Chapter 15
Nearly two hours later, Sebastian escorted the four ladies into the British Museum.
The vast halls opened before them in a quiet grandeur that seemed to command both curiosity and reverence.
Sebastian followed at a measured pace as the keeper’s assistant conducted them through the collection.
He had seen it many times: as a boy at his father’s side, enduring lectures to which he had scarcely attended; with his mother, who admired refinement and expected the same of her children; with Caroline, whose curiosity had once been as bright as that of the girls before him; and later alone, when the museum had offered a quiet reprieve from society’s demands.
Today, however, the familiar galleries seemed entirely different.
The attendant spoke of ancient civilizations and the significance of the relics displayed within the glass cases and upon the pedestals.
Greek and Roman figures stood in pale, timeless elegance, their marble forms preserving a beauty that had outlived the hands that shaped them.
Egyptian antiquities lined the far wall: dark stone figures, intricate carvings, and funerary objects carrying the weight of centuries.
Sarah’s soft gasp drew his attention. Jane leaned closer to a case of coins and medals, her brow furrowed in earnest interest as the guide explained their origins. Emelia lingered before a collection of terracottas, her gaze thoughtful, almost reverent.
Their wonder was unfeigned.
“They are beautiful,” Sarah whispered.
“They are,” Jane agreed, though her tone remained more composed. “Imagine the hands that shaped them.”
Sebastian’s gaze shifted to Emelia. She was not looking at the display.
Instead, her attention had drifted beyond it to a small group nearby.
Young ladies dressed in fine muslins and silks, attended by well-dressed gentlemen who hovered close, speaking in low, indulgent tones.
Wistfulness softened Emelia’s expression.
“Do you think,” she asked, leaning toward Darcy, “that we shall ever live in London? That we might dress so elegantly, attend balls, or even have a proper coming out?”
The softly spoken question carried.
Miss Whitley answered, “I do not know. We must not build our hopes upon anything until I can see some certain means of achieving it for ourselves.”
Emelia’s expression shifted, hope dimming into something subdued. She inclined her head as though to hide it, then hastened forward to join Jane and Sarah.
Miss Whitley deliberately slowed until she walked beside him. “I must thank you for today, my lord,” she said softly.
He glanced at her.
“They are delighted,” she continued, her voice gentle despite the restraint beneath it. “You have my deepest gratitude, my lord. More than I can properly express.”
Sebastian inclined his head. “It was a simple enough expedition. Their pleasure requires no thanks.”
“For you, perhaps,” she said with a small smile.
There was no bitterness in her tone. His gaze moved ahead to her sisters, their heads bent together, their voices animated, and their steps light with discovery. Their unguarded delight stirred him. “They wish to belong to this world.”
“They expect nothing from you, my lord,” she hastened to assure him, alarm sharpening her voice as though she feared he might believe they meant to fasten themselves upon him.
“They are daughters of an earl,” he said with cool detachment. “It is only natural they should wonder what it might be like to live as privileged young ladies.”
Miss Whitley remained silent for a time before replying, her voice quieter.
“Perhaps they do. I have often seen them seated at the windows in Russell Square, watching the ladies pass and inventing stories about their lives.
One can hear the longing in their voices and the imagination with which they give it shape.
I cannot fault them. “We lived very simply in the country, and London has a way of awakening desires one never knew one possessed.”
“And what has London taught you to want?” he asked.
She hesitated, clearly taken aback. “I wish only for my sisters to be well.”
“Liar,” he said softly.
She gave a startled gasp, a faint flush rising as a frown touched her features. “I am not lying.”
“Everyone wants something, however modest,” he returned. “I cannot credit that duty has consumed every desire of your own.”
She stared at him as though the question was foreign, perhaps because no one had ever put it to her. Miss Whitley held his gaze for only a heartbeat before looking away, as though uncertain whether she ought to answer at all.
“Once,” she said slowly, “before everything changed, I imagined a very ordinary life: a home of my own, a husband, and children. I liked to sing, to write verses, and to paint. Nothing grand. Nothing especially ambitious.”
