Wilful Impropriety (21 page)

The reality was so far different. “I thought you liked him.”

“He does good work. I admire that. I regret that you confused the two.” Facing her, he seemed to have mastered some of his emotion. “I trust, understanding my feelings now, you will no longer have any regard for him.”

Hannah shook her head and backed farther away. She had to make him understand. Turning, she hurried to her wardrobe and pulled it open, digging inside until she found the star charts she had draw up. “Look—he is. We are destined for each other. See how perfectly we fit?”

Her father strode across the room and snatched the charts out of her hands. “You will disregard these fancies. That you ‘fit’ well does not mean that he is an appropriate object for your affections.” He rolled them into a tight tube. “You will stay in your room until you have had the opportunity to consider your actions.”

“Papa . . .” Hannah reached for him, begging him to relent. “I love him.”

“I am very disappointed in you.” Turning on his heel, he walked briskly to the door and left her alone in her room.

•   •   •

Hannah pulled her cloak tighter about her and leaned over the telescope, trying to spot Mercury in the sky. She had gone over her father’s star charts, but the results did not please her in the least, and she was determined that the location of the actual stars must be different than what the charts showed. Every chart she had drawn up showed that there was no way in which she could marry Gideon.

Mercury sat firmly in Cancer, just as it had in the star chart.

She sighed, breath steaming into the air, and straightened. From the roof, she could see over most of London toward the Thames. The innumerable gas lamps that lined Pall Mall cast a glow that obscured much of the night sky. It had become harder and harder to see the stars as more of the gas lamps went in. She suspected that before not much longer, her father would need to spend most of his time out at their country estate to do his work. After Gideon, she had no hope of him letting her remain in the City. She had not even been outside the house for the last two weeks.

Carefully, Hannah put the cap back on the telescope and lifted the heavy brass instrument. She headed back inside, the flannel of her dressing gown catching against the wood as she pushed open the door. If her father knew that she was on the roof, he would have much to say.

Hannah set the telescope on its tripod back by her father’s desk and picked up the taper that she had left in his study. She made her way down stairs, candle flame dancing against the walls. She would just have to study the charts longer. If the conditions were not favorable, she would need to change the variables and hope she could find a pattern that would fit.

The stair creaked as she crept back down the stairs. A moment later, her father’s door opened. “Hannah? You should be in bed.”

“I—I could not sleep.” That was true enough. “I was just trying to clear my head.”

He frowned, brow creasing with worry. “I will have Robertson send up some warm milk.”

Hannah wanted to laugh—as if warm milk would do anything to ease her heart, but she had to be calm and rational or her father would never let her leave the house again. “Thank you. That would be very kind.”

He stepped into the hall, then hesitated. “My presentation at the Crystal Exhibition is tomorrow. Would you like to accompany me?”

“I would be delighted. I hope it is well received.” Hannah dropped a small curtsey of thanks before she retreated to her bedroom, leaving her father smiling. It relieved her that he was letting her out of the house, even supervised. But more importantly, Gideon would be at the Exhibition with his automatons.

She lit the candle by her bed with the taper and pulled the charts out from under the bed. Crouching on the floor, she studied them again. If the current variables did not work, she would plot the outcome backward. If she started with them happily married, what conditions would get them there?

Hannah worked the figures until Robertson arrived with the warm milk.

•   •   •

The Crystal Exhibition Hall, now filled with people, nearly took Hannah’s breath away. She had understood from newspaper accounts that the glass structure was the largest of its kind and a feat of engineering. The newspaper engravings, however, told nothing of its scale, and made it seem only a very large orangery with perhaps a more interesting shape.

On the carriage ride up, she had repeatedly thought that the building was large and then, upon realizing that it was farther away than it appeared, that it was even larger than she thought. It gleamed in the sunlight as the various planes of the arced roof caught the light. Within, full-size living elms graced the wide halls making them seem more like avenues than an indoor space.

Her father kept her close as they walked through the press of people to his exhibit stall. The abundance of silks seemed as though the crowd had taken the entire rainbow and woven it into cloth for dresses. The gentlemen walked at the side of their ladies in deep black frock coats, providing a setting for these jewels of England. Hannah scanned the throng for some sign of Gideon. If he were here, surely she would be able to spot his warm skin among the pallid masses.

With his automatons, he would be sure to attract a crowd, particularly if His Royal Highness visited the booth. More than one overheard conversation mentioned Prince Albert and that he was supposed to be in attendance today. Perhaps if she told her father that she wanted to see the Queen’s husband, then she could follow his entourage until he arrived at Gideon’s booth. Hannah bit the inside of her cheek. That would never work. Her father knew Gideon would be here, and would never let her out of his sight. She sighed.

Her father patted her arm. “Are you all right, my dear?”

“The press—I have been so much at home lately that I have grown unused to crowds.” This had enough truth that it did not feel as though it were a true lie.

“Would you like to go home? I can spare Robertson to send with you.” He tipped his hat to a passerby.

“No, no. I want to see your triumph.” This, too, was true. He had worked hard for a space in this exhibit. Gideon’s orrery was to be part of his demonstration about how the stars influenced the lives of every person.

“That is good of you, my dear.”

Whatever else her father said was lost—across the great hall, she heard Gideon’s laughter. They were passing a booth with automatons arranged artfully. Inside, Gideon spoke to a gentleman and a lady, demonstrating his piano player. The manikin, with its porcelain skin, looked almost real as it played a minuet upon a dainty pianoforte.

Gideon’s teeth flashed as he smiled. He bowed and gestured to the next machine, a clown who juggled. As Gideon lifted his other hand to wind it, his gaze lifted as well. The moment when he saw her was unmistakable. There was first a smile of recognition, quickly cut off and replaced as his face drooped into sadness. Lowering his head, he wet his lips and looked away before mastering his expression and facing the couple again. He wound the clown, but his gaze followed Hannah as she walked.

She turned her head almost over her shoulder, watching him.

“What is it, my dear?”

Hannah snapped her attention forward again. “That woman had a remarkable dress.” She swallowed. “I swear she had four tiers of flounces. It was quite the thing.”

“I thought perhaps it was Mr. Whitaker.” He glanced at her, and Hannah was forced to look down.

She could not even think of a creditable lie.

•   •   •

With a sigh, Hannah straightened from the star charts and rolled her neck to try to ease some of the tension. Her heavy braid hung over her shoulder and she toyed with the ribbon tying the end of it. The candle flickered as she sighed again. She had worked the charts over and again till she was certain about the answer.

She did not like it, but it was an answer.

According to the charts, she could marry Gideon and keep her father’s good opinion of her only through one path. They had to elope. She could not see how that could possibly make her father agree to the marriage, but when she had changed variables around in the equations, looking for a clear path, only one had fit.

Not just any elopement. Oh, no. They had one chance and one chance only. According to the star charts, she must elope with Gideon at 11:43 on the night of Thursday, the fifth of July. Even varying a minute caused the outcome to change. What was maddening about this equation was that it told her when to elope, but it did not tell her what would happen to change her father’s mind, only that it would change.

Hannah sighed again, and shadows bobbed around the room. She put her head on her hands and massaged her scalp to make it stop aching. How she wished she could consult with Father about the calculations. It was not an option.

So, she drew out a fresh sheet of paper and began drafting the equation again, checking her math for the fourth time.

•   •   •

Hannah walked down the street with her father, on their way home from visiting one of his clients. She stopped in front of a window to admire the bonnet inside. “Have we a moment?”

“Hm?” Papa turned and frowned at the window. “Do you not already have one like that?”

“Do not be silly. I have a steel-blue one which goes with my blue dress with the cut steel beads. This one is dove gray, and would be perfect with my spotted silk.” She pouted, hoping that she was not overdoing the girlishness. “I will need new gloves to go with it, but it would be just the thing to wear to Lady Richardson’s tea.”

“I quite like your green dress. And the bonnet with the little white flowers.”

“That one? It must be redone before I can wear it again. It still has a pelerine, and those have been out of favor for four seasons at least. Really, Papa . . . if you want to present me at court this year, I must have the right clothes to be truly ‘Out.’” She tilted her head to the side with a look that she had practiced in the mirror. “Please may I go in? Look—Hatchard’s Books is just across the street. You can browse and wait for me there.”

He hesitated and looked around them. “Well . . .”

Hannah put on a look of hurt. “You can see the door from there. If you are afraid I will run away . . .”

“No, no.” Though it was clear that was exactly what he had been thinking. He had not let Hannah leave the house without him for the past several weeks. “Of course I am not worried about that. I was just wondering if I should not come in to pay for your bonnet.”

Hannah laughed at that, and it was a genuine laugh. “Papa, I have had a line of credit with Cunningham’s haberdashery for the past three seasons. Do you not pay attention to the bills when they come in?”

“Oh! This store. Yes. Well. Yes . . . I shall be just across the way, then. If you are sure you do not need me.” He waited, though, until she actually went into the store.

The shop bell tinkled to announce her, and Mrs. Cunningham looked up from behind the counter. “Good afternoon, miss. What might I do for you today?”

“I wonder if might see the dove-gray bonnet in the window.” Hannah glanced across the street as the milliner fetched the bonnet. Her father stood inside the bookstore, staring across at her. She pulled her attention back to the room and tried not to fret about his distrust.

Certainly, what she was about to do was not trustworthy.

Mrs. Cunningham brought her the bonnet and Hannah pulled her own off, setting it on the counter. She tried the new one on. It was charming, and exactly what she could wish for. “Perfection, as always. Have you gloves to match?” She took the hat off and turned it over, admiring the construction. It really was exquisitely made.

“I do. Just in from Milan. Quite lovely.” She set a hatbox on the counter. “And what length and size for the gloves?” The shopkeeper opened a drawer in one of the cabinets ranging below the display shelves.

“Elbow-length. Six and a half.” Hannah pulled out an envelope addressed to Gideon from her handbag while the shopkeeper rummaged through the drawers. She tucked it inside the hatbox, setting the hat atop it. “Could I trouble you to deliver this and the gloves for me?”

“Of course.” The shopkeeper straightened with a pair of gloves that exactly matched the hat. “Just write out your direction and I will have them sent along promptly.”

Hannah took the slip of paper the shopkeeper gave her and carefully wrote out Gideon’s address.

•   •   •

Hannah sat in the parlor downstairs, sewing on yet another cushion cover for what would eventually be a full set for the dining room. She had completed five of them so far, as the sort of thing young ladies of quality were supposed to do. Well, no. Other young ladies did needle-painting for the walls, but she could not stand to make things of little use and no beauty. This way, at least, no one would spend any great time looking at her handiwork. She was creating a full set of the zodiac for the cushions. She had Pisces underway now.

Gideon was a Pisces. Hannah sewed the star sign’s thigh with as much outward calm as she could muster. Had he gotten her message?

Her father sat at a table across the room with Lady Richardson, who had come for a consultation and stayed for tea. The woman’s pug nosed around the room, snorting as it smelled every corner. If it chewed on her father’s slippers again, Hannah would have to . . . do nothing except smile and laugh along with her father’s client.