Sleepless at Midnight (3 page)

Although sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder…what would it feel like to possess the sort of beauty that would inspire such feelings? What would it feel like to love a man that much? To be loved so much in return? To be desired that much?

Her useless thoughts were cut off when Julianne shot her a stern look and pointed toward her vellum. “‘Make your insides flutter.’ Write it down.”

“Fine,” Sarah mumbled, and wrote it down. After she did so, she looked up. “Anything else?”

Carolyn cleared her throat. “He should also be a, um, good kisser.” She cleared her throat again.

“Of course, that might already be covered under ‘stunningly passionate.’”

Sarah added good kisser to her list and frowned at the heat that suddenly rose in her cheeks. “Is that all?”

“I think he should enjoy visiting the shops,” said Emily. “And be tall and strong.”

“Oh, yes,” said Julianne. “With broad shoulders and lots of lovely muscles.”

“He sounds like a pack mule,” Sarah said, her pen flying across the vellum.

“Thick hair,” added Carolyn, her voice sounding wistful to Sarah’s ears. “Thick, wavy hair.”

“And lovely, full lips,” said Emily with a giggle. “All the better for kissing, you know.”

Sarah added it to her list, shoving aside the useless thought of kissing a man, full-lipped or otherwise. Still, that didn’t stop moments of longing from sneaking up on her…

With a brusque shake of her head to clear the image of lovely male lips that would never touch hers, she asked, “Anything else?” When no more suggestions came forth, she looked over her list then said, “According to the Ladies Literary Society of London, the Perfect Man is a kind, patient, generous, honest, honorable, witty, intelligent, handsome, romantic, stunningly passionate, makeyour-insides-flutter, full-lipped, good kisser who can dance, shop, listen, and solicit our opinions, all tirelessly and without complaint.”

“Oh, yes, he does indeed sound perfect,” said Emily with an approving nod.

“But what about you, Sarah?” asked Carolyn. “You didn’t add any qualities to the list.”

“No, but I believe you covered everything,” she said.

“Surely there must be something else you think is necessary for the Perfect Man,” said Julianne. Sarah considered for several seconds, then nodded. “Now that you mention it…I think he should wear glasses.”

“Glasses?” echoed three doubt-filled voices from the bed.

“Yes. And since I am so fond of horticulture, he should like flowers. And the garden. And digging in the dirt. And pulling weeds. All tirelessly and without complaint.”

“I can’t imagine a gentleman of the ton pulling weeds, and it’s not quite as exciting as being a good kisser,” said Emily with an impish grin, “but handy, I suppose, if you’re strolling through the garden and have run out of conversation.”

Sarah added her requirements to the list then set down her pen and turned toward her partners in crime, or rather, the Ladies Literary Society of London.

“Since it was your idea, Carolyn, how do you propose we make this life-size doll?”

Her sister frowned and tapped her finger to her chin. “Let’s see…we shall need some gentleman’s clothing. Breeches, a shirt, cravat, some boots.”

“Yes, and then we can stuff them,” said Julianne, her eyes shining in the firelight. “Like a pillow.”

“Form his head from a roundly stuffed pillow case,” added Emily. “Since Sarah’s the only one of us who can draw worth a whit, she can sketch his face on the material. I vote for blue eyes.”

“I prefer brown eyes,” said Julianne.

“Green,” voted Carolyn, not surprising Sarah with her choice, as Edward had possessed green eyes.

“In that case, in order to satisfy everyone, he shall have hazel eyes,” decreed Sarah, then she grinned. “Which just happen to be my favorite. Now, our gentleman needs a name.” She pursed her lips, then smiled. “How about Franklin N. Stein?”

Everyone laughed and agreed. Then Julianne asked, “How are we going to procure a set of gentleman’s clothing? Purchase the items in the village?”

“Completely boring,” Sarah scoffed. Her lips curved upward. “I suggest a scavenger hunt. The gentlemen attending the house party will be occupied during the day with riding and shooting and billiards. We’ll each simply pick a gentleman, nip up to his bedchamber when he isn’t about, relieve him of our assigned article of clothing, and voilà! Franklin N. Stein is born.”

