The Sum Of All Kisses Part 13

"Perhaps," Hugh lied.

"Oh, I forgot to ask," she said. "Are you better at arithmetic than he is?"

"I am," Hugh confirmed. "But he doesn't mind."

"Neither does Harriet. She's five years older than I am, and I'm still better than she is."

Hugh gave a nod, having no other reply.

"She likes to write plays," Frances continued. "She doesn't care about numbers."

"She should," Hugh said, glancing back out at the wedding celebration. Lady Sarah was now dancing with one of the Bridgerton brothers. The angle was such that Hugh could not be sure which one. He recalled that three of the brothers were married, but one was not.

"She's very good at it," Frances said.

She is, Hugh thought, still watching Sarah. She danced beautifully. One could almost forget her waspish mouth when she danced like that.

"She's even putting a unicorn in the next one."

A uni- "What?" Hugh turned back to Frances, blinking.

"A unicorn." She gave him a frighteningly steady look. "You are familiar with them?"

Good Lord, was she poking fun at him? He'd have been impressed if it wasn't so patently ridiculous. "Of course."

"I'm mad for unicorns," Frances said with a blissful sigh. "I think they're brilliant."

"Nonexistently brilliant."

"So we think," she replied with suitable drama.

"Lady Frances," Hugh said in his most didactic voice, "you must be aware that unicorns are creatures of myth."

"The myths had to come from somewhere."

"They came from the imaginations of bards."

She shrugged and ate cake.

Hugh was dumbfounded. Was he really debating the existence of unicorns with an eleven-year-old girl?

He tried to drop the matter. And found he could not. Apparently he was debating the existence of unicorns with an eleven-year-old girl.

"There has never been a recorded sighting of a unicorn," he said, and to his great irritation, he realized that he sounded as prim and stiff as Sarah Pleinsworth had when she'd been all snippy about his plans to shoot targets with her cousin.

Frances lifted her chin. "I have never seen a lion, but that doesn't mean they don't exist."

"You may have never seen a lion, but hundreds of other people have done."

"You can't prove that something doesn't exist," she countered.

Hugh paused. She had him there.

"Indeed," she said smugly, recognizing the exact moment he'd been forced to capitulate.

"Very well," he said, giving her an approving nod. "I cannot prove that unicorns don't exist, but you cannot prove they do."

"True," she said graciously. Her mouth pursed and then did an unnerving little twist. "I like you, Lord Hugh."

For a second she sounded exactly like Lady Danbury. Hugh wondered if he ought to be afraid.

"You don't speak to me as if I were a child," she said.

"You are a child," he pointed out. She'd used the subjunctive form of "to be," which would imply that she wasn't actually a child.

"Well, yes, but you don't speak to me as if I were an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," he said. And she'd used the subjunctive correctly that time. But he didn't make mention of that.

"I know." She was starting to sound somewhat exasperated.

He stared at her for a moment. "Then what is your point?"

"Just that- Oh, hullo, Sarah." Frances smiled over Hugh's shoulder, presumably at the current bane of his existence.

"Frances," came the now familiar voice of Lady Sarah Pleinsworth. "Lord Hugh."

He stood, even though it was awkward, with his leg.

"Oh, you don't need to-" Sarah began.

"I do," Hugh cut in sharply. The day he could no longer rise to his feet in the presence of a lady was- Well, quite honestly he did not want to ponder it.

She gave a tight-and possibly embarra.s.sed-smile, then walked around him to sit in the chair on the other side of Frances. "What were the two of you talking about?"

"Unicorns," Frances answered promptly.

Sarah's lips came together in what appeared to be an attempt to maintain a straight face. "Really?"

"Really," Hugh said.

She cleared her throat. "Did you reach any conclusions?"

"Just that we must agree to disagree," he said. He added a placid smile. "As so often occurs in life."

Sarah's eyes narrowed.

"Sarah doesn't believe in unicorns, either," Frances said. "None of my sisters do." She gave a sad little sigh. "I am quite alone in my hopes and dreams."

Hugh watched Sarah roll her eyes, then said, "I have a feeling, Lady Frances, that the only thing you are alone in is being showered with the love and devotion of your family."

"Oh, I'm not alone in that," Frances said brightly, "although as the youngest, I do enjoy certain benefits."

Sarah made a snorting sound.

"It's true, then?" Hugh murmured, looking her way.

"She would be quite dreadful if she weren't so innately marvelous," Sarah said, smiling at her sister with obvious affection. "My father spoils her abominably."

"He does," Frances said happily.

"Is your father here?" Hugh asked curiously. He did not think he'd ever met Lord Pleinsworth.

"No," Sarah replied. "He deemed it too far a journey from Devon. He rarely leaves home."

"He doesn't like to travel," Frances put in.

Sarah nodded. "He'll be at Daniel's wedding, though."

"Is he bringing the dogs?" Frances asked.

"I don't know," Sarah replied.

"Mama will-"

"-kill him, I know, but-"

"Dogs?" Hugh cut in. Because really, it had to be asked.

The two Pleinsworth sisters looked at him as if they'd quite forgotten he was there.

"Dogs?" he repeated.

"My father," Sarah said, delicately picking her way across her words, "is rather fond of his hounds."

Hugh glanced over at Frances, who nodded.

"How many dogs?" Hugh asked. It seemed a logical question.

Lady Sarah appeared reluctant to admit to a number, but her younger sister had no such compunctions. "Fifty-three at last count," Frances said. "But it's probably more by now. They're always having puppies."

Hugh failed to locate an appropriate response.

"Of course he can't fit them all in one carriage," Frances added.

"No," Hugh managed to reply. "I don't imagine he could."

"He has often said that he finds animals to be better company than humans," Sarah said.

"I cannot say that I disagree," Hugh said. He saw Frances open her mouth to speak and quickly silenced her with a pointed finger. "Unicorns do not count."

"I was going to say," she said with feigned affront, "that I wish he would bring the dogs."

"Are you mad?" Sarah demanded, right as Hugh murmured, "All fifty-three of them?"

"He probably wouldn't bring them all," Frances told Hugh before turning to Sarah. "And no, I'm not mad. If he brought the dogs, I'd have someone to play with. There are no other children here."

"You have me," Hugh found himself saying.

The two Pleinsworth sisters fell utterly silent. Hugh had a feeling that this was not a common occurrence.

"I suspect you'd have a difficult task recruiting me for a game of Oranges and Lemons," he said with a shrug, "but I'm happy to do something that does not require much use of my leg."

"Oh," Frances said. She blinked a few times. "Thank you."

"This has been the most entertaining conversation I've had at Fensmore," he told her.

"Really?" Frances asked. "But hasn't Sarah been a.s.signed to keep you company?"

There was a very awkward silence.

Hugh cleared his throat, but Sarah spoke first. "Thank you, Frances," she said with great dignity. "I appreciate your taking my place at the head table while I danced."

"He looked lonely," Frances said.

Hugh coughed. Not because he was embarra.s.sed, but because he was . . . b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, he didn't know what he was feeling just then. It was d.a.m.ned disconcerting.

"Not that he was lonely," Frances said quickly, shooting him a conspiratorial glance. "But he did look so." She glanced back and forth between her sister and Hugh, apparently only just realizing she might be caught in the middle of an uncomfortable moment. "And he needed cake."

"Well, we all need cake," Hugh put in. He could not have cared less if Lady Sarah was put out, but there was no need for Lady Frances to feel ill at ease.

"I need cake," Sarah announced.

It was just the thing to move the conversation forward. "You haven't had any?" Frances asked in amazement. "Oh, but you must. It's absolutely brilliant. The footman gave me a piece with extra flowers."

Hugh smiled to himself. Extra flowers, indeed. The decorations had turned Lady Frances's tongue purple.

"I was dancing," Sarah reminded her.

"Oh, yes, of course." Frances pulled a face and turned to Hugh. "It is another great sorrow of being the only child at a wedding. No one dances with me."

"I a.s.sure you I would," he said in all seriousness. "But alas . . ." He motioned to his cane.

Frances gave a sympathetic nod. "Well, then, I'm very glad I was able to sit with you. It's no fun sitting alone while everyone else is dancing." She stood and turned to her sister. "Shall I get you some cake?"

"Oh, that won't be necessary."

"But you just said you wanted some."