“Then everything changed.” She drew in a quiet breath. “Now I wish only to see my sisters secure and settled. Perhaps, when that is accomplished, I may allow myself to consider what remains for me to desire.”
The modesty of her former hopes struck him more forcefully than any grand ambition might have done.
Nor was a life lived for others as foreign to him as he first supposed.
He had been raised to understand that duty and affection were often intertwined.
From boyhood, he had been taught that one day he would bear responsibility for many—his mother and sister, a future wife, his tenants, and even the broader obligations expected of him in the House of Lords.
The burden was inseparable from loyalty and care.
Miss Whitley’s devotion to her sisters was not so different. Those girls were his sisters as well. By every measure that mattered, they fell within the scope of his duty and, more troubling still, increasingly within his regard.
“That is the life you once imagined,” he said. “What have you desired since coming to London?”
“Only the simplest of things. Hardly worth pondering, much less telling.” A wistful smile touched her lips before she lowered her gaze, as though she could conceal the longing that had so plainly found its way into her expression.
That smile tugged unexpectedly at his chest. “I would hear them nonetheless.”
Her startled eyes flew to his. “Why?”
“I find myself uncommonly curious about you.”
She laughed softly. “From your tone, I should think you rather dislike the very notion of it.”
He made a noncommittal sound, not liking her perceptiveness. “I entreat you to indulge my curiosity.”
Miss Whitley smiled. “I have always wished,” she said at last, “to attend a society ball, properly dressed in a beautiful gown, and dance the night away. I have watched ladies and gentlemen depart for such evenings and wondered what it must be like to be among them.”
She gave a small, self-conscious laugh as she tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. “It is rather foolish, I suppose. I should also like to attend the theatre and see a play. To stroll through Hyde Park with no purpose other than to admire the lawns and flowers.”
The modesty of the desire was precisely what he had expected. She did not yet permit herself to dream of anything that might draw her too far from the care of her sisters.
“Allow me to ask the same question of you, my lord.”
“Why?”
She wrinkled her nose in a manner he found far too endearing. “Am I not allowed to be curious about you?”
His chest behaved most peculiarly around her, tightening as though it could no longer contain the steady, relentless thrum of his heart. It made him unaccountably wary, yet irresistibly intrigued.
She tilted her head, studying him, her warm brown eyes bright with inquisitiveness. “Have you no dreams, my lord? Surely there must be something you long for.”
“I do not dream, Miss Whitley. Dreams are for men who cannot reach what they desire, and there is very little beyond my reach.”
“How boring your life must be.”
Her answer surprised him. Was his life boring? Had ease made it unchallenging? Was that why even Aphrodite had lost its power to divert him before Red? Irritated by the direction of his thoughts, he glanced down at Darcy. “There is something you should know,” he said, his tone shifting.
Her gaze flickered to his, alert at once.
“My father made provision for your sisters.”
Her steps faltered, and she stared up at him with wide, shocked eyes. “He did?”
“Yes. My man of affairs reported that my father intended each of your sisters to receive ten thousand pounds. I shall see that his intention is honored.”
For a moment, there was only relief, bright, unmistakable, and profound. It softened her expression, eased something that had long been held in tension.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice catching. “That is a fortune. It will change everything for them. Oh, I am so relieved.”
She fell silent, and he saw the quick turn of her thoughts. A faint tightening touched her mouth, and a shadow crossed her eyes before composure could conceal it.
“He made no such provision for you,” Sebastian said, reading the unspoken question in her expression. “At least, none has yet been found. Williams will continue his inquiries.”
Miss Whitley looked away. “I had no such expectations for myself.”
Her tone was steady, yet the hurt beneath it did not escape him. His father had been present in her life, guiding and shaping her in small ways, yet had made no provision for her future. It was a reality as cold as it was unjust. “Have you no other family?” he asked.
She hesitated, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the glass case before them.
“None that I know of. My mother once said her parents died when she was very young. She was raised by a distant cousin, though she never spoke of that relation again. I have no notion whether they yet live.”
Miss Whitley drew in a breath, steadying herself. “Did he leave anything for my mother?”
“Not that I have uncovered as yet,” Sebastian said.