He patted himself and pulled his spectacles out of the breast pocket of his tailcoat—Dashwood had, of course, stowed them there—and put them on. He was still a trifle embarrassed about the spectacles. Didn’t feel they fit who he was. But he couldn’t read a damn thing without them.
He sat and opened the book. It was filled with handwriting. Not a novel at all. Some kind of diary or journal. He got up to put it back.
Wait.
He opened the small book to the inside cover and in a careful, legible script were the wordsProperty of Lady Caroline Haskett.
He was going to go to hell for this. Anybody else, he would put the diary back. But he was starved for any contact with her, no matter how tenuous. In a way, wasn’t it her fault he was willing to read her diary? If she would just see him and talk to him, even write him another harrowing letter, he wouldn’t be driven to this.
He settled down in the chair again and hoped Edmund would be at least an hour late.
The diary was old, he saw now. The first entry was from thirteen years ago. Many of the days had only a few words. A description of the weather. A description of a cake. A description of a poem. Some were longer.
Father was v. angry at me today because I could not tell him how old I was going to be for my seventeenth birthday next week. He does not understand how nervous I get because I know I will vex him with myesses. And then the nerves paralyze me and I cannot get a word out and then he is more than vexed. He is furious. Mother says I must try to understand Father. What I don’t understand is why Father doesn’t try to understand me!
Edmund had told Phineas his father and Caro got along. Apparently that was not always true. And how fascinating that Caro had been a nervous type when she was sixteen going on seventeen. He would have never guessed by her equanimity now. Well, her equanimity except when she had come to his bed, naked and beautiful. She had been nervous at first, hadn’t she? Just a bit. But that had been short-lived. Because after all,shehad tried to takehim.
He chuckled a little in pleasure at that memory.
But he didn’t understand what she meant byesses. He read another entry.
Mother says I am to have a Season! She has talked Father round! She says no one will expect me to say more than a few words during a dance. I am to be measured for my ball gowns tomorrow! I am to have at least seven, Mother says. My first ball is to be Lady Huxley’s ball!
Phineas strained his memory. Was that the ball where he had danced with her? He believed it was. And he found himself liking this girlish Caro with her exclamation points. Enormously. Where had she gone?
The entry went on.
Mother says a Season is not really for pretty dresses and for dancing but for meeting a husband and I should have a clear idea in my mind of what I want in a husband. And then I will know when I meet him!
I have already decided my husband should be tall since I am tall.
Phineas winced. He didn’t mind his height. He wasn’t really short. He was average height. Surely, he was a little taller than average. Or at least not too much shorter than average.
He liked himself as he was. And he couldn’t do a damn thing about his height.
Why couldn’t he have come from taller stock? Had a bit of Highlander in him like Jack MacNaughton? Or whatever giants lurked in the Haskett bloodline?
Damn.
My husband should be well-read and bookish. He might even wear spectacles!
Phineas had the spectacles, but no one could call him well-read or bookish. The last book he had touched had been that one he had pretended to read at Sudbury Manor. But the spectacles might count for something in his favor?
My husband should have no dreadedessesin his name. I hateesses!
What was this aboutessesagain? What wereesses? And then he saw the answer in the next line.
So that means no Samuels, no Stephens, no Simons. And no esses in the middle of the name either! So no Josephs, no Isaacs, no Christophers!
So noPhineaseseither, he suspected. But Phin was surely a suitable substitute for Phineas? He wouldn’t mind if Caro called him Phin as his friends did. As long as she called him something besidesmy lord.
He put the book down on his leg and looked up at the ceiling. Could Caro have a lisp? That would explain a hatred ofesses. And he could not recall a singleessin the few words she had ever given him.
He would say something to her brother tonight—hint at it gently—and see what Edmund said.
The entry about Caro’s speculative future husband went on, but Phineas was anxious to get to where he came into her life. He flipped ahead to see what, if anything, she had written about him after Lady Huxley’s ball.
There were a series of entries he managed to skim quickly. Dress fittings. Fabrics. Trims. Shoes and gloves and hose.
