rode your filly for the thousand guinea stakes at Newmarket?” Giles asked.
