To Charm a Bluestocking

by Renée Dahlia

  Josephine dropped her knife. It clattered on the plate, and she rubbed at her frown.

  ‘And never mind that. You know how I’ve been working at Dr Aletta Jacobs clinic? Well, I wish you’d been there the other day. You should have seen this man’s face. It was just the perfect moment. He came with his wife, and afterwards when given the bill, he told Aletta that the price was too high and he should pay less because she, the doctor, was female. Aletta looked down her nose at him and said, “You should pay more for such a unique service” … oh no.’

  Josephine looked up from her plate to see Van Percy cross the room towards their table.

  ‘What a lovely surprise,’ he said. He grabbed a chair from a neighbouring table and sat himself down.

  ‘Let me join you for lunch, ladies.’

  Claire opened her mouth, presumably to protest. Josephine shook her head faintly in a warning to her friend. She swallowed, her cutlery grasped tight in her hands.

  ‘Sir, I’d rather you didn’t single me out like this. It’s not appropriate for you to show any preference towards me so close to the final examination. I wish to partake in the process without any negative implications from my fellow students,’ she said.

  ‘My dear Miss Tobinbury, your honesty does you credit. But no-one of any importance can see us.’ He gave a sideways glance to Claire and preened his moustache. ‘Your concern is unwarranted. This is the perfect space for us to investigate our preference for each other.’

  ‘Perhaps, you should tell Professor Van Percy about … ahh,’ said Claire. Josephine heard the hesitation and realised that she hadn’t told Claire the name of her newly acquired fiancé. Josephine opened her mouth to speak as Claire sent her a tiny wink.

  ‘The … real reason that his attentions are unwanted,’ said Claire. Josephine grinned as her friend brazened her way through. Her grin was wiped away in an instant as the professor spoke.

  ‘It’s not your place to say whether my darling Miss Tobinbury is interested in me. No wonder this has been difficult, with her mind being poisoned by you. I know about you and your antics. With your personal background, you are the last person that my dear innocent Miss Tobinbury should take advice from.’ Van Percy spat his words out at Claire. His reddened cheeks wobbled, and his moustache twitched even after he’d stopped speaking. Claire sneered back at him, her upper lip curled up as she glared at him with narrowed eyes. Josephine flicked her gaze between the two of them.

  ‘I imagine that Miss Tobinbury’s fiancé might have something to do with her reluctance,’ said Claire. Josephine was amazed that Claire could sound so calm.

  ‘You lie,’ he said. He flicked his head between the two of them, then stopped to stare. Josephine curled her shoulders together under his intense glare.

  ‘Surely, she lies. I have investigated you and never did I hear about a fiancé.’

  The idea that Van Percy had researched her, as if she was some sort of thesis project, turned Josephine’s stomach. Her fingers held her cutlery so tight, her knuckles were white. She shook her head faintly at Claire in warning and glared right back at Van Percy. She tried to blast him with a withering look. Her fingernails dug into her palms and her hands shook. She raised her chin and tried to stare down her nose at him. What a pest he was.

  ‘Obviously, you asked the wrong people about me. Everyone knows about Lord St. George. Your source is not reliable,’ she spat out. She ground her teeth.

  His chair crashed to the ground behind him as he sprang to his feet.

  ‘How dare you imply that?’ He stood with his hands on his hips. Josephine shrank back in her chair at the show of force. She was sure her eyes were wide. Claire leapt to her feet and the two of them stared at each other. Josephine wanted to hide under the table. The air was electric.

  ‘How could she imply anything else?’ yelled Claire, stabbing her fork through the air towards him.

  ‘Firstly, you had my dear friend investigated? What on earth are you playing at! And further, if your little investigation didn’t find Lord St. George, then you should take the advice you hand out in class so readily. Do more study before making any claim to knowledge! One does not simply invent a fiancé, and a peer at that.’ Claire sat back down and leant back in her chair, her hands linked behind her head. Her lips curved in a smile that Josephine could only describe as smug. Van Percy’s face glowed red, his eyes blazing, a deep frown marred his brow. He brushed down the front of his jacket and tilted his chin upwards. He did that little double-tap with his heels that made Josephine clench her jaw with irritation. He cleared his throat.

