“No one hanging back on the sidelines, waiting to see who the book went to?”
Clearly thinking back, Brougham slowly shook his head. “I didn’t notice anyone, but ask your man—as he didn’t start bidding until it was just me left, he had more time to observe the onlookers.”
Frederick nodded. “I will.” Then he grimaced. “But it doesn’t sound as if the book is high in anyone else’s mind.”
Brougham shrugged. “The subject matter is rather esoteric.”
Frederick nodded. “True.”
Silence fell, then with determined brightness, Lady Brougham said, “Now you are here, I hope you will take tea with us. We can go into the garden and be comfortable, and I would like to introduce our children to you.”
Frederick glanced at Stacie.
Stacie caught his look and saw the hesitancy behind it, but she was fully in agreement with Lady Brougham’s transparent wish to foster a closer relationship. The two men were ridiculously stiff and stilted in each other’s company, yet she’d detected not the slightest true antipathy between them, and given their shared interests and Brougham’s genuine concern over the attacks, the pair would benefit from a closer association, yet apparently it required Lady Brougham and herself to push them together. She smiled, every bit as brightly as her ladyship. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
She rose with Lady Brougham, and together, they walked out of the drawing room. Neither looked back, leaving their husbands to trail after them as they would.
Yet by the time she and her ladyship had progressed through a parlor and out onto a pleasant rear terrace, taken seats at the wrought-iron table there, and finally, looked to see how their menfolk were faring, the pair had their heads together and were deep in some scholarly discussion of musical theory.
They joined the ladies at the table and consumed their share of the tea and cucumber sandwiches placed before them, but their minds barely deflected from the matter under discussion.
And once they’d finished with their first topic, Brougham volunteered, “You were right about Jolyneaux’s treatise—once I read it through carefully, I saw the holes in his argument. Quite reprehensible for the journal’s board to encourage him to spout such nonsense.”
“Indeed.” Frederick nodded, then looked at Brougham. “Have you thought of putting your name forward for the editorial board?”
Brougham met Frederick’s eyes and, after a moment, said, “I will if you will.”
Frederick’s brows rose, then he nodded. “Done. We need to get them back on track, at least as far as our specialties go.”
And they were off again, diving into what, for all intents and purposes, was the arcane.
Stacie understood perhaps one word in a dozen. She looked at Lady Brougham, who rolled her eyes and tipped her head toward the lawn. “Come and meet our children.”
Three young boys had been playing farther down the lawn.
With her ladyship, Stacie walked slowly down the gentle slope.
Lady Brougham cast a glance back at their husbands, then smiled and faced forward. “I cannot tell you, Lady Eustacia, how pleased I am to see them talking. Simply talking and sharing their views. I’ve been trying to engineer such a meeting for years, but while Albury was unwed, the opportunity to even meet him was rare and usually not in company conducive to persuading him to call here.”
Fascinated, Stacie regarded her ladyship. “Please—just Stacie.”
Lady Brougham smiled back. “I’m Henrietta, and I do hope we can be friends.”
“I hope so, too,” Stacie averred. “And in light of that, might I prevail on you to explain just what the situation was between our husbands that, apparently, inhibited them from interacting with each other before today?”
Henrietta made a disapproving sound. “That’s just it—there never was any situation as such between them, no difficulty or anything like that. Well, other than their characters, I suppose.” She met Stacie’s eyes. “Has Albury mentioned that he and Brougham attended Eton together—in the same year?”
“He alluded to it in passing.”
“Well, because of that, they shared the same classes throughout their time there, and as far as I’ve gathered, both were fixated on music and history even then. Brougham’s primary instrument is the oboe, and Albury’s was always the piano, so not even in that were they in direct competition. Yet instead of their shared interest drawing them together and becoming a source of friendship, it became the source of a muted sort of rivalry. Nothing in any way violent or extreme, of course—just trumping each other over acquiring this book or that, as in this most recent instance. Their areas of interest intersect, but as I understand it, don’t overlap by that much that either feels threatened by the success of the other—and of course, they went to and remain affiliated with different universities, so even in that, they don’t personally compete.” She paused, then went on, “It always seemed to me that they were both, inside, stiff and standoffish with the other—with each of them waiting for the other to make the first move, which ensured that neither did.”
“Ah!” Stacie saw the light. “Each wanted the other as a friend, but was uncertain the other felt the same way, so neither wanted to make the first move and risk being rejected.”
Henrietta regarded her as if she’d finally found a like-minded ally. “That’s exactly it—you’ve put your finger on it.”
They glanced back at the table on the terrace, where their husbands were deep in discussion. Stacie studied the sight. “I have rarely seen Albury so animated. He needs this as much as you suggest Brougham does.”
“They should always have been friends.” Henrietta looked on the pair with fond pleasure, then met Stacie’s gaze. “Although I think it might well fall to us to keep them talking, at least in the short term.”