“True enough.” Jane tucked a lock of her tightly curled black hair into her cap, a legacy from her West Indian father.
Grace examined the book in her hand. It was coming loose from its bindings, and the pages were speckled with foxing. “This one’s a loss.”
“No! That’s Mayer’s Opera inedita! His images of the moon are irreplaceable.”
Grace smiled wryly as she set the book down. “Why invite me over to help with your books when I don’t know the first thing about astronomy?”
“Douglas can’t sort—he starts reading and then he’s lost for the rest of the day.” Jane tilted her head. “When does this monumental task with Sebastian Holloway begin?”
“Tomorrow. Which will give me enough time to go through my father’s library and search out relevant works. I have a night of research ahead of me,” she added with glee. An evening spent poring over books and learning new facts was truly the closest one came to Heaven, though tromping around in a field and turning over logs and rocks in search of reptiles was just as wonderful.
“Is he the man you’ve got your heart settled on?” Jane rose and walked to Grace.
“Sebastian?”
“Mason Fredericks.”
“Oh . . . yes.” Her pulse thudded just to think of him. “The passion in his voice when he talks about life cycles and habitat variation . . .” She sighed. “He cares, Jane. Truly cares about his work. Nothing could be more attractive to me. And when we discuss the benefits of conducting field research versus keeping specimens in a laboratory, I feel the connection between us. If I need to wed someone, he’s the perfect choice for me.”
She could picture their life together. Mornings spent lingering over the breakfast table, discussing the very latest in scientific developments. Afternoons would be out in the field as they observed and recorded creatures in their native environments. Then there would be fascinating suppers with like-minded friends and colleagues. And afterward, she and Mason would retire to their bed . . .
“Doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome, too.” Her friend winked.
Heat crept into Grace’s cheeks. “Females use appearance to help judge the health and viability of future offspring.”
Jane pursed her lips knowingly. Of course, Grace’s closest friend could recognize that she sometimes resorted to technical terminology whenever she felt flustered. And Mason certainly flustered her.
“One would have to engage in copulation with a mate first.” Jane’s gaze twinkled. “So? Are you thinking about copulating with Mason Fredericks?”
Grace covered her eyes with her hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, I need to get him to notice me as more than a colleague.”
“And then copulation.”
“Let’s hope so.” When it came to sex—with someone other than herself—she had no actual experience. But from what she’d heard and read, it was one of the great pleasures of life. With two people in profound communion it had to be extraordinary.
Jane smirked. “If you need any additional information on that topic, I’m happy to provide my wealth of knowledge. Douglas is a very thorough lover.”
“We play whist together! Don’t talk about him that way.” Imagining Douglas engaged in carnal pursuits was . . . disquieting.
“And he’s my husband.” Jane laughed as she tapped a finger on the tip of Grace’s nose. “But I’ll spare your tender sensibilities. For now.” She tilted her head and looked at Grace, her gaze soft. “I only want you to get your heart’s desire.”
“Thank you.” Warmth gently stole through Grace. How fortunate she was to count Jane as her friend. “As do I.”
And it would all begin with ensuring that Sebastian was sufficiently proficient in the art of being a Society beau.
She and Sebastian had a considerable amount of work to do.
Chapter 4
Seb spent the evening in his rooms on Howland Street, attempting to read but failing as he jumped to his feet every five minutes to pace the creaky floorboards.
Anxiety over tomorrow shot bolts of energy through his limbs, making it impossible for him to remain still or concentrate. When his downstairs neighbor shouted, “Keep it down, Ironfoot!” he compelled himself to sit. Yet focusing on a text was hopeless, and so he stared at the weblike crack on the ceiling until St. Patrick’s chimed one o’clock in the morning and he went to bed. He fell into a fitful sleep but kept jolting awake from dreams of Grace either jeering at him in disdain or weeping in dejection at his horrific botching of the job.