  ‘This is not the last you’ll hear from me. I will have you, and he will not.’

  He turned on his heels and walked rigidly out of the room. His footfalls rang evenly on the wooden floor, and Josephine let out her breath in a long, ragged sigh.

  ‘That went well, I think,’ said Claire, with a lopsided smile. Her gaze darted around the room and she leant towards Josephine.

  ‘I think we dispatched him rather nicely.’

  ‘I’m not sure it was wise to make him angry though,’ said Josephine. ‘It may end up causing more problems than it solves. I don’t think he believes me. What if he …?’

  ‘He, what? What can he do now? You just need to introduce him to this fancy Lord of yours, and act all lovey. Easy.’

  Josephine rubbed her eyes and tilted her head to one side. She held out her hands before her, with her shoulders slightly lifted. ‘Where do I start with that comment? Lord St. George isn’t mine. He’s just acting because my father told him to. And “act lovey”. I don’t know that I’m capable of that. Especially with him.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You’ve already said that he’s handsome. Kissing a handsome man is hardly a trial.’

  ‘But what about my heart? How do I keep myself safe from him?’ Josephine crossed her hands over her heart, and sent out a pleading look to her friend.

  Claire raised her eyebrows and her lips lifted into a smirk.

  ‘What? It’s just a kiss. Stop thinking so much. He can’t steal your heart, or God forbid, take your innocence, or some other archaic idea. Let him kiss you. Enjoy it.’ Claire’s finger pointed at her, encroaching into her space.

  ‘And make sure Van Percy sees it happen. This is a game. Make Van Percy see you with St. George and you win.’ Claire gave a little huff and stabbed the pie with her fork. ‘Men are easy to manage. You just need to stand up to them.’

  ‘You make it sound so simple,’ said Josephine. She waved her hands before her.

  ‘It is simple. Men are simple. I have brothers, I ought to know,’ Claire declared. ‘Now let’s get you a proper gown. You are in a battle now. You need to be properly dressed to win the fight.’ She threw some bills on the table, stood, and charged out the door. Once again Josephine was left to scramble and catch up.

  Josephine arrived back at her house just after dinner time. The sky was dark as the autumn sun had faded away late in the afternoon. Her shopping mission with Claire had been successful and she did have a fabulous dress for the academic dinner. Bustles had almost melted out of fashion and this gown was her favourite dark blue with the latest lopsided lace overskirt in a matching shade. Fashion aside, the day had been long and emotionally confusing. She kept rehashing the way she had met Nicholas. No, she told herself, think of him by his title. St. George. Nicholas was too intimate. It had been a spectacularly interesting meeting. So intimate being pressed up against him like that. She could still feel his form against hers, even after a busy day. Those initial sparks of lust still buzzed gently on her skin when she thought about him. Which, to be fair, was pretty much the whole day. When she wasn’t thinking about him, she had been talking about him. No wonder she felt tired.

  Josephine prided herself on being rational. She was confused and exhausted by her current unusually heightened emotional state. She pulled her key out of her shoulder bag and fumbled as she tried to open the front door. She managed the small feat only to notice the house
was ablaze with light. Perhaps her companion, Betsy, was still awake with her embroidery or some other useful task. She peered into the drawing room.

  ‘Josephine, how glad I am that you are home. Look, we have a visitor. A Lord Nicholas St. George has come to see you on some business,’ said Betsy in her quiet voice. Josephine looked deeper into the room and saw Nicholas—St George—sitting in a relaxed pose on a leather chair by the fire. She stood in the doorway and wobbled on her tired feet at the surprise of him. Her satchel and shopping dropped to the floor in front of her and she took refuge in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. Nicholas leapt up and crossed the room to put his arm around her shoulders. He guided her to the daybed and his strength added to her sense of confusion. At his touch, her senses leapt in that remembered excitement, so much more than her memory of several hours before. She sat slumped, a faint frown on her face.

  ‘Are you alright?’ said Betsy. ‘You look a little pale. I suppose you forgot to eat dinner again. All that time in the library, hiding in books isn’t good for you, my dear.’

  ‘Have you eaten?’ St. George demanded. She looked up at his words to see his lips thin. Was he displeased with her for not eating? She had to resist the urge to drape her hand over her forehead and let her head loll backwards. She gave a short sigh. What silly imaginings. She pulled in a quick breath and sat up straighter.

  ‘Yes, of course, I had a late lunch not too long ago. It’s just been a long day, and I’m a little tired. I just need to retire and I will be fine tomorrow.’

  ‘Betsy, could you please ask Cook for some sustenance for Josephine? She needs a reviving sandwich or whatever can be rustled up at this stage,’ said St. George.

  Betsy rushed off to do his bidding, while Josephine stared in amazement that her usually sensible companion had fallen under his spell. If he could charm her sensible, quiet spinster companion, Josephine held out no hope for her own heart’s safety. She had to figure out a way to keep him from charming her, and thus keep herself safe from him.

  ‘Lord St. George, I realise we have a lot to discuss,’ she started, her voice soft with a slight waver in it.

  ‘Nicholas,’ he interrupted.

  ‘Lord St. George,’ she emphasised. She cleared her throat and attempted to speak in a firm voice. She held herself straight as she spoke and focused on the landscape on the wall behind his head.

  ‘The hour is late and I would rather go through everything tomorrow when I have had a chance to refresh myself.’ She needed to compose herself and get accustomed to the way he stared at her, as if she was the only item in the world worthy of his gaze. He probably looked at many women like that. Case in point Betsy. She swallowed the sigh that threatened to escape.

  ‘I have a class in the morning,’ she continued, ‘but we could meet for lunch. Typically, I have lunch with my friends at the Ship and Anchor …’

  Rather than send him on his way, he only grinned at her words. He sat down next to her, so close that his thigh was less than an inch from hers. He may as well be touching her. She could feel the heat emanating off him. He turned to face her, his hands open on his thighs. He leant in towards her. Their faces were only inches apart, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with mirth. She was motionless, torn between closing the distance between their lips, and wanting to race away from the potential he offered. He waited, his eyes searching hers.

  ***

  Nicholas was sure he was sunk. Her face was so near, lit with a fresh, rosy flush. A faint frown flashed on her face, then was wiped away as her eyes focused on him. He could see her thinking and he desperately wanted to know those thoughts. That rapid brain of hers drew him in and held him captive. Her lips parted as they sat there in silence. Kiss me, those lips screamed at him. He shuffled backwards on the seat and sat on his hands to maintain his control. He tore his gaze away from hers and cleared his throat.

  ‘I’d rather go somewhere a little more discreet for the conversation we need to have. There is a nice café I found today down by the canal. Let’s meet there after your morning classes. Now, here is Betsy with some food.’ He shuffled further to the side to create more distance between them, and ran his hands through his hair as he watched Betsy carry a large platter into the room.

  The platter contained two thick slices of the local rye bread, with a selection of cheeses and a side of warm vegetables slathered in butter. He heard Josephine’s stomach growl as the comforting aroma of melted butter filled the room. A cup of milk finished the meal. Betsy placed the platter on a side table and Nicholas leant over. He created a sandwich with the bread and cheese, then waited while Josephine gulped down the milk. She took the sandwich from his hands and their fingers brushed each other. Never before had such a tiny touch aroused him so strongly and he pulled his hands away and shoved them in his jacket pockets. Josephine only had eyes for her sandwich and he was glad she didn’t appear to notice his uncomfortable lust. The sound of her masticating filled the room and it took all his effort to look away from her lips as they worked on her food. It was not much of a stretch to imagine her mouth on him. Sans teeth, of course. Oh God, now his erection strained against his pants as he imagined her teeth lightly scraping along his penis. Her hair wild and loose as she focused those lips on him.