“We can’t steal things,” Julianne said, sounding aghast.

Sarah waved away her concern with a flick of the wrist. “It’s not stealing we’re simply borrowing the items. We’ll dismantle Franklin before the house party ends and return the items to the gentlemen in question.”

Julianne worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “But what if we’re caught?”

“You’ll go to the gallows,” Emily said with a perfectly straight face. “So you’d best be careful.”

Even in the dim light, Sarah saw Julianne’s face pale. “You won’t go to the gallows,” she assured her friend, shooting Emily a quelling look. “But you’d die of embarrassment and your mother would faint dead away so you’d best not be caught.”

Julianne chewed some more on her lip, then jerked her head once in a tight nod. “All right, I’ll do it.”

“Finally,” said Emily. “A bit of real excitement.” She bounced up and down several times and rubbed her hands together. “Who shall pinch what and from whom?”

“Hmmm…let’s base it on which article of clothing seems to mean the most to each gentleman,”

Sarah suggested. “What about boots?”

“I suggest Lord Berwick for the boots,” said Julianne. “Not only does he walk with an air of great confidence, but he clearly takes pride in his footwear. We partnered in the quadrille several weeks ago at Lady Pomperlay’s soiree, and when I admired his Hessians, he waxed poetic about their fine leather for the next five minutes.”

“Excellent suggestion,” said Sarah. “You’re in charge of procuring Lord Berwick’s boots, Julianne. But don’t relieve him of that particular pair, as he’s certain to notice their absence. What about the cravat?”

“Lord Thurston is proud of his intricate neckwear,” said Emily. “And with good reason I’ve never seen a gentleman with more beautifully tied knots, and ’tis admirable when a man takes pride in his appearance. I’ll pinch one from him. Shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ve had plenty of practice taking back things my annoying younger siblings have stolen from me.”

“I thought we said this isn’t stealing,” Julianne said in a worried tone.

“It isn’t,” Sarah assured in a soothing voice. She turned to Carolyn. “That leaves you and me, and a shirt and breeches. Seeing as how breeches seem more…personal, and you’ve been married and are therefore more familiar with things of a, um, personal male nature, I think you should get the breeches.”

“Very well,” Carolyn said calmly, as if Sarah had just suggested she pour another cup of tea. “Of the gentlemen remaining in the house party, I believe I shall borrow a pair from Lord Surbrooke. His taste is impeccable and his clothing is always perfectly tailored.”

“Not to mention that he fills out his breeches very nicely,” Emily said with a mischievous grin. Sarah watched as her sister and two friends glanced at each other, then burst into smothered laughter. She joined in, delighted to hear Carolyn laugh, but annoyed at herself for not noticing how Lord Surbrooke apparently filled out his breeches. She was normally very observant. She made a mental note to look at him more closely at her first opportunity.

“I think the shirt should come from our host, Lord Langston,” said Julianne. “I noticed at dinner this evening that of all the gentlemen, his shirt was the whitest and looked the most crisp.”

“Plus he has very broad shoulders,” Emily chimed in with her impish grin in place.

“Lord Langston it is,” said Carolyn. She looked at Sarah. “Your assignment is to procure a shirt from our host.”

Sarah pressed her lips together to keep from grimacing. Ah, yes, their host. Who, in the course of mere seconds during dinner this evening, had noted her soup-fogged spectacles, laughed at her, then instantly dismissed her. Oh, he hadn’t laughed outright, but she’d seen his lips twitch. Then the all-too familiar way he had quickly averted his attention to someone else a very attractive female someone else. The way other gentlemen’s attention always quickly veered away from her. It had ceased to bother her long ago, yet with Lord Langston, for the tiniest fraction of an instant, she’d thought he meant to speak to her. Ridiculously believed he might be laughing with her rather than at her. Which is why she’d felt the sting of his dismissal more strongly than she’d wanted to. She’d observed enough men like him to know his sort all too well. She had no doubt that Matthew Devenport, who’d inherited the title Marquess Langston upon his father’s death last year, was merely another handsome, wealthy peer spoiled by too much money, too much free time, too much pleasure seeking, and too many fawning women. And certainly a man of his striking dark good looks had to be accustomed to fawning women. Indeed, it was fortunate she was immune to such superficial attributes as a handsome face lest she’d be tempted to simply stare at the man. She’d known her invitation to his house party was Carolyn’s doing. Although Carolyn was officially her chaperone heaven knew she didn’t require one Sarah knew she was more her sister’s traveling companion. If the only way to get Carolyn back out into the world was to accompany her there, then by God, she’d go to the ends of the earth if necessary.

