Chapter 20
I have no idea what I’m wearing tonight, but I’m going to put it on with a smile. Leo deserves it.
“You like museums. So I thought you might like to see this one.”
That is two understatements in a row. Because I love museums…
and I love this. I’m in a crowded balcony overlooking a space topped with a dome letting in natural light.
The light bathes antiquities, which fill in every inch of the space, lining the walls and even resting on the railing.
Pieces of friezes and other architectural elements, vases and urns, as well as sculptures are crammed onto the walls.
All looked over by a naked man with a fig leaf covering his bits, which is on the same level as us.
“You brought me to Sir John Soane’s house,” I say in delight. A place in London I’ve never had the time to visit since England has an embarrassment of riches when it comes to history and things to study, and this is slightly outside my time period.
“Yes. Architect. Neo-classicist. Passionate collector. Whose house is now a museum. I thought you would enjoy visiting since you liked the British Museum so much.”
“Visit? I want to live here.” I turn in a slow circle, taking in the art around me. “There’s so much to study. I would never be bored!”
“It might not be exciting as this, but my old pile has a few things that might interest you. That you can see on the way to or from Cambridge.”
“Hmm.” I get my paper and pen out. I didn’t bring the whole notebook because I thought we were going to do boring things, but I brought a few sheets, just in case I saw something I’d want to record. Big mistake, but better than nothing. “Shouldn’t you have sold them off already?”
Wait. People do not like to be reminded of their problems. I should not have been so blunt. But with me distracted by this beauty, it slipped out.
“Probably. But we had the auctioneers in and they gave us an estimate of what we could expect to earn. The estimate was not enough to pay off the debts without also selling the house itself. So, I am trying the marriage route first. Maybe we can save it all. Either way, the creditors have been so kind as to give me to the end of the season.”
“Ah.” I look around and notice one thing that isn’t here.
“Not that I don’t appreciate this outing, but…
there’s not a lot of people here. To see us.
” Just Anne, lingering behind us. Not close enough to be in the conversation, but close enough that I can’t jump the man without being seen.
Not that I should be jumping him, either way.
Leo wags a finger at me. “I have thought this through. If we are only seen at the obvious places, this might look artificial. But I made sure to pass the most fashionable places in London, and I brought the open-top carriage. We will linger over a picnic in Lincoln’s Inn Fields across the road.
And then tonight, everyone will see plenty. ” He sounds smug.
“All right. As long as you’ve got a plan.
” That means I can enjoy this museum without guilt.
“Wait. Are you using your art collection to get me alone in your house?” But I’m not mad.
It’s actually quite considerate that he cares enough to pay attention to what I like and cater our outings to that.
Even though this is supposed to be a deal that gets us both something, he’s still making sure I’m enjoying it. It's sweet.
But I’m still going to tease him about it.
“No.” Leo straightens up to the best posture I’ve ever seen in a human and not a wooden plank. He’s affronted now. “I am a gentleman. I would never lure an innocent young woman to my home.”
“Suuuuuuure. You just happened to discover my weakness and now you’re trying to cater to it while you tell me about where I can find more of the good stuff. In your lair.”
While Leo is sputtering in righteous indignation (and turning just the slightest bit red), I drag him (and Anne) back to the beginning and take my time inspecting every room of this museum.
In his bequest, Soane said that everything had to be kept exactly how it was in his life, and the resulting museum is a fascinating look inside the mind of the architect.
There’s a room with models of classical buildings and a painting hallway with paintings hung onto large swinging panels, for easier storage.
And gargoyles. And an empty sarcophagus.
The upper rooms are less wild that the ones we saw in the beginning, and soon I’m releasing Leo and Anne, both yawning prodigiously, from the beautiful prison.
“Thank you. That was amazing.”
“Excellent. I hope you can keep that attitude into this evening,” Leo says.
* * *
“Oh, hell no.” I cross my arms over my chest, exuding stern negativity in the direction of my chaperone, like a nun seeing a dirty cartoon drawn in the margins of a Bible. “I’m not wearing that; it’s absurd.”
“Lord Basildon did make that wager with you. And win it.” Anne holds up the offending garment.
