I Thee Wed (13 page)

B
LAYNE House and its grounds stood in the midst of other fine homes in the neighborhood of Mayfair. Orion and Judith stopped at the tobacconist's shop and then continued on. A pleasant turn around the block led strollers to a picturesque park that, while not as large as some, allowed for looping walkways through flowering beds and an appealing green lawn where stripe-gowned nurses and brown-clad governesses chased the children of their wealthy employers.

A slender governess in a typical brown gabardine dress found Orion worthy of a second glance. Or perhaps she was merely admiring Judith's fetching walking ensemble. What did he know of women? He couldn't think of a thing to say to his companion. Was he supposed to say pretty words? Make promises? Woo?

What an incredible waste of time.

Also, he hadn't the faintest notion of how to go about it.

You would if you were with Francesca
.

Still, Judith seemed like a sensible person, entirely unlike the women of his family. A day out with them would be
maddening, irritating, and possibly lethal. Iris would drift about, seeing mythic theater in something as mundane as the blowing of the breeze through the trees. Callie would sprawl on the grass with a sketchbook, pencils jutting from her falling hair. Elektra would be engaged in some sort of management of minions, making them march in time to the beat of drums or some such. Attie—well, Attie would likely be plotting chaos, causing chaos, or running from chaos.

Judith, however, simply walked. In a straight line, gazing straight ahead, her gloved hands clasped appropriately before her. Orion could not see her expression for her bonnet, but he imagined that it was, as always, unflappable and serene.

It occurred to Orion for the first time that whatever else his mother and sisters might be, they were never ever boring.

No. Judith wasn't boring. He mustn't think that. She was . . . soothing. Unlike certain other young ladies who rumpled a fellow's attention and ruined his concentration, Judith never rumpled, never ruined.

Never stirred. Never stimulated.

Never aroused.

Stop that
.

Orion firmly decided to be soothed by the complete lack of small talk and pretty niceties. What a pleasure it was to simply walk without resenting the need to fill the perfectly acceptable silence with meaningless chatter!

It was such a pleasure that Orion caught himself in a yawn. He turned his head down as if to admire a profusion of asters along the path and clenched his jaw against the urge.
I am not bored. I am soothed, blast it!

Judith paused the instant he slowed his pace. “They take good care of the plantings here,” she commented. “They are nearly as good as those at Blayne House.” This was no boast, for her tone was that of a teacher reciting facts. Moreover, it was a true statement.

“Blayne House has a very good gardener,” Orion
contributed.

Judith shifted slightly, as if keeping herself from turning toward him. “Papa takes very good care of his staff. They are all most loyal to him.”

That last statement of fact rang oddly in Orion's ears. “And to you as well, of course.”

Judith nodded without hesitation. “Of course.” But her gaze was down, still focused on the asters nodding pink and spiky in the breeze. “Does your sister's book contain a botanical drawing of asters like these?”

“No. Although comprehensive in its way, it includes only wildflowers.”

“Ah.” Another long moment stretched. “Her work is very skilled. She must have had access to an excellent drawing master.”

Orion blinked. Worthington children did not take lessons from masters of anything. Archie had taught them fencing and horsemanship, in a random fashion. Iris did not so much teach them as allow them unfettered access to all manner of paints and pencils. In all other things, they had mainly been spurred by their own interests, along with good-natured sibling rivalry, to teach themselves and surpass one another.

And books. Worthington House might be shabby and cluttered, but it had more books than any place he'd ever seen except for the palace itself. The extensive library looked more like a heavy snowfall of bound pages, piled in drifts against walls and pouring down the stairs, but Orion doubted that even Blayne House had more.

“Ah . . . my sister most likely learned from my mother, who is an avid painter.”

“Her mother taught her? How . . . nice for her.”

Only because he was watching, he saw Judith's gloved hands tighten around each other for a long moment. In the near silence of the open park, he could have sworn he heard threads pop.