Still, she suspected there was more to this house party than a simple gathering of friends. She’d heard whispers that the eligible Lord Langston holder of one of the oldest and most venerable titles in England might be looking for a wife. Of course, that could have merely been wishful thinking on the part of the young women she’d overheard talking about it at a musicale last week. Yet, if it were true, from his perspective either Julianne, Emily, or Carolyn would be perfect candidates. She strongly suspected he’d invited them to look them over. Humph. As if they were horseflesh to be inspected.

She’d been tempted to tell her sister and friends of the rumor, but hadn’t wanted to say anything that might discourage Carolyn from attending the house party. Especially now that her sister was making such strides in rejoining society and emerging from her mourning accepting Lord Langston’s invitation being the largest and most significant step thus far. It was, after all, only a rumor. If Lord Langston was indeed looking for a bride, Carolyn was out of the question as a prospective candidate. Her sister had confessed to her that she had no intention of ever marrying again. That she would only marry for love, and could never love another man as she’d loved Edward. Of course, Lord Langston wasn’t privy to that information, but Sarah had every confidence that Carolyn would make certain he knew should the need arise.

Of course both Emily and Julianne were both eligible bride candidates. Therefore, she intended to keep a sharp eye on Lord too-handsome-for-his-own-good Langston to determine if his character rendered him good enough for either of her friends. Unfortunately, based on what she’d seen of him thus far, he fell firmly into the nincompoop category.

And now she had to pilfer or rather borrow a shirt from her dismissive host. A tiny smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. It might actually be fun to get the best of him. Take something of his temporarily, of course without his knowledge. A chortle tickled her throat. Laugh at me, will you, Lord Langston? Well, you’re nothing but another of those spoiled nincompoops. And I shall have the last laugh upon you.

Pushing her glasses back into place, Sarah said to her companions, “We all have our assignments. I call this first meeting of the Ladies Literary Society of London adjourned and move that we reconvene here at one A.M tomorrow to begin work on Mr. Franklin N. Stein.”

“Hear, hear,” said Emily, raising an imaginary glass in toast.

Quick good-nights were said all around, then they slipped from Sarah’s room to make their way stealthily down the corridor to their own bedchambers.

After closing the door behind them, Sarah leaned against the oak panel. Her gaze fell upon the list she’d left on the antique escritoire, and pushing off from the door, she walked toward the small desk. After picking up the pen, she slowly dipped the nib into the inkwell and added her last requirements to the Perfect Man list. The most important requirements. The ones she hadn’t been able to bring herself to say in front of the others. For although she was among her closest confidants, some things were still difficult to admit. To anyone. When she finished writing, she set down the pen and looked at her words. Does not judge people by their looks. Can discern beauty beneath that which is plain. Does not look through people as if they don’t exist.

She had no reason to believe that such a man existed, but so long as she was dreaming him up, why not dream big?

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, and she rose to walk to the window. She’d always loved the sound of summer storms, found the slash of the rain against the roof and windows oddly soothing. Streaks of lightning flashed and she glanced out the window. And froze. At the sight of a man exiting a nearby copse of elms to approach the house. Amid the intermittent flashes, she saw him hurrying across the lawn, head bent, carrying a shovel, his hair and clothes plastered to him. Suddenly, as if he felt her gaze upon him, he paused and looked up. She shrank back, clutching the heavy velvet curtains flanking the windows, but not before she’d gotten a good look at him. And instantly recognized him.

Heart pounding for no good reason she could think of, she waited several seconds, then peeked out the window once again. He was gone.