“Well, I am glad to know that you have such excellent taste in books, Lord Hanbrooke. There are very few men here who would be willing to read something likeA Light Above the Manor. I have even heard it described as a novel for those who should not be reading novels,” Lady Goldfield laughed.
“Yes, I have heard the same. I admit that I do enjoy the occasional novel, but what I appreciated most about that—and anything by Winston Fulham—is that he addresses matters which are wider in society.
Novels so often are disregarded as being drivel for young ladies who fancy nothing but romance. However, I find his work to speak of things in society which must immediately be addressed,” Crispin said, passionate about the author’s works.
“Precisely,” she said, excitedly. “He does not go on about how beautiful a woman is as others so often do in their works, but he discusses whether or not she will be appreciated by a society that sees her worth beyond a dowry. He considers the value of the poor as well, which I have scarcely read from any other author.”
The smile on Crispin’s face was genuine, much to his surprise. He had never met another person who read Winston Fulham.
In fact, he’d always considered the author to be painfully under-appreciated and he had especially not expected that Fulham would be admired by the same sort of young woman that Crispin so easily judged.
“I must confess that you are not what I had anticipated when Lord Woodhall suggested we ask young ladies for a dance,” Crispin said.
“To be truthful, I have never before met a man who reads authors of substance and it is quite a shock to me as well,” she replied. “But I am relieved to know that I am not alone. What surprises me, however, is that the moment I spoke of something about which you cared, your dancing changed from stiff to utterly graceful.”
With that, she laughed in a sweet, lilting manner. Crispin found himself somewhat wooed by the music of her tone. He very nearly felt the urge to run away to stop himself from actually enjoying this moment of being with her.
“I do apologise for my dancing. I know that I am not the most adept, but I do know the correct movements at the correct times,” he said.
“You are doing very well,” she replied. “And Lord Blackford would be proud of you.”
“I hope so. I would rather that grumpy fellow than Mr. Higgins in—”
“The Sisters Wilde,” she said, finishing his sentence.
Once more, Crispin was relieved. She truly was a fan of Fulham and had read his other works as well. He wondered if she enjoyed other authors of similar substance or if they would not be as accessible to her.
Regardless, it was a grand thing to be able to speak of something with a woman at a ball and not feel as though he were going to drive himself completely mad.
“Is there another author you are fond of or is Fulham the only one?” he asked as the music brightened and Lady Goldfield spun in a circle.
“There are many,” she replied. “I spend the majority of my time reading when I can. Particularly if I am able to indulge in the works of Riley, Collingridge, or Hodden.”
“Hodden is a master. I enjoy Collingridge as well, but he is not Hodden or Fulham. As for Riley, I beganStodden Hallbut found it rather dry,” he said.
“It was not my favourite. You must start withFair Wanderingand then you understand his tone better. That is the way to read Riley,” she replied.
For a moment, the notes in the chord played by the musicians held. Everything seemed to freeze in place and Crispin was certain that he could stay in this moment for the entire evening. He wanted to continue speaking with Lady Goldfield about books and authors that mattered to them both.
But it was not to be. He knew that and he simply had to accept it. As the note came to an end, so did the dance. He had no reason to remain beside her any longer; indeed, he knew that it would be shocking to beg her to dance another right away.
He would need to take his time, but even if he was able to come back around to her, he feared that her dance card would have not a single empty space remaining.
Lady Goldfield exhaled a slow breath, as though she was equally dismayed by their separation. But Crispin maintained hope that he would find a way to speak with her again later in the evening, after she had danced with others.
He wished that he had reached her sooner in the evening, that they had spoken when she still had many dances open.
“Thank you,” he said. “I do not think I would have had such a riveting conversation with anyone else and it was quite a surprise. In fact, I believe it was the first enjoyable moment I have had at the ball—or any ball, for that matter.”
“You are too kind,” she replied, sweetly.
“And you must forgive the brief answers which I gave initially. I never imagined that we would have had reason to converse beyond the general niceties of public discourse,” he said.
“You mustn’t apologise,” Lady Goldfield replied. “After all, Lord Blackford would never do such a thing.”
With that teasing remark, Lady Goldfield turned away. Her presence, however, lingered behind. Crispin did not want her to leave.
But the evening was not yet over, and he hoped that he would have another chance to speak with her. After all, what man could let go of such a lovely surprise?