he began thinking of other ways to defy her expectations.
“Truth matters to you a great deal, my lord?”
Her question drew laughter from deep inside of Sep. A heartier sound of amusement than he’d allowed himself in months. The release felt good. A rare liberation from his usual seriousness.
“Did I say something amusing?”
“Perhaps not intentionally.” He did his best to stifle an encore of chuckles. “Surely, the truth matters a great deal to everyone. Doesn’t it?”
A shadow darkened her eyes. “Spoken like a man who has never had any secrets he must keep.”
All the joviality drained from Sep like liquid from a cracked beaker.
It wasn’t true. There were experiences in his childhood he’d never confided to anyone. But he refused to revisit the past. He kept busy. Filled his days with purpose. Each scientific endeavor deserved as much energy as he could muster. Whatever was left, he used to plan for the future.
What were Lady Winifred’s secrets?
“They can be a grave burden,” he said softly. “Those truths we cannot tell others.”
That earned him a glance. “Then you do have secrets?”
“Nothing that would interest you, my lady.”
“You cannot know that.” She swung to face him. “We’ve only just met. You don’t know me at all.” There was a power in her gaze that pressed into him, as if she could sift every one of his thoughts if he allowed her to look long enough.
“I know you like storms. For that alone, you rank quite high in my estimation.”
She blushed and it was breathtaking to behold. Rosy warmth rushed from her cheeks down to color her neck. Heat infused Sep’s cheeks too. What madness afflicted him? The last time he’d flirted with a woman, he’d ended up broken-hearted and disillusioned.
“It is a relief to meet someone who understands the appeal of storms,” she admitted. The sharp-tongued lady almost smiled at him. Almost.
Sep let out a breath. The lightness in her tone eased something in him too. “Why were you wandering the heath in the dark?”
“I wished for a glimpse of the sea.” She still did wish for that view. He could see the yearning in her gaze.
“You should see the cove in the morning when the early light glints off the waves.” Good grief, he sounded like Keats or Shelley, one of the Romantic scribblers his godmother favored.
“I’d like that.”
“As much as we hoped you two would get on,” Cornelia said from her chair near the fire, “we didn’t expect you to spend the evening ignoring us and whispering in the corner.”
“Forgive me, Aunt Cornelia.” Lady Winifred’s blush deepened and she returned to the seat near her other aunt without another glance at Sep. “You must think me terribly rude.”
“Not at all, my dear. I think you extraordinarily talented. You’ve managed to entice Septimus into conversation for longer than I’ve seen him speak in ages.”
“That’s unfair.” Sep drew in one more breath of lavender-scented air and moved to stand near his godmother. “I converse with you every single day.”
“Oh yes, you have much to say if I wish to hear about galvanism and electricity and the likelihood of a storm blowing in off the seafront.” She cast a grin at her sister and tried to catch Lady Winifred’s gaze. “I hope he didn’t bore you with scientific prattle, my dear.”
“Prattle?” Sep clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me.”
Cornelia and her sister laughed, and Sep smiled back.
Lady Winifred didn’t join in, but she watched him. Assessing him.
“I’m afraid I don’t know enough about science to judge whether such talk would be interesting or onerous.” The earnestness of Lady Winifred’s declaration rang out above her aunts’ waning giggles.
“Then you’ve come to the right place,” Cornelia assured her. “Septimus studied medicine for a time, then moved on to all manner of natural philosophy, and now devotes himself to discovering the mysteries of electricity.”
Sep shot his godmother a quelling glance. She listed his accomplishments as if she were offering him up for auction at Tattersall’s.
“Winifred is an accomplished young lady too,” Miss Renshawe put in. “She speaks three languages, manages my letters and menus, and her handwriting…”
“Aunt Elinor, please.” Lady Winifred’s plea was softly spoken but tinged with an edge of desperation. The young lady, it seemed, didn’t enjoy hearing her accomplishments touted either.
“Do not stop me, my dear. I may speak as fondly of you as I please.” Miss Renshawe reached out to pat Lady Winifred’s clasped hands. “She writes in the neatest italic script you’ve ever seen. And as for study, I will only say