stakes would escalate when Crenshaw arrived, but for now gaming would be as cordial as the guests who were present, which meant altogether delightful.
The others were outside on the terrace. The Long Porch was not a porch at all, but a room with a wall of glass doors that opened onto a generous terrace. The stone terrace overlooked a carefully natural garden, clearly the work of Repton or one of his more talented students.
Jess had stopped at the drinks table to garner a glass of sherry when a woman emerged from the door leading to the terrace. It was Venus, or perhaps her twin.
The scent she brought into the room hinted at secrets and magic and made him want to draw her closer. This sister was even more tempting than the other. He took a step back.
“You and your sister are amazingly alike, Miss Brent.”
“Oh!” she said, raising a hand to her throat, apparently surprised by his presence. When she stepped fully into the room and saw who had spoken, her good humor returned.
“I assure you, my lord, my sister is far more beautiful than I am. As a matter of fact everything about her is beautiful.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Brent, but when I met her this afternoon, the only difference I noted is that she wears spectacles.”
“I don’t understand. Who are you talking about?” She came up to him, a confused smile replacing the flirtatious one.
“Your twin, I met your twin earlier today.”
“You met me, my lord.” She took yet another step, as though twelve more inches would make that clear, and then added, “Though she is my twin, my sister does not look anything like me.”
“Were you able to find your extra pair of spectacles?” Her scent enveloped him, her innocent eyes urging him on. Attraction replaced caution.
“Yes, but I only need spectacles when I am going to do close work or read.”
“Ah, I see. And is close work or reading important to you?”
“Both are, my lord.” She leaned closer and whispered, “There is a rumor about that I am a bluestocking.”
A rumor she did not deny or seem to find offensive.
“Then remind me not to play any games with you.” It was just as well that he had never been attracted to overeducated women. And yet he still enjoyed standing close to her.
“You already are playing games, my lord,” she said with a directness that should not have surprised him.
He took a deliberate step back, but her scent lingered between them. “You see, that is why I find educated women so unappealing. They have no sense of humor.” He winced at the snub even though it was deliberate.
Beatrice Brent looked as though he had slapped her and he felt such regret. Surely he could have nudged her away with something less hurtful.
“I have a friend, a gentleman friend, who maintains that educating women would double the development of new ideas and inventions.”
“Miss Brent, my greatest fear is that a woman will discover exactly how uneducated most gentlemen are.”
“Do you number yourself among them, my lord?”
“Yes, and rather proud of it.”
She looked disappointed.
“You see, I am able to live happily in my ignorance and enjoy the pleasures of life without a worry for troublesome ideas and debates.” That was better, he thought, and drank his sherry in one gulp. “While those who think and study develop wrinkles and worrisome tics and are still not able to change what is wrong with the world.”
“You do not really mean that, do you?” Her eyes were wide with dismay.
He poured himself another tot of sherry, then faced her once again. “Yes, I do. The world is what it is, and the sooner we accept our place in it the happier we will be. These endless efforts to improve ourselves, to care for the poor, and to teach everyone their letters are misguided attempts to prove that we are not innately selfish at best and little better than animals at worst.”
Beatrice blinked and slowly shook her head. “I am so sorry for you, Lord Jessup. Your life must be singularly empty. Do you have any friends?”
He slapped his glass down and was relieved when it did not break. “You were not listening. Another failure of educated women. I am doing exactly what I want to do and am exactly where I want to be. Can you say the same, Miss Brent?”
She had no answer for him. Not in words at least, but he had hit a responsive chord. He could read