I don’t know how she’s doing it; with that much silk, heavy embroidery and pearls on it, the dress has to weigh a ton.
“And Her Majesty approved. She thought you might like the Indian pattern on the skirt.”
My complaints aren’t so much with the admittedly very pretty gold and maroon design as it is with the width of the silk dress.
Anne has multiple petticoats (one with actual metal hoops) next to her, and I’m to understand they’re an “all” situation, not an “or” one.
Together, they’re going to add the width of four extra people to me—two on each side.
And don’t get me started on the wig. It’s very large, and the resulting height would qualify me for some basketball teams. Not good ones, as I still have no skills.
“If it helps at all.” Anne’s tone is aggrieved, wishing I’d stop making her job so hard. “Lord Basildon will be wearing knee breeches and silk stockings. And heels.”
Leo finally told me exactly what we’re doing tonight: going to a Georgian fancy dress party thrown by the Duchess of Devonshire. He said he had picked out the costumes, so I had nothing to worry about.
Clearly, he and I have different opinions on worry-worthy topics.
Like right now, I’m worrying about how I’m going to get through doors, or into carriages.
Or how many vases and glasses I’m going to knock over because I have no concept of how wide I am as a result of an ill-conceived bet with a man who apparently knows me better than I thought.
“Silk stockings, you say?”
“They’ll shimmer when they hit the light, showing off his manly legs.”
“Are you sure I’ll be able to fit through doorways?” I give the dress another doubtful look.
“Yes. Devonshire House was rebuilt during the Georgian period, when this style of dress was popular.”
I’m still skeptical, but a deal is a deal. “All right. Let’s do this,” I say with all the enthusiasm of a first-time sailor getting conscripted, against their will, to fight against France with Admiral Nelson.
Without any more complaints out of me (or at least a lessened amount of verbal complaints and some in my head while I physically comply), Anne gets me ready.
Then she leads me to a drawing room where Leo is already waiting.
He’s looking out a window, but turns when I brush against a statue with my skirt and make it teeter precariously before it settles back down.
I’m so focused on almost destroying history, watching in horror and not being able to get closer for fear I’ll knock something else over, that I don’t see what Leo’s wearing at first. When I’m confident I haven’t destroyed anything, I look up at the person waiting for me.
Just like Anne predicted, he has on silk tights. I didn’t even think I was that attracted to calves, yet here I am, lusting. Maybe we should bring back tights on men.
When my eyes travel up the rest of Leo, the lust doesn’t go away, despite the fact that he’s wearing a blue, gold, and cream outfit that might be louder than my dress.
And my dress is very loud.
When I get to his eyes, I find that they’re doing the same thing, but they got stuck somewhere along my décolletage.
I run through my emotions to see how I feel about that, and to my surprise, my lips curve into a smile.
I’m flattered. And I was just ogling his calves, so I don’t have the moral high ground here.
“Good evening.” Leo bows in greeting and I do my awkward bow-squat since no one has actually taught me how to officially curtsy.
“Good evening…my lord.”
“You look beautiful.” And he looks sincere, not like when he throws out easy compliments to charm everyone around him into doing what he wants. I’ve seen enough of that in these past few days, all used to defend and distract from me, so I can tell the difference.
“Thank you. You look good too,” I say softly.
I’m shy now. I’ve gone traipsing around London with this man, have told him that I’m a time traveler from the future, and sucked face with him, but now he’s giving me compliments and I’d rather have to translate manuscripts from Old English in a windowless college basement than face the kind words.
Not that I don’t like the compliment. No, that’s not the problem.
It’s giving me very warm feelings that I am eighty-five percent sure aren’t because of the bodice I’m wearing.
But facing Leo and wondering if it’s real or part of the ruse, wondering if it can ever be real since I’m such a novelty to him, and trying to remember how normal people react to compliments, is stressful.
But still, I’m going to write this in my notebook too. Because whatever reason made him say it, this is a moment I want to remember. It’s not one that’s worth historical note, not a moment that’s going to make it into any articles or books. But it makes me happy and I want to record it.
“We should get going.” We’ve been standing here staring at each other for what is probably longer than is socially acceptable, both in the Victorian era and in the modern one.