The Baron and the Bluestocking Read online

  To his surprise, the man grinned. “You don’t think it’s time for a Universal Education Bill, Votes for Women, etcetera?”

  “Nor do you, I take it.”

  “I listen to Miss Whitcombe for reasons other than her advice. I know well that with a Tory Prime Minister and majority in the Commons, we are unlikely to pass any revolutionary legislation. Too French.”

  “It relieves me to hear you say so,” Shrewsbury said, pouring Blakeley another glass of claret. “I, myself, see nothing amiss in universal education; however, as you say, the Tories are in the majority, and anything proposed at this stage must be more in the nature of middle of the road legislation. Am I to understand that you have a personal interest in Miss Whitcombe?”

  Blakeley’s face pokered up. “She is a fine woman in all respects. And though she does not dwell on it, I happen to know that she has had a very bad time of it, indeed. So bad, my lord, that her family actually went hungry.”

  “In Ruisdell’s parish? I find that hard to believe!”

  “The duke and duchess were in Town all this last year. They knew nothing of the Whitcombes’ circumstances other than that the vicar had died and lost the living.”

  Shrewsbury was shocked. “Are there any members of the family now remaining in such poverty?”

  “Miss Whitcombe’s salary is supporting her three younger sisters. They live in a rooming house in Chipping Norton. The brothers have found work, I am glad to say.”

  Thinking of the slim wage paid to Miss Whitcombe, Christian frowned deeply, looking at his plate in reproach for the food that remained there. “Something must be done. I had no clue she was in such straits! I shall speak to Ruisdell immediately. He is a great benefactor; the largest single contributor to the orphanage, as a matter of fact.”

  “That would be a relief to me. Until such time as we are married, I can do nothing for Miss Whitcombe or her family. She has refused my help.”

  Shrewsbury felt as though something heavy had suddenly lodged itself in his chest. Hélène Whitcombe to marry Blakeley? Keeping his voice even, he said, “You are to be married?”

  “I will not ask her until after the by-election. I am fairly certain of success. Miss Whitcombe would like to be married to an MP above all things, I think.”

  Shrewsbury thought so, too. It would be a very good marriage for her, seen in that light. And the man’s wealth would be a boon to her family. Why, then, was he so opposed to the idea?

  { 6 }

  HÉLÈNE WAS CONSIDERABLY SURPRISED when, two weeks into her teaching, the duke of Ruisdell appeared at the orphanage and stood in the rear of her reading class. On that particular day, they had reached the letter n in their study of the alphabet. On the table in front of her was a bowl of nuts, a drawing of a face (an arrow pointing to the nose), and a bright green number nine.

  She was soliciting other words beginning with the letter from her class.

  “Nobody,” said Sal, her brightest pupil.

  “Nuffing,” said Mary.

  “Naked,” said Eliza, the troublemaker, snickering. The class joined her.

  “Knock,” Doris said.

  Hélène said, “Sometimes the ‘n’ sound comes after the letter ‘k.’ A ‘k’ in this combination is silent in the English language. You just have to learn those special words, but it is not hard. It will not seem right to pronounce the letter ‘k.’ Another word that is like this is the kind of knight that wears armor.”

  She passed around a book with a picture of a knight.

  “Cor, ‘e’s funny looking!” Francie said.

  The cowbell rang, announcing luncheon. As the girls raced out the door, the duke came forward into the yellow room. He was dressed in riding clothes with a days’ growth of sandy beard, giving him the appearance of a man who had driven hence with urgent business.

  “Hello, Miss Whitcombe. Your teaching progresses well, it seems. How do you find your pupils?”

  She swallowed nervously. “Some are eager to learn. A few make things difficult, but I am managing well enough.”

  “Splendid! I should like to speak to you privately, if that is possible, on a matter of some importance.”

  She offered him her chair and sat on top of one of the short, long tables used by her students as a desk, modestly crossing her ankles. “This room will do. It will be unoccupied for the next hour.”

