I Thee Wed (26 page)

Francesca heard a clatter outside the window. She hurried across the room to peer from behind the drawn draperies. The well-dressed threesome was heading off to a celebratory evening, Sir Geoffrey in the Coat, Judith in her signature pale blue silk, and Orion stiff and proper in his formal attire.

Sir Geoffrey was the only one who looked happy.

Francesca resumed her work on the trunk. She carefully folded the dark brown gabardine gown, followed by the
too-large rose gown. Next went an olive green gown. She would wear the light brown gown and brown spencer for her journey. She had packed all her other belongings earlier—her shifts, aprons, hair ribbons, books, and cotton stockings. Rising, she made one last glance around the room for anything she might have overlooked.

The large and vividly blue quill was exactly where she had left it, on the writing desk on the far wall. She would not take it. She was leaving England without anything to remind her of Orion Worthington or of the girl who had arrived with a head full of fantasies.

That girl was gone forever.

J
UDITH lingered outside the door to the presentation room of the Royal Fraternity of Life Sciences. The hallway of Somerset House was filled with milling members, all wearing their sashes of rank. General membership, known as the Brothers, wore a white silk band slanting across the chest, while the ranking members, the Speakers and the Keepers, wore the blood red of the Cross of Saint George.

There were a few wives present and even a few thick-skinned women of science, defiantly displaying their honorary membership sashes of garish green silk, so Judith's solitary presence did not cause comment.

From the snippets of conversation she heard, the Brothers were very interested in hearing the annual presentation of the First Speaker, Sir Geoffrey Blayne. Judith kept her distaste to herself, projecting only the serene acceptance of the honor of being the daughter of the Great Man.

Papa had already disappeared into the presentation hall. He likely thought she had entered just behind him, but she had slipped away at an opportune moment. She had not come
here tonight to see her father steal yet another discovery.

She had come to see Asher Langford.

Asher was not a member, but his father was, and entry was never denied to promising scions of accomplished members. Now, as she fidgeted nervously with her reticule, Judith wondered if Asher would even come.

He hadn't actually said he planned to attend—but then, he always came when he knew she was going to accompany her father!

“If ever a man would be happy to assist you in your quest to be kissed brainless, it is Asher Langford.”

How strange knowledge was. Once something was known, it could not be unknown, no matter how one might wish. Ever since Francesca had told Judith that Asher had feelings for her, Judith had been able to think on nothing else. She'd realized in that moment that she
wanted
to be kissed by Asher Langford. How had she not seen it all this time?

Suddenly, the Asher of the past stood in an entirely new light. In this hope-tinged glow, Asher's constant attendance on her was tinted with affection. His chronic inability to speak was shadowed with fear and highlighted with longing.

His dear face suddenly seemed handsome to her, and his tall, broad-shouldered form most pleasing to her mind's eye.

But Asher was not here. It was only minutes from the time to seat the assembled Brothers, and she could not see Asher's fair hair and manly shoulders anywhere.

Her eyes began to sting with disappointment, although she would never dream of letting on in public. What was she doing? In an hour, her engagement to Orion Worthington would be publicly announced, and there would be no getting out of it without hideous damage to her reputation.

Mr. Worthington seemed to have no such reservations. Despite Francesca's claims that he did not love Judith, he had seemed quite unruffled during the carriage ride down the Strand. When Papa had informed them that he meant to announce the engagement immediately on taking the podium,
Orion had mildly opined that Sir Geoffrey's opponents might take such a seemingly random announcement as a sign of mental confusion. He ought to make his presentation first, then segue into the announcement.

Judith didn't care if the announcement was made sooner rather than later. What did it matter? She had this one moment, before she was betrothed, before she would need to keep to a promise of fidelity, to steal a single moment of passion to sustain her for a lifetime!

But Asher had missed it.

With her shoulders sagging, she turned to follow the queue of members lining up to enter the presentation hall. When she left that hall again, she would be formally engaged. She was no wanton. She would cleave to the man she made oath to until the day death parted them.

The man who was not Asher.

“M-Miss Blayne!”

Joy swept her. By the time she swiveled on her toes to spy his dear face coming through the crowd, her heart had risen from the floor to the sky.

A smile broke through her usual reserve. Asher blinked and his jaw dropped. He came to a standstill as he gazed at her in shock.

