To Charm a Bluestocking

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To Charm a Bluestocking Page 10

by Renée Dahlia


  ‘But I need to concentrate. It’s important.’

  ‘A few kisses won’t stop your work. Think of it as a reward for your efforts.’

  She couldn’t help but laugh.

  ***

  Nicholas grinned as her throaty laughter burst out of her. It was quickly becoming his favourite sound.

  ‘Now come. Let’s walk back. The exercise will stimulate your thoughts,’ he said.

  ‘Will it now?’ she said with her eyebrows raised and a smirk on her lips.

  ‘It will,’ he said. These moments when she emerged from her serious shell and flirted with him were his favourite. His arms swung loosely by his side as he walked next to her.

  ‘At least it will according to an American philosopher, Thoreau, whose work I have been reading,’ he said in a light tone.

  ‘You intend to use philosophy to remove Professor Van Percy?’ Josephine asked. Her grin disappeared and he realised that the threat of Van Percy was ever present in her thoughts. He reached out and hooked his little finger around hers.

  ‘I’ll use anything that helps. Anyway, the walking book got me thinking,’ he said.

  ‘Which is what philosophy is supposed to do,’ she said.

  He grinned.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. He wanted to get back that smile. ‘Thoreau writes about connecting to the wilderness through long walks. But what if walking is actually about connecting to your own thoughts. I noticed years ago that I could untangle all the political dramas at work much easier after I’d taken exercise. Ridden a horse, done some boxing, and so on. What if Thoreau had stumbled accidentally on walking as a way of clarifying thought?’

  Josephine stopped in her tracks and looked at him with her head tilted to the side. She tapped her lips with a gloved finger. He imagined pulling off the glove with his teeth. He tightened his finger around her other hand.

  ‘That could be a useful experiment to undertake. Although I suspect that you just wanted to get me out of the house, away from Betsy, and woo me with your fancy scholarship,’ she said. A laugh burst out of him. A genuine laugh that came from deep inside. He spent most of his work days hidden behind a smile.

  ‘What better way to court a bluestocking than to read a difficult book and quote it at her?’ he said.

  Josephine laughed again. It was a rare sound and his chest puffed out. He could spend a whole lifetime in the attempts to make her laugh. He blinked. A lifetime. Where did that thought come from? He dropped his hand away from hers, leaving the connection behind, and started to walk again. To banish the thought from his head. Just concentrate on her laugh. That throaty sound filled him with lust. He could either walk away from his thoughts, or submit to them and kiss her soundly.

  Tempting fate, he turned his head slightly to glance at her. She walked next to him with a smile lingering on her face. Her body relaxed and happy. Her beauty struck him deep in his abdomen. They reached the end of the block and turned into the next street. The wind whipped up against them.

  ‘Philosophy or not, it is too cold to be out here. Walking,’ she scoffed.

  ‘You are right. Let’s return to the house.’ They turned back into the sheltered street. Nicholas stretched out his legs. To walk beside a tall woman added to the satisfaction of the outing. They matched on such a natural level. Now he just had to wait for her to see it.

  ‘One thing that interested me about Thoreau is that his early writings were fierce, and the walking philosophy came much later,’ he said. Perhaps if he talked, he could distract himself from this incessant lust. Even outside in the cold wind, when lust is impractical, it still hummed in his veins.

  ‘So he mellowed with age. It happens,’ she said.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Am I what?’

  ‘Going to mellow with age?’ He grinned.

  ‘I’m already mellow,’ she said quietly. He raised his eyebrows at that. That wasn’t his experience of her at all. He chuckled under his breath. She pushed him on the shoulder. An unexpected spontaneous touch for her. He had to shove his hands in his pockets so he didn’t grab her and pull her against him.

  ‘Maybe you just bring out the worst in me. If you hang around me for another ten years, I’ll be quite the termagant,’ she said. He heard the breathlessness in her voice. Her face was pink. From him, or the wind?

  ‘You know, I actually want to see that,’ he said. She raised her eyebrows at him and he shrugged his shoulders. It was true. When she discovered her full power she would be amazing. He wanted to be there. To see her pit herself against the world.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m not sure you needed to drag me out into the cold for that,’ she said with a sigh. She put her head down and marched quickly. He strode beside her, glad of the pace. He banged on the door for Betsy to let them in. Together, they rushed into the warmth of the drawing room where a fierce fire raged in the hearth. They stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the fire; four hands reached out to let the flames warm them. Josephine pulled off her gloves. Nicholas couldn’t resist and grabbed her hands in his. He drew them up to his face and blew hot air onto them. He saw her shiver and he wanted to wrap himself around her. Warm her all over. She looked up at his eyes and he bent his head to gently kiss her. She sighed and opened her lips for him. He kept the kiss gentle and light, not accepting her invitation. Instead he nibbled at her lip and kept his gaze focused on her. He pulled back from the kiss, still holding her hands inside his.

  ‘As promised,’ he whispered.

  A noise grabbed his attention. Betsy returned into the room with a mug of warm broth for each of them. She clicked her tongue at the way they hovered near the fireplace.

  ‘It was a nonsensical idea to venture out into weather like this. It’s absurd. Look at you both. Your cheeks are pink from the cool weather. You should know better, you’ll catch your death out there,’ said Betsy.

  ‘This broth is just what we needed,’ replied Nicholas, happy that she thought their cheeks were pink from cold, rather than the sparks of desire that flashed between them. He wondered how she could be oblivious when he’d never felt desire with this intensity before. Surely everyone could see it flowing between him and Josephine. But Josephine’s companion seemed to be only concerned with how to warm Josephine after her mad walk in the frigid weather.

