“That sounds slightly ominous,” Octavia said. “Is this something the matrons would approve of?”
“Absolutely not,” Jane admitted. “But much more interesting for it.”
“Aren’t most things?” Octavia said. “Matrons by nature approve of the most dull things. Don’t you think, Julius?”
“Couldn’t claim to know. Can’t say I’ve ever spent much time with the matrons of the world.”
“So what are some of these interesting things in Brighton?” Octavia asked.
“People, books, art. Even ideas. Philosophical discussions.”
“Philosophical discussions?” Octavia said disbelievingly.
“She’s referring to the German Philosophies, if I’m not mistaken,” Julius said and Jane looked over to him.
"Risqué philosophies,” Jane said with a raised eyebrow.
“Do you believe such things?” Julius asked.
“I definitely know people who do.”
“Then you know some dubious characters.”
“Haven’t philosophers always been dubious characters?” Jane returned. “By nature, they challenge the status quo. And while I don’t necessarily absorb some of their philosophies, I do believe they should be free to voice them. In all honesty, some of them are a little unhinged, but they are interesting.”
“So the quest is for interesting?”
“Always.”
Now it was the others watching them debating. That Julius didn’t readily approve of her wasn’t a surprise. She’d never expected him to, but he was expected to be cordial enough to not throw her out of his house—at least in the dark.
Something in her didn’t mind having these discussions with him. "The whole point of debate is deliberating with someone of opposing view.”
“Then you cannot go wrong with Julius,” Octavia pointed out. “He’s dyed in the wool indoctrinated in the material class.”
Julius shot his sister a dismissive look.
Chapter 15
LUCKILY, NEITHER HIS sister nor sister-in-law joined them for the painting session the following day. Perhaps it was at Jane’s insistence.
Jane looked a little tired. Supper the previous night had continued late into the night, talking about philosophy, current event and Jane’s life. There was definitely an interest in her and how she lived her life, and Jane had come alive with the discussion. He’d heard her laugh, which he hadn’t done before, and she laughed quite readily when the mood struck her. But she was worse for wear today.
“You sister cares about you,” Jane said after sitting down by the canvas with her board and brush, apparently ready for the session.
“My sister is an endless vexation.”
“Yes, have your dealings always been like this?”
“Always. Father designed it so, I think.” It had been an environment where any weakness had been exposed and preyed upon, but never with absolute viciousness. Still, it had always been there. In his heart, he knew his father had tried to prepare them for the world, and to be able to stand up for themselves. It was one thing to be a bully, quite another to handle oneself effectively.
“You can choose to deal with each other differently.”
“Again, is this in your vast experience with siblings?”
“As someone who would absolutely love to have one.”
He felt admonished for a moment. His relationship with his siblings wasn’t something he wanted the world to dissect in detail. Granted, his relationship with Caius was different from what it had been. Leaving had changed him considerably, and he’d come back a different man in ways Julius didn’t fully understand yet. They hadn’t been able to recover the brotherly relationship they’d had before.
In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he could imagine not having siblings. Perhaps it would have been utter bliss, but if so, he would be absolutely alone in the world now. While he might be hard-pressed to admit it, he was glad that both his siblings were happily settled—with seemingly growing families. Some of which he could see out on the lawn. Atticus was there, running after his cousins.
His son was someone who was growing up without siblings.
“I think that’s not quite as wistful as we’d want,” Jane said and Julius brought his attention back to her. She was referring to the painting.
“Wistful is not how anyone has ever described me,” Julius said.
“How do people describe you?”
“What an odd question. Stubborn, probably.”
“Your sister certainly believes so. Why are you stubborn?”
“Because I’m right.”
“Are you always right?”
“If one takes the time and thinks through things, then one makes the best assessment with the information available. As a consequence, that assessment is right.”
“Until new information comes along.”
With a nod, he conceded her statement.
“But sometimes there are choices with no right answer,” she said. “Some things are illogical.”
“Such as?”
“Love.”
“Love,” he repeated dismissively. “Are you a romantic, Miss Brightly?”
“I’m not sure one can be an artist without being a romantic. But that perhaps depends on one’s definition.”
“And how do you define it?”
She looked pensive for a moment. “That’s a good question. It’s not something I’ve actually defined for me. Romance, for me...” She had to stop and think some more. “I suppose it’s about believing in our better natures—if that makes sense.”
It didn’t.
“It’s a belief in beauty—and not the classical definition of beauty, as in the latest actress that’s taking London by storm. Or Brighton. We have plenty of those too. I don’t see that as romance. Instead, it’s seeing beauty in more mundane things. Not just beauty, but the poignancy in how it links back to our humanity.”
“And what would you give as an example?”
“Maybe in how you work so hard to protect yourself.”
He snorted. “In what way?”
“You’re so very closed off, but at the same time curious.”
Not everyone would describe him that way. “Are you sure you’re not simply romanticizing something which at its core isn’t basic snobbery?”
“Snobbery is more shallow.”
“I think you’ve formed some illusions about me.”
“Well, I do study you in detail, and you reveal a great many things about yourself.”
“Such