Judith's floating heart gave wings to her feet. She darted forward and took Asher's hand in hers. Without hesitation, she drew him aside from the teeming members into a side chamber off the main room.

Only a heavy velvet curtain separated the chamber from the hall. She knew from her father's boasting that sometimes the Prince Regent came to listen to the Speakers. A chamber like this would be lavishly but temporarily decorated as a retiring room, stocked with wine and tidbits, on the off chance that the fickle Prinny would actually arrive.

Tonight the room was bereft of anything but privacy, which made it perfect for Judith's purpose.

Asher stood very still. His hand was lax in hers. He did
not pull away, but neither did he hold on to her.

“M-Miss Blayne?”

Judith found herself suddenly inhibited. What if Francesca was wrong? Her cousin did tend toward the fanciful. Oh goodness, she was making a terrible fool of herself, wasn't she?

I don't care. I'd rather be a fool for a moment than a stranger to passion for the rest of my life
.

“Mr. Langford—Asher—” Judith took a breath. Leaping before one looked was harder than it seemed. “Do you care for me, Asher?”

Asher paled. His hand slipped from hers. He swallowed hard.

And said nothing.

Judith felt bitter disappointment rise within her. He was gazing at her as if he'd never seen her before. Her entire being screamed at her to step back, to dissemble, to cover her error before it was too late, before she embarrassed herself beyond redemption.

What would Francesca do?

The thought had barely crossed the border of her mind before she took a single step forward, went up on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to Asher's.

He went shock-still for a second. Then his strong arms wrapped about her and pulled her tight to his big body. When Judith gasped at the power of his embrace, he delved between her parted lips with potent need and longing.

Asher had always been a man of few words. For the first time, Judith realized that it was because Asher's lips were meant for finer things.

So this is what it means to be kissed brainless . . .

*   *   *

O
RION WATCHED CALMLY
as his former mentor expounded upon his own greatness.

“I'll take the Royal Fraternity by storm, see if I won't! Ha!” Sir Geoffrey threw out his hands as he paced his retiring
room, the one reserved for the First Speaker alone. “I can't wait to see the expression on that sniveling Witherspoon's face when I announce that I have triumphed with the greatest scientific achievement since Robert Hooke discovered cellular construction!”

Orion simply nodded as the man he had hoped to learn from paced erratic loops around the luxurious but small chamber. He had gained a great deal of understanding—that was true. Unfortunately, it had been a tutelage in how not to behave!

Sir Geoffrey would be called to the presentation soon. Orion did not have much time to make the switch. He ran a casual hand down his own snug formal coat. Nothing as grand as the Coat that Sir Geoffrey sported, but it had a singular advantage. While Orion had helped Attie forge new speaking notes for Sir Geoffrey, using Orion's acceptance letter from Blayne House to copy from, Bliss had matter-of-factly slit and resewn a secret opening in the side of Orion's coat.

Just as every Worthington sibling had a fair grasp of fighting and lock picking, each was also an accomplished pickpocket. Practicing nicking items from Archie's coat pockets was just a typical rainy-day activity in a Worthington childhood.

“Oh!” Orion exclaimed. “Sir Geoffrey, what is that on your lapel?”

Orion kept it simple, for he was by far the worst actor in the family. He stepped forward as Sir Geoffrey stopped to gaze frantically down at the Coat. “Here, sir. Let me.”

As he brushed assiduously with one hand at the imaginary speck on the royal blue velvet, it was incredibly easy to reach into Sir Geoffrey's breast pocket with the other. In a single smooth action, Orion extracted the stack of notes and exchanged them for the ones he carried in his coat's secret compartment.

The swap had better be undetectable, for he'd practiced it on Castor this afternoon until his exacting brother had
pronounced himself satisfied.

Orion gave the velvet a final pat. “That did the job, sir. All set.”

Sir Geoffrey stepped back and peered at his lapel intently. “Hmph.” He shot Orion a glare, then turned away without so much as a nod of thanks.

No need to thank me, you lying sod. I shall be quite satisfied with your complete and eternal ruin
.

No one betrayed a Worthington and got away with it.

Sir Geoffrey was called to the podium. Orion calmly made his way to the back of the room, where he sat among the other nobodies.

The presentation hall of the Royal Fraternity of Life Sciences exuded grand intellectual pursuit. The high ceiling was frothy with ornate moldings from which the chandeliers hung. The lifeless gray plastered walls—surely a color designed to instruct the mind to remain upon serious matters!—were hung with full-sized portraits of past luminaries, bewigged and besashed, wearing haughty expressions of analytical superiority.

“If you come hither,” they seemed to say, “you had better know what you're talking about!”

Orion permitted himself a small smile at such fancy.

At the front of the room were three chairs. The central seat, upholstered in plush gold velvet, was the largest and highest. This chair, very nearly a throne, was the seat of the First Speaker.

The other two chairs were very luxurious, but of more ordinary dimensions. They sat before a long bench, and would hold the illustrious bottoms of the Second Speaker and the Head Keeper, who was in charge of the Fraternity's extensive collections of records, artifacts, and specimens.

Before this stood the podium.

Facing the chairs and podium were the pews of the Fraternity. The first few rows of benches had cushions and carved backs. These were reserved for the highest-ranking members,
those with colored sashes. The next several rows, which seated the white-sashed members, bore no cushions but did come equipped with backs.

The rest, like Orion's utilitarian bench, were naught but bare polished wood. No sash equaled no privilege.

Orion passed a hand over his own breast pocket, which contained his own notes about the process of separating compounds from green plants. When the right moment struck for him to reveal his discovery, these sash-wearing dignitaries would be begging him to join their ranks.

His thoughts lost in future acclaim, he did not at first register the disgruntled noises coming from the other end of his bench. Then Attie finished pushing her way through the barricade of male legs to plunk her bottom down on the bench next to Orion.

He tilted his head as he gazed down at her. She had braided her hair again and was actually wearing a dress. An old one of Elektra's, the garment was too large on Attie's skinny frame, but it was something of a surprise to see his little sister looking almost normal.

However, something was still amiss. He leaned down. “How did you get in here? You have to have an invitation if you are not a member.”

Attie blinked at him slowly. Orion remembered where Attie disappeared to on Thursday mornings. Illegally entering Somerset House was child's play after sneaking into St. James's Palace!

The man next to Orion elbowed him. “Shh! He's starting!”

It was true. The tedious reading of minutes and nominations of new members had ended, and the crowd stirred expectantly. Every one of the past years, on First Speaker's night, Sir Geoffrey Blayne had brought forth a dynamic and compelling discovery into the world—and had ruined another assistant's life.

Sir Geoffrey left his cushioned throne and strode stiffly to the podium. Once there, he postured for a few seconds—
tugging his waistcoat straight, staring down a few remaining whisperers, and flamboyantly pulling his stack of notes from the breast pocket of his grand velvet surcoat.

Orion and Attie exchanged small diabolical smiles.

*   *   *

“Y
ES, MISS
?”

“I wish to call a carriage, please, Pennysmith.” Francesca, dressed for her travels, stood in the front hall of Blayne House, her small valise in her gloved grasp.

Pennysmith peered at her from beneath half-closed eyelids, as if a full opening were more than he could manage. “With the family out this evening, Sir Geoffrey's finest carriage is not available for your use, I'm afraid.”

She didn't bother to point out to the insufferable manservant that she was, in fact, a member of “the family.” After all, what was the point when tomorrow she would be leaving England forever? Indeed, Francesca had never been an admirer of the butler of Blayne House, yet she had always attempted to be as charitable as possible. But since this evening was her last in residence, she decided she would allow herself the freedom to see him as he was. She would classify him as a ferret, but she did not wish to insult ferrets, which were rather cuddly. Pennysmith was nothing but a weasel in household livery.

“I realize Sir Geoffrey is out this evening,” she said. “I simply need a vehicle to take me and my things to the docklands, and I do not care if it is a farm cart pulled by a giant
ass
.”

That got his eyelids to open. “Of course, Miss Penrose.” The butler then called for a footman, who would call for an underfootman, who would call for a secondary driver, who would then order the stable boy to prepare the horses. That was how Blayne House operated. Francesca couldn't say that she would miss it.

Pennysmith cleared his throat. “Will the young miss be
going home for a brief visit? How long will we be deprived of your company?”