  Josephine walked away from the fireplace and sat on the chaise lounge. Betsy passed her a bowl of the broth.

  ‘This really is just the ticket, Betsy,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Yes, when I told Cook that you had taken Josephine for a tramp outdoors in this miserable weather, she was determined to warm your insides when you returned.’

  ‘Very sensible.’ Nicholas looked around the room. It wasn’t a fancy room compared to how he’d grown up. Just a simple drawing room with a nice fire and comfortable seating. Small, yet cosy. He could see Josephine’s influence on the room with piles of books on all the side tables, along with notebooks that he imagined were filled with her studies and thoughts.

  His talent at reading people allowed him to determine her thoughts when she was in a place that made her feel uncomfortable or stressed. He glanced at her and wondered what she was thinking now. Here, in her home, with all her belongings around her, it was impossible to work out what she thought. As she relaxed, her thoughts became concealed from him. She would be a challenging partner in life, always keeping him guessing. Huh. There was that thought again. As if this betrothal was real. Certainly, the desire between them was real. Perhaps that’s all this feeling was. He obviously desired her. Perhaps his responsibility for her safety via his assignment intertwined with desire to create an odd sense that she meant more to him. More than their current situation allowed.

  Nicholas looked up from his broth to see Betsy hovering near Josephine.

  ‘Sit, please, Betsy,’ he said. ‘This is your home too.’

  ‘And I need a chaperone,’ said Josephine with a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Yes. Yes, that’s a grand idea. I’ll just si
t here,’ said Betsy. She perched herself on the edge of the seat. Ready for action. Like a fierce terrier ready to defend her mistress.

  ‘Relax. Have you forgotten that he works for my father? This fiancé business isn’t real. I was jesting about the chaperone. My father sent him to protect me, not ravish me.’

  Not while Betsy is in the room. He wouldn’t ravish Josephine while her companion sat there watching. He would ravish her in his bed. His mind immediately filled with the image of Josephine sprawled naked on his bed. This was fast becoming an obsession. He took a large slurp of the broth and stood up.

  ‘Send my thanks to Cook for the broth. I must be off now,’ he said and bowed.

  ***

  He left so fast that Josephine wondered why he was fleeing from her. She sighed. Men were so confusing. He argued with her about her work, then agreed with her. Another moment he kissed her as if he worshipped her. The next, he threw out a quick thanks and dashed off.

  ‘What on earth was that all about?’ she asked Betsy.

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  ‘He just left. Without warning. He confuses me,’ she said.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t shed any light on the actions of men. I. Well. I. Ahh.’ Betsy looked down at the carpet. Josephine sat quietly, watching, waiting. Betsy slumped her shoulders and gave Josephine an odd look.

  ‘I’ve just never spent any time with men. My father died young and my mother only had female servants,’ said Betsy.

  ‘What about a butler?’

  ‘Oh, we weren’t rich enough for a butler. We lived a simple life on mother’s stipend. With a cook and an occasional maid of all work. I had planned on becoming a governess when I was old enough.’

  ‘And?’ queried Josephine. This was the longest story she had ever had from Betsy. Her aunt, Lady Hillary, had employed her as a companion without asking Josephine. She was happy enough with Betsy. They had rubbed along well enough over the last four years as both preferred a peaceful life. There had never been a reason to discuss anything about their previous life. Josephine wondered if that made her strange. To live with someone for so long and not be the slightest bit curious about how she had ended up here.

  ‘Mother got sick,’ Betsy continued. ‘I nursed her for fifteen years before she died. By then I was thirty. Too old for marriage.’

  ‘Marriage? Didn’t you say you wanted to be a governess?’

  ‘Yes, of course. A governess first to gain some independent income. I did hope to also fall in love and have children of my own. I think I would have been a good mother.’

  ‘It’s not too late. If you came here directly after your mother’s death, you must be only in your early thirties. Plenty of time to build a family. We have women in the university hospital who are having healthy babies into their forties,’ said Josephine.

  ‘I’m thirty-five. I’ve resigned myself to a rather different life than the one I imagined as a fifteen-year-old.’

  ‘Fifteen years is a long time to be ill. What ailed her?’ asked Josephine. Her medical training made her quite curious about illness and such a prolonged illness was unusual. Most diseases killed their victims quickly.

  ‘We had many doctors visit, most called it a domestic illness.’

  ‘What symptoms did she have?’ asked Josephine.

  ‘It was quite strange. I came home from the local shops one morning to find her on the lounge floor and she couldn’t speak. One side of her body had ceased to function, like an apoplexy.’

  ‘A paralytic stroke,’ said Josephine. ‘Yes, I could see how that would create a prolonged illness. Did she recover any function?’

  Tears ran down Betsy’s face.

  ‘Is that possible? No doctor ever gave us any hope.’

  ‘I’m sorry. No. Typically, there isn’t any hope. Some patients make small recoveries. Many don’t. I didn’t mean to upset you. You did a very brave thing nursing her all those years,’ said Josephine frowning.

  ‘Thank you. It was very difficult. There was only just enough money in her stipend to keep the household together if I was very cautious. Not much left over for doctors. Perhaps if we’d had more money, another doctor could have done something more for her.’

  ‘There isn’t much any doctor can do with a large amount of paralysis like that. I’m not sure that all the money in the world would have helped. Having a loving nurse to keep her comