Dashiell’s hand stilled. ‘Well, you never know.’
Chapter Eight
He should tell her. Ethically it was the right thing to do but Dashiell could not bring himself to it while they lazed away the early morning hours in each other’s arms. Nor could he bring himself to do it as they dressed and scribbled a hasty note to Sir Richard of their intentions to go on to the fishing village of Burnham-on-Crouch in hopes of better viewing of the comet.
Dashiell’s only defense in keeping his secret was that knowing would ruin everything, including her chances of seeing the comet tonight. Elisabeth would be initially mortified if she knew he was Heathridge’s heir and in her mortification, she would refuse the use of his carriage. More than that, she’d refuse to continue her quest and her dream of seeing the comet would come to an abrupt end. He couldn’t do that to her.
In more honest moments, he couldn’t do that to himself. He was liking this ‘last adventure’ far too much. He liked being Dashiell the man; the man who saw stars through telescopes, who made love to a beautiful woman in a worn-out chair, who made impulsive decisions to chase comets without worrying whose dinner invitation would suffer in his absence. When he was with Elisabeth, he was the man he wanted to be and he was not ready to give it up even if it meant this little deception for a short while.
He’d even convinced himself this could end well, that someday they would laugh about it. Heathridge’s heir was supposed to marry Graybourne’s daughter, after all. To think they’d actually found happiness together would be a marvellous addition.
‘There, I think we’re ready to go. I just have to get one last thing.’ Elisabeth tossed him a smile over her shoulder as she strode to a far corner of the room and searched through a stack of items propped against the wall. ‘Found it!’ she declared triumphantly, holding a long circular case aloft. ‘My telescope,’ she explained as they headed downstairs, her case in one hand, a brass tripod in another. ‘I can’t keep it at home.’
They were on the road to Burnham-on-Crouch by half past nine and Dashiell could not recall the last time he’d done anything this early in the morning. Even the simple feat of getting out of bed hadn’t occurred until noon. But Elisabeth looked fresh and energized.
She’d changed into a dark green dress of merino wool she produced from her valise and her hair was pulled into one long ponytail that hung over her right shoulder. No one would guess she’d been up most the night. Her eyes sparkled with a vibrant energy and she looked as content as he felt.
‘Why can’t you keep your telescope at home?’ His curiosity was piqued. He knew women who kept tiny dogs, who collected china shepherdesses but he’d never known a woman who kept a telescope as a cherished possession, and it was cherished. She hadn’t let him carry it although he’d offered and she hadn’t let him stow it with her valise in the boot of the carriage. The telescope remained on the seat with her.
Her eyes took on a defiant cast. ‘My parents don’t approve of astronomy for girls. It’s not a feminine pursuit. My mother insists no man wants a wife who spends her nights looking at the stars.’ There was a touch of steel and vehemence to her voice that impressed Dashiell.
She’d kept her own interests in the field alive against the wishes of her family. It spoke to the strength of her character.
‘Perhaps a fellow astronomer would,’ Dashiell ventured.
She gave him a sardonic look. ‘Do you know several earls or dukes who have cultivated that area of study?’
‘Touché, Elisabeth.’ Dashiell stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles.
‘My parents want an advantageous marriage for me even though I’ve been out for four Seasons and it appears hopeless. They will not settle for less than an earl,’ Elisabeth said softly.
‘Is that a warning? Are you trying to spare my feelings in case you have to reject me later?’ Dashiell teased.
But Elisabeth would not be teased on the subject. ‘There is to be this one adventure, Dashiell. There will be nothing beyond it. For the sake of my father’s political ambitions, I must marry well if I marry at all. This trip to Burnham is all there can be. After tomorrow, I must go back to London and make reparations to my parents and pick up the threads of the life they want me to lead.’
Dashiell understood this was her way of discussing what had occurred between them last night and this morning, and what would occur in the nearest future he could arrange.
His need for her was fast becoming insatiable.
‘What if I turn out to be an earl in disguise?’ Dashiell queried. He would have to tell her sometime, he might as well sound out that avenue.