Belatedly he remembered Sir Geoffrey's brief, offhand
explanation that his wife had passed many years before. How old had Judith been when her mother went away?

After a moment, Judith eased her grip on herself, turned on her heel, and continued her measured pace without further commentary.

Orion frowned as he followed her half a step behind. Perhaps he was merely giving in to some Worthington-like imagination, but he had just had the startling impression that Miss Judith Blayne was not boring at all.

In fact, she had seemed, for a strange jarring second, decidedly mysterious.

*   *   *

I
N THE FAMOUS
Blayne laboratory, Attie and Charlie were faced with the unique problem of too many options to choose from.

“I could mix a combination of aluminum oxide and ammonia,” Charlie was saying. “It makes a lovely purple smoke.”

If little Charlie thought he was going to out-scientist her, he had no notion of with whom he dealt! Attie wasn't about to be one-upped by a genius half her age, or half her size, for that matter.

Attie folded her arms. “Smoke? Why make smoke when you can make fire?”

“Or I can silver-plate a copper penny . . . if there is any silver nitrate.” Charlie squinted up at the high shelves of neatly labeled chemicals. “It isn't as though we need to actually make anything . . .”

Attie seized upon that idea. “Exactly. We should invent something of our own.” She narrowed her eyes in speculation. “Something entirely new.”

Charlie blinked at her admiringly. “Really? You can do that?”

Attie was well aware that pride was a dangerous element to add to any experiment, but the shine of admiration in little Charlie Darwin's eyes was quite inspiring, especially as the
rest of the world seemed inclined to see her as something between an oddity and a criminal.

“I don't see why not,” she said airily. “After all, many great inventions were discovered when someone added the wrong thing by mistake. Why not simply make a mistake . . . on purpose?”

Charlie's pale blue eyes widened. “But . . . my grandpapa said that playing in the laboratory is dangerous. He said that no one should try anything unless they know what they are doing.”

Attie could not let the idea go now. To do something new, to make even Orion widen his eyes in surprise or, dare she hope, wonder . . .

“I will select three items,” she decided, calm now that her resolve was set. “One from each shelf. To ensure that my selections are random, I shall close my eyes.”

The top shelves were very high. Attie would bet even Orion had to go on tiptoe to reach the glass containers, tightly lidded, some sealed to keep air from entering. The shelves were little more than a foot apart in height. They would make an admirable ladder.

Swiftly, before her own common sense managed to stop her—poor, weary common sense; she hardly knew why it bothered anymore—she clambered up the shelves to the topmost. Just as she'd promised, she closed her eyes before reaching for the farthest jar she could manage.

Clutching it tightly against her chest, Attie climbed nimbly back down to the floor. She handed the jar to Charlie without looking at it. He juggled the large jar to see the label.

“It is—”

Attie interrupted him with a single imperiously raised finger. “No, don't tell me.”

She returned to the ladder of shelves and grabbed another random jar from the second-highest shelf. After repeating the procedure once more from the next-lowest shelf, she watched
as little Charlie hefted the third jar onto the marble-topped laboratory table.

Attie hopped down the last few shelves and landed in a crouch. Charlie hadn't seen that adept maneuver, as he was peering at the neatly written labels and sounding out the contents aloud.

“Gyp-sum.”

Hmm. Attie frowned in disappointment. Gypsum was rather inert, as chemicals went. Really just ground chalk, in fact.

The next jar Charlie read was better.

“A-qua For-tis.”

Attie didn't recognize the name, but she knew her Latin.
Strong water.

Ooh. She might be able to work with that.

The third made Charlie pause. He shook the jar, disturbing the white powder within. “Spir-its of Salt.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Does that mean it is just ordinary salt?”

He seemed disappointed. Attie took action. With a grand gesture, she fetched a large beaker from the shelf of glass receptacles. “I shall begin with the gypsum,” she pronounced gravely.

Charlie rested his arms on the edge of the table and stood on tiptoe to rest his chin on them while he watched her measure out a small pile of gypsum powder on the scale. Attie wasn't sure why she should measure, but measuring was fun, and it gave her something to do while she hid her hesitation from Charlie.

Her common sense was barking like a guard dog at a band of sneak-thieves, and the loudness of it in her head made her strongly consider stopping before matters got entirely out of hand.

Then she made the scale balance perfectly with a casual pinch of extra gypsum, and Charlie pursed his lips. “Ooh,”
he whispered. “You're very good.”

His admiration was a balm to her self-respect. Attie shut the guard dog in the cellar and latched the door.

She slid the small pile of gypsum into the beaker and reached for the next jar, “Spirits of Salt,” its contents powdered as well. She decided to measure out twice as much of it, purely for the sake of effect. That went well, and she felt that Charlie was suitably impressed. Thus distracted, she absentmindedly dumped the spirits of salt into the beaker all at once. The impact of the pile of powder sent a small cloud of dust into the air.

They both backed up, coughing and wiping their eyes.

“That seems strong,” Charlie said hesitantly. “Are you sure we ought to do this?”

The guard dog was digging furiously at the locked cellar door, but Attie had come too far to back out now. Charlie wouldn't find her so impressive or clever if she did.

“Just wait,” she told him with a sniff. “We are about to set modern science back on its heels.”

She turned to the “Aqua Fortis” jar and tugged at its waxed cap.

*   *   *

A
FTER LEAVING THE
park, Orion and Judith turned the corner onto the square where Blayne House stood. As they approached it, Orion regarded the pristine white marble facade with a new eye.

If Judith was a model of exemplary English womanhood, then Blayne House was a matching paragon of neoclassical British architecture. Both were flawless, stylish, elegant—and housed more mysteries within than an observer might first detect.

The only difference being that Judith was—despite occasional evidence to the contrary—an entirely human woman. She should not feel forced to be so cold, so perfect, so
impenetrable. She should be laughing, or arguing, or even crying. A Worthington woman would have likely done all three in the past hour alone. Judith had done no more than clasp her hands, yet somehow she had managed to project emotion powerful enough to undo the stitches in her gloves.

Orion was beginning to wonder if in their own way, the occupants of Blayne House were not every bit as mad as those of Worthington House!

The door opened magically before them, in that otherworldly way Pennysmith had about him. In the front hall they encountered Francesca and a footman.

Francesca greeted them both with a grin, even though Judith's maid, Eva, was helping her into her outerwear.

Orion recalled that he had never seen Eva flutter about Judith, waving a dropped glove while trying to tie the dangling strings of her bonnet beneath her chin.

Orion stood with Judith and watched the beleaguered Eva attempt to dress Francesca, who was far too busy chattering on about her proposed adventure to Portobello Road.

Judith turned her measured gaze upon Orion. “She means to purchase books.” Her tone merely reported a fact.

Orion supposed that from Judith's perspective, bringing anything home from a dusty London shop to join the superbly selected Blayne collection seemed rather unnecessary and wasteful of her time. However, he could not help but feel his gaze drawn to Francesca's bright eyes and flashing grin.

Her excitement was contagious. Thinking of the sight of leather bindings, full of new worlds and ancient discoveries, Orion felt an acquisitive tingle in his own fingertips. His home might split wide down the center if he tried to bring any more books into it, but that had yet to stop any Worthington from trying to wedge a few more volumes onto the bowing bookshelves within.

The temptation arose within him to offer his company on the excursion. He pictured a madly ecstatic Francesca, armed
with her canny Italian bargaining skills, turned loose upon the booksellers of Portobello Road. The result might be akin to a trip with Attie to buy sweets. Or books. Even Attie herself would be hard-pressed to choose between the two things that made life worth living.

However, it was obvious that Judith felt such a day out was a poor use of one's time. It was certain that Sir Geoffrey would hold the same view. Orion must remember that he had much to prove to the Royal Fraternity. Whiling a day away poring through jumbled shelves of shabby volumes would do nothing to further that goal.