  “Well enough.” He fixed her with his eyes. Was he going to tell her that she was not suitable for the job? Had Lord Shrewsbury told him of her political ideas? Did he take objection to them?

  The face he raised to hers wore an expression of sorrow. “I owe you my deepest apologies, Miss Whitcombe. Indeed, I feel so remorseful that I have no idea how to make up for the suffering you have endured.”

  “Suffering? But I assure you, your grace, I have been treated exceedingly well.”

  “I am referring to the length of time after your father’s death and before you were employed here. I understand from Lord Shrewsbury that your family was so badly off that you actually went hungry.”

  Her cheeks colored and she looked down at the skirt of her serviceable black serge uniform. How roundly she had abused the duke during that period! Had Lord Shrewsbury come to hear of it somehow? Holding her head up, she looked him in the eye and said, “That is true, your grace.”

  His forehead furrowed and his eyes conveyed deep distress. “It is no excuse that we were in Town and unaware of your plight. We should have inquired. I had no idea your father had left you completely penniless.”

  Perhaps to make up for her earlier abuse of him, she tried to excuse his neglect. “The duchess did recommend me for this position, your grace. And you found work for my brothers.”

  “In the meantime, you starved.”

  She remained silent in her acknowledgement.

  “I understand your sisters are living in Chipping Norton in lodgings, and that your salary goes to maintain them.”

  Where had he learned this? Her question must have appeared on her face, for he said, “Your friend Mr. Blakeley was angry on your behalf. He related the details to Lord Shrewsbury, who was so appalled he wasted no time in making me aware of the facts. I came straight here. What has become of your mother?”

  “She lives with her sister, who has a small jointure from her husband.”

  The duke stood and paced. “I shall arrange a pension for her. And I should like to take you and your sisters into my household. I will provide a governess for your sisters. You, I should like to have a Season in Town. Anyone of your intelligence and beauty should be given the opportunity to marry well.”

  His words raised such a conflict in Hélène that she could not speak. Undoubtedly, the offer of a season and the chance to marry well was very generous from his point of view. But it went contrary to everything she had come to stand for! Marriage as a way of finding security was not for her. She certainly did not want any part of a ton marriage.

  “You are very kind, your grace. I thank you on behalf of myself and my sisters. I have taken a lesson from my misfortunes. It is our intention only to marry if we can see our way to becoming an equal partner with our husbands. Such a marriage would be impossible among the ton.”

  The duke straightened and his eyes were suddenly fierce. “I can understand that such might be your view, for I am well aware that you espouse radical political beliefs. But is it really fair to impose those beliefs on your sisters? They are all under the age of eighteen. Your wage can only provide them the sketchiest of means. I cannot even begin to imagine the squalid rooms in which they must be living. At least give them the chance to decide for themselves.”

  Hélène pressed her lips in a grim line. She supposed she could not expect this duke to understand the irony of the situation. It was precisely because of his neglect at the time of her father’s death that she was determined never again to be dependent on a man or the existing social system for her well-being. She and her sisters would be as independent as they could manage, socie
ty being what it was.

  “Your grace, have you considered what is to become of my sisters? They cannot live forever on your largesse. Would it not be better if they continued to train under me to be teachers or governesses? They cannot be expected to see far ahead enough to make proper, well-thought-out decisions.”

  He paced again, running a hand through his unruly light brown hair with its strands of silver. “I must, in all good conscience, visit your sisters and observe their living situation. If nothing else, I must give you a stipend for their care. You must see that.”

  Hélène tried to view the issue objectively. Was it really fair that her sisters should live in such poverty when the means were available for their relative comfort? Even if the whole situation smacked of the feudal system? Oh, that the Enlightenment were truly here—that women might have more choices in their lives!

  She stared at her feet. Her sisters must realize that the temporary ease they might enjoy in the Ruisdell household was not what they could expect from life when they became of age. “You may see my sisters, your grace. But please try to understand their true plight. If you offer them luxury, they are bound to accept. I beg you not to do so. It will be that much harder for them to accept a life as a teacher or governess when the time comes.”

  The duke pursed his lips. “Surely you paint too grim a picture, Miss Whitcombe. You are bound to marry. At such a time they will live with you, will they not?”

  “I do not know that I will marry. And should I do so, my husband may not have the means . . .”

  “Cut line, Miss Whitcombe! You must know very well that young Blakeley intends to offer for you. He is wealthy enough to support any number of sisters.”

  She could feel anger rush from her chest into her head. “Where, might I ask, did you get that idea?”

  “Mr. Blakeley said as much to Lord Shrewsbury.”

  “And all three of you take my acceptance of his suit for granted?”

  The duke pounded her desk with his fist. “Why must you be so confounded difficult? Take my stipend then! You would not deny it if it were for your orphans, would you? Why should you and your sisters, who are also orphans, be denied funds simply because of your mistaken pride?”

  Was it pride? The idea that it could be thus construed took the wind out of her sails. She and her sisters were a charity case. Just as surely as these girls from the East End. Like it or not.

  “I will not offer you an exorbitant amount,” he continued. “I will ask Mrs. Blakeley to recommend a better situation for your sisters. When I have found it, I will arrange to pay for it. I will also arrange for their board. All that will remain is for me to leave with you money for clothing and emergencies, such as doctor bills.”

  She could not help it. With this offer, the heavy responsibility she had felt for her sisters’ welfare lifted from her shoulders, and tears brimmed and flowed. At the sight, his grace came to her side and put a hand on her arm. “Do you not understand? It will always be the duty of those who have the most to help those with the least. I did not earn my wealth. It is mine by birth. It blesses me so that I have the means of blessing others. The situation does not mean you are weak.”

  Hélène wept now in earnest, divested of her pride, if it were that. Deep inside she also divested herself of all the fear she had carried that something might happen to her. That she would be unable to provide even the meager funds she had to support her sisters. That they would be cast upon an uncaring world.

  “Thank you, your grace. And bless you for your generosity.”

  He smiled at her. Once she had provided him with her sisters’ direction, he took his leave.

  It was only after he had gone that she realized the duke never would have come if Lord Shrewsbury had not been concerned about her and what Samuel had revealed about her situation. As things had transpired in the end, she had to admit—though it pained her—that she was grateful to him. And rather surprised at the depth of his concern.

  *~*~*

  After seeing the orphans settled for the night, Hélène took the carriage back to Blakeley House and, as she wanted time alone to think, wrapped herself in a shawl and went to sit outside in the garden.

  Is it my duty to my sisters to marry Blakeley? I could still teach. If he is elected to Parliament, I could help him with his speeches and platform. I could have an influence there. And my sisters could live with us indefinitely. They would not have to go out as governesses unless they desired it. Even if Samuel were to die young, I would undoubtedly have a significant inheritance to continue to care for them.

  Of course, she would not even be considering the matter, if she did not think she could count on Samuel to treat her as an equal. He would prize her ideas, her intelligence, her talents. Yes, it would be a very good marriage. Samuel would give her security, but she would have something to give, as well. Inspiration and counsel. He would be able to count on her to further his career in every way.

  There in the dark, she closed her eyes and inhaled the savory scents of Mrs. Blakeley’s herb garden. She would have her own home. A mansion such as this. A piano. A library. And no worries about money.

  Then into her mind sailed a vision of Baron Shrewsbury, and the spark he had ignited inside her burned again, spreading warmth in her breast. She had never felt such a thing before. For a moment, the vision of Samuel and the life they would share fled. Hélène allowed herself to imagine those powerful arms around her, pulling her into an embrace, his lips on hers, kissing her with an extension of the passion that had ignited their conversation. For moments, she dwelt in an imagined future that had nothing to do with money or mansions, but with all that she imagined of love.

  What a silly widgeon you are! The man does not even like you! Marriage with him is quite out of the question.

  She concentrated once again on Samuel and the life they would lead, almost succeeding in putting the baron firmly out of her mind. Hélène rose and went in. Yes, a marriage to Samuel would be prudent for many reasons, not the least of which was the possibility to forward her political agenda. Marrying for love was not an option she had.

  *~*~*

  Hélène’s sisters were very excited to discuss the Duke’s visit when she called upon them the next day.

  “Only think, Ellie,” said Jacquie. “He took us straight to a Mrs. Pierce, a dear friend of Mrs. Blakeley whose daughters have all married. She is that happy to have us with her.”

  “What is Mrs. Pierce like?” Hélène asked doubtfully.

  “Very unpretentious,” said Monique. “Her husband is in business with Mr. Blakeley, however, and she has a very comfortable home. She does not come out of the top drawer, socially, of course, but she is very kind.”

  Anne-Marie added, “Jacquie is to have her own room. Monique and I will share. And our room is perfectly lovely! The walls are lilac striped with little bunches of flowers and a matching counterpane.”

  Hélène could not believe how their circumstances were to change. Hoping that Mrs. Pierce was kind, and not simply putting on an act for the Duke, she said, “And when are you to move in there?”

  “This very day! Two footmen are coming for us at any moment. We are to have our tea there!” Anne-Marie said.

  “Well, I hope that you may not be idle,” Hélène said, half-heartedly. What was the need for them to continue to prepare themselves for servitude if she were to marry Samuel?

  Jacqueline assured her, “We should be frightfully bored if we discontinued our studies. But the duke is giving us some pin money, so we shall commence straightaway to fashion some new gowns!”

  “That is good, then,” Hélène said. “I am exceedingly happy for you.” She gathered them to her all at once and gave in to a profound sense of relief. “Oh, my dears, what a wonderful change in your fortunes is this!”

  { 7 }

  SHREWSBURY NEXT MET Lady Virginia at a Venetian breakfast held in the garden of Shearings, the Ruisdell town residence. She was a pretty picture, carrying her lime green
parasol to match the lime green and ivory striped muslin she wore. The day was fine with blue skies and a touch of autumn crispness in the air. The duchess’s garden was noted for its roses, which were flaunting their last display of the year.

  Keeping Frank’s words in mind, Shewsbury resolutely banished all his expectations and vowed to accept Lady Virginia for herself, not comparing her to a list of virtues he found necessary. Sitting with her among the roses, he asked, “What particular things do you find enjoyable, Lady Virginia?”

  “You will laugh at me!” She twirled her parasol.

  “Do not tell me that Lady Susannah has managed to convert you to the joys of cataloguing her beetle collection!”

  “I beg your pardon? Lady whom?”

  “Have you not made the acquaintance of our favorite eccentric? She was present at my mother’s at home.”

  “Oh! The lady with the ringlets and the tortoise? You mean to tell me she studies beetles?” Her large eyes grew even larger.

  “Yes. She is quite an expert within the Royal Society.” Shrewsbury could not be certain, but it seemed to him that the lady was putting on an air of coyness.

  “Well, my hobby seems quite tame, in comparison.” She laughed. “I enjoy sketching.”

  “What do you like to sketch?” They were sitting on a bench and he stretched his legs in front of him, wishing he could smoke a cigar.

  “Growing up in Dorset, I have quite a fondness for landscapes. Here in London, I have had to content myself with gardens.”

  “Do you long for the sea then?”

  “Some days. Do you ever long for the country, my lord? Where is your estate situated?”

  “It is a very antiquated property in the North. I do not visit it often, preferring town.”

  “You employ an estate manager, then?”

  “I do. I visit a couple of times a year, but he represents my interests well. My father died many years ago. Mr. Grimsley was his steward.” Which reminded him that he owed old Grim a letter.