Bemmy led her through to the bell-ringing chamber and then up the stone steps to the top of the tower. There were two windows, side by side, and they dashed over to them.
A crowd of men gathered round an exceedingly tall gentleman. Even from this distance Caroline noted his sloping forehead, exaggerated aquiline nose and ears that appeared to be pointing in two different directions. He was not a handsome man but a very well put together one, tall and broad-shouldered, and he seemed to have a presence that drew men to him. Caroline could not name what that presence was, exactly, but her father had it too.
None of the men were in their coats or waistcoats, having thrown them off to waiting grooms and footmen.
Caroline scanned the gentlemen—there was Lord Alvanley, and there his friend Lord Pierrepoint. A few of the gentlemen she did not know. The Regent had set himself on a sturdy chair to view the proceedings, a range of servants standing by to fetch him whatever was needed. And then, there was Lord Bertridge.
He too wore only a shirt and Caroline thought it suited him very well. His casual attire softened him, or hardened him, she could not tell which. It just made him…less a stick.
“Your Lord Bertridge holds up well amongst them,” Bemmy said.
“He is notmyLord Bertridge, Bemmy,” Caroline said.
“That’s a right shame,” Bemmy said. “He’s a looker and a lord, what else could you be huntin’ for?”
“For one thing,” Caroline said in as scolding a tone as she could muster, “I am nothuntingfor anything.”
“Ain’t you?” Bemmy asked. “I thought that was what all proper ladies do. They hunt around for a husband.”
“Well, of course, I will eventually marry…” Caroline said, trailing off.
“But he ain’t good enough?” Bemmy asked.
Caroline looked down at Lord Bertridge, his hands on his hips and expression full of concentration. “He’s a bit of a stick, you see. At least it seems so. I cannot make him out and I cannot like that I cannot make him out.”
Bemmy snorted. “Now if he werebeatin’you with that stick, I could understand your complaint.”
Caroline had to admit that Lord Bertridge did not look very like a stick at the moment. “You know, Bemmy, I have held a suspicion that Lord Bertridge might be hiding his real nature under the façade of being a stick.”
“Ah hah,” Bemmy said, “and was you to find it out, then you might be interested after all.”
“No, no, I do not say that,” Caroline said hurriedly. “In any case, it would hardly matter what I thought. Lord Bertridge takes no interest in me whatsoever. If anything, I believe he rather disapproves of me.”
Bemmy did not appear to understand that idea at all. “You are a pretty lady with a lord as a father. God in heaven, what do fancy people want out of life? The rest of us see somebody the right age and with a little coin in their pocket, look each other over, and say, fair enough, let’s amble on to the church.”
Caroline did not dwell on this alarming picture long, as Mr. Jackson had given the gentlemen some direction or other and they were moving off in pairs.
They seemed to be practicing stances and it was not very exciting. “I suppose there will not be much to see, after all,” Caroline said.
“I don’t know about that,” Bemmy said. “It’s a warm day already, noon is on its way, and there ain’t a sea breeze stirring. I expect shirts off in the next half hour.”
As it happened,Bemmy was right. Mr. Jackson put the men through their paces, and Caroline could see that their shirts began to cling to them from perspiring under the hot sun. Lord Alvanley struggled out his shirt first and the rest, seeing the Regent did not seem opposed, followed suit.
Despite the many shirtless gentlemen in her line of sight, Caroline could not take her eyes off Lord Bertridge. He was powerfully built and had seemed to throw off his very buttoned up persona. He was rather magnificent, a Greek God could not look more masculine.
“Are you sure you can’t like him?” Bemmy asked, leaning a little further out the window. “I, myself, would ignore any little parts of his nature I found irritating and just think about what he looks like.”
“Bemmy!” Caroline said. “I am sure you should not talk that way.” Though she claimed she was sure, she also could not ignore that her own thoughts had been drifting in the same direction for a moment. Only a moment, though. And only because he was so very handsome.
Was Bemmy right? Could she ignore that he was a stick? Or could she hope that on further acquaintance he was not such a stick? Her idea that there might be a wilder version of Lord Bertridge had begun to waver over the days, mostly because of how often he seemed to disapprove of hernotacting the stick.
Who was he really? Caroline sighed, thinking she might never know.
Lord Bertridge had paused in his practice. He shaded his eyes. And he looked at the tower. Then he leaned forward and squinted.
Caroline grabbed Bemmy’s hand and pulled her away from the window. “He’s seen us! Bemmy, he’s seen us up here!
Bemmy fell into a fit of laughter over the idea.