  ‘By the by, I have your book. I placed it on the side table there,’ he said. Anything to distract him from that view. She flicked her eyes towards him, then back to her sandwich. She probably heard the growl of arousal in his voice.

  ‘Thank you, both of you, for considering my needs,’ Josephine said and placed the rest of the sandwich back on the platter. Her voice returned him to his fantasy and he watched her hungrily as she stood up. Her skirts rustled in the air beside him.

  ‘I must retire now. Good night, Betsy,’ she said. Her voice was feminine. Soft, yet clear and considered.

  ‘Good night, Josephine. I look forward to our discussion tomorrow.’ He saw the pink blush on her cheeks as she gave him a sharp nod and turned away.

  ‘My Lord,’ she said as she left the room.

  Nicholas sat at the café, outside in the cold air, as he waited for her. The freshness of the air should have helped clarify matters. About Josephine. And marriage. Not just the fake fiancé deal either. Marriage was not something he had ever contemplated. It didn’t fit with his line of work. He had an older brother to secure the succession. There were many good reasons why he had never needed to think about marriage.

  He liked women. That wasn’t the issue. He had spent time with many different women over the course of his time in Europe. It was a basic principle of spying; that the most interesting titbits are told across a pillow. The role of the dissolute young rake was one that he had played to perfection during those political assignments earlier in his career. Nights spent at balls with the wives and mistresses of all the grand players in this game of international politics. Nights spent listening carefully to the threads of conversation to pick up little pieces of intrigue. Many of the ladies were sadly neglected by their power-hungry husbands and all too willing to give up their husband’s secrets for a few hours in the arms of a handsome young man.

  Was he ready to give that up for one woman?

  Thanks to Lord Walstone’s suggestion, and Josephine herself—and maybe in part due to his age and general ennui with his job—thoughts of marriage had morphed into a serious idea. He could picture his life with her in it, permanently. It would always be interesting. She would never back down from a fight, and in a rage she was glorious. When she had wobbled on her feet yesterday from exhaustion, he had a compulsion to help her. His body responded to her need before his brain could process any rational thought. He had been raised to help. It was polite in the society he was born into, to assume a woman’s weaker nature required assistance from a man. But that moment last night was different.

  He had been pulled towards her. It was her strength that called to him, not weakness. And it was not just lust, although that was ever present whenever he
saw her. Something more elemental tugged at his heart in that moment when she arrived last night—pale, tired, and yet full of fortitude. He sensed her vitality, drive, and energy for life mirrored his. Together they could be formidable, and he smiled as he pictured a life together with her as an equal partner.

  Chapter 5

  Josephine tried to focus her attention on the lecturer, but he was the worst of them all. He simply recited from the textbook, and she’d read it all weeks before. Thankfully, this was the final lecture before the study period commenced. Three weeks with nothing scheduled. Soon she would hold a piece of paper, crisp under her fingertips, as it prescribed all her effort into a few words. Dr Tobinbury. She closed her eyes as the lecturer’s voice blandly read the text book, and rested in her chair, a faint smile on her face.

  Her mind drifted towards its current favourite subject. Nicholas—Lord St. George—she reprimanded herself, again. Seriously, she’d only met him twice yesterday, and he already dominated her thoughts. Damn these men and the way they took her from her goal. She tapped her pencil on her notepad. It was time to bring out some weaponry and lighten today’s discussion. She drew figure eights on her page.

  Claire and Marie would create a buffer between her rebellious senses and him. She could get to know him without so much presumption on his part. He’d literally crashed into her life yesterday. He’d wrecked her cultivated peace and quiet, and replaced it with all this feeling. It wasn’t just the sparks between them that unnerved her. Already he bossed her about, made her eat and generally acted as if he had real rights to her. Her pencil lead snapped off, jolting her hand. She frowned. He needed a reminder that this was fake.

  ***

  ‘Is that your mysterious new fiancé?’ asked Marie. The three friends had travelled to the café together and Claire had spent most of the time relaying yesterday’s discussions to Marie. ‘He’s gorgeous!’ she said in a breathy voice.