Her Lessons in Persuasion

Chapter Eight Wilhelmina felt as though everything was brighter. Even though it was fully dark. The moon hung high in the sky, only a few clouds obstructing the view. She stopped on the pavement after they descended the steps from the Royal Opera House. Somehow—she hadn’t even noticed when—she’d looped her arm through his, and was leaning against him, her full skirts making a shushing noise against his trouser-clad legs. “Look there,” she said, pointing straight up. “It’s Canis Major.” He tilted his head back obligingly. “I have no idea what I’m looking at,” he said, his low voice tinged with humor. She laughed, aligning her arm with his, holding his hand in hers and guiding it up toward the constellation. “There. It’s that very bright star that will anchor you. That one is Sirius, the dog star.” He gripped her hand in his when she would have pulled away. “Show me,” he said. And something fluttered inside, as though he was asking for more than just to be shown her second-favorite constellation. “There,” she said again. “Lady Wilhelmina!” a voice called, and she frowned, turning to face the speaker. It was a young gentleman, but she had no idea who he was. He was of medium height and build, his pleasant features lit up with a warm smile. He bowed when he reached her. “I did not realize you patronized the opera. Wasn’t it wonderful?” It was, but she didn’t want to admit that to a stranger. Even one who knew her, though that made him not a stranger, didn’t it? Nevertheless, it felt like a secret that she’d been so moved, and she didn’t want anyone besides Mr. Townsend to know about it. “Yes,” she said, sounding awkward. Something she hadn’t sounded for the past few hours. Not just because she was silently absorbing the opera, but because it felt comfortable to speak with him, even when they were disagreeing. “May I introduce Mr. Townsend,” she said suddenly, gesturing toward him. “And this is—” she said, faltering. “Lord Paskins,” the gentleman said, holding his hand out eagerly. “A pleasure, sir.” Mr. Townsend made some sort of polite noncommittal noise that Wilhelmina found oddly reassuring as he shook the other man’s hand. “I saw your parents earlier,” Lord Paskins said, returning his attention to Wilhelmina, “and your mother—” “Stepmother,” she and Mr. Townsend murmured. “—said I should be certain to find you to say hello. I’m meeting some friends at my club, so I cannot tarry, but it was a pleasure to see you here. Nice to meet you, sir,” Lord Paskins added. Wilhelmina dipped her head as the gentleman turned back to rejoin his group, mostly made up of gentlemen who looked like him. “I have no idea who that was,” she said in wonder. “I must have met him during one of Alethea’s dinners.” She snorted. “They’ve only been married a month or so, and they’ve already entertained more than my father and I ever did.” Making her miss the most recent meeting of the Stars Above Society, for example. “He knew who you were, though,” Mr. Townsend said, his voice stern. For some reason, that sent a tiny thrill zinging through Wilhelmina’s spine. “And he saw you with me. Perhaps your stepmother is correct about gentlemen wanting to know what another gentleman is doing.” “Or my stepmother ensured he would find me,” she said. Because it was every woman’s desire to be safely and well-married. At least according to women like Alethea. They walked slowly, arm in arm, Wilhelmina thinking of everything and nothing—how the opera had made her feel as though she was truly alive, how comfortable she was with him while also keenly aware of every movement he made. How it felt as though she were in a dream, one she did not wish to wake from. “Oh dear,” she exclaimed, stopping short. “What is it?” he asked. They had walked out of the crowd leaving the opera, past the line of carriages waiting to take the guests home, onto a narrow sidewalk. It was late enough that there weren’t very many people out, except for the postopera people, most of whom were going in the other direction. They were nearly alone, or at least as much alone as one could be in London. “Shouldn’t we be—you know—going home?” She gave a frantic wave between them. “And here I am just walking with you as though you don’t have a place to be, and as if we’d discussed and—” He closed his hand over hers. “It’s fine, Wilhelmina,” he said in a low voice. He’d called her by her first name. She didn’t even know his. “I don’t have anywhere to be but here,” he replied. “Unless you have to go home to walk Dipper?” He’d even remembered her dog’s name. That warmed her heart. “No, Aunt Flora will take care of that,” she said. “But do you want to hire a hackney?” “Not unless you are in a rush,” he said, meeting her gaze in the moonlight. “Or you need to practice how to hail one,” he added with a wink. “I’m not in a rush,” she said baldly, ignoring his second comment. “I want to talk to you about the opera. I don’t know if I can explain how it made me feel. I just—it was just magical. It was wonderful.” “And here I thought it was all yowling screeches,” he said in a dry tone of voice. “I never said screeches!” she said indignantly. He laughed. “No, but I did.” He began to walk again, holding her arm close to his body. It felt warm—both her arm and his body—and Wilhelmina felt herself drawn back into the dreamy postopera haze she’d been in before. “What do you think now?” she asked. “I think that I would like to hear what you think.” A prevarication, but one she was happy to accommodate. “Fine. I will tell you, but you have to tell