After she and Mrs. Herschel had thoroughly discussed her experiments, and likely for far longer than Frederick had patience for, Mr. Lackington had ordered tea brought in. Kitty, Mr. Lackington, and Mrs. Herschel spoke of books and flew from one topic to the next. Mr. Lackington, who was turning out to be a dear and considerate gentleman, soon realized that the conversation had left Frederick far behind. After asking her brother a suitable number of questions to uncover his interests and quickly discerning his primary interest to be the management of his father’s estate, Mr. Lackington spoke to him about how nitrogen in the soil affected harvests and how one might adopt the method of convertible husbandry to capitalize on it. Frederick was so cheered by the turn of conversation that he ended leaving with a book on the subject.
What society she’d kept yesterday afternoon! Everything had been stimulating and new.
That a particular encounter with a particular condescending gentleman kept intruding on these happy memories was unfortunate, but she did not allow them to linger long. Lord Grayson might have looked wickedly handsome on horseback, but as soon as he started talking the illusion collapsed.
“Kitty,” her mother said, seated across from her in the carriage, “you seem a thousand miles away, and have done since yesterday.”
“It’s Mrs. Herschel’s doing,” Frederick said. “Though you would hope my sister’s head would be turned by some single gentleman, it has been turned by the lady astronomer.”
“No more than your own head turned upon meeting Tom Cribb,” Kitty said. “You blathered on about it for months. Even poor Miss Crimpleton had tired of it.”
“Cribb is a renowned pugilist!” Frederick cried. In a lower voice, he said, “Did Miss Crimpleton really complain of it?”
Kitty patted his hand, sorry she had dragged Miss Crimpleton into it. “No, she did not. I should not have said it. You might talk to Miss Crimpleton about Mr. Cribb’s defensive stance for months on end and she would do nothing but admire.”
Frederick appeared entirely mollified by this theory and Kitty hoped he would not actually take up the idea.
“Kitty, dear,” the baroness said, “do remember that there are hours and hours in the day to think of Mrs. Herschel, but only the next hours to think of this ball. I know your rational mind will understand me.”
Her rational minddidunderstand her mother. She must keep up her end of the bargain. She had been to Lackington and Allen. She would go many more times while she was in town. She and the baroness had been invited to call on Mrs. Herschel on Tuesday. That was all lovely, but now she must turn her thoughts to the matter at hand.
It was no small matter, either. As much as she’d like to live as an intellect, she must marry. She was no Mrs. Herschel. She would not receive a royal pension. And, while she might have the means to live independently as a spinster, she did not wish to.
She wished to have children and had already mapped out their education, whether they be boy or girl. Especially for a girl. Though, even a boy would not be sent away to school. She had seen the result of that particular education well enough. Lord Grayson had done it all, right through Oxford, and left with nothing. Even her own brother, while not quite as empty-headed, had likely spent most of his school days on wagers and wine.
Aside from children, she wished to be of society, and spinsters were always forgotten. Though she liked to spend hours upon hours reading and thinking, a lively dinner at the end of it was always welcome. She would not like to imagine herself, sometime in future, ordering a tray to her room so as not to get underfoot of the mistress of Frederick’s household.
To say that a lady was on the shelf was no exaggeration. A spinster became that piece of porcelain sitting in some corner cabinet that had been there so long that nobody really sees it anymore. If, one day, that porcelain is broken and swept away, people are left with only vague ideas that there used to be something there at all.
She wished to have her own house and had particular ideas of having a room dedicated to her telescope and her microscope.
All of this required a husband. The husband was necessary, though he felt somewhat superfluous to the whole scheme. She harbored some grand hopes, though. She might meet some gentleman who had her own penchant for exploring ideas and learning new things and might also be pleasant to look at. He need not be an Adonis, only pleasant in the middling way.
In any case, she could not deny that she liked dancing. There was nothing intellectual in it, society gained nothing from it, but she adored it all the same. Like the soft velvets and rounded corners in her bedchamber, some things just suited her. She ought not scold herself over it.
And then, she looked forward to seeing Penny this night, as her friend had written that she would attend the ball. Lady Cabot and her husband were in town on some sort of horse business and she had not seen her since their marriage. Kitty had been invited to Dorset more than once, but the baroness had forbid her to go. Her mother had said the first months of a marriage would set the tone for the rest of it and the couple should be left on their own to discover it.
Kitty was determined to enjoy herself this evening. Her mother was right, there were other hours in the day to contemplate Mrs. Herschel or any other serious matter. Now was a time for levity and enjoyment.
If a certain dashing gentleman insisted on putting his name down on her card, she was determined to appreciate his looks by studiously ignoring anything idiotic he might say. Her stomach might flutter all it liked.
“Ah, here we are,” the baroness said. “It is to be the usual crush, I see.”
Chapter Three
Though Kitty hadbeen to a smaller ball at Newmarket, and several exceedingly small dances in private houses in Devon, this was her first encounter with a large London ball. In truth, it might well be the largest ball of the season.
The baroness had told her the Bergrams were an inoffensive kind of people. The sort one never thinks about until an invitation is delivered or one is composing the list for a large party. As they were neither reviled nor held in particular esteem by anybody, they were vague friends with everybody. And, as they had an enormous ballroom and gave very good dinners, all of London accepted their invitations.
They had finally entered the house, paid tribute to their host and hostess, and deposited their outer coats in the cloak room.
The crush of people already in the ballroom nearly overwhelmed Kitty.
“Never fear,” the baroness said in Kitty’s ear, “half these people will make their way to the card rooms when the music strikes up. As will I—Mrs. Cheldup insists I partner her at whist and goodness knows she needs somebody to hold up the other side of the table. I will not bet high, as I know I will lose every single pound of it.”
Kitty smiled at the mention of Mrs. Cheldup. She was a sprightly and friendly lady who made up for her rather dim understanding of everything, including whist, by her charming joy in life. No amount of failures at the card table could dampen the lady’s spirits.
Frederick said, “Jost is here. I will go and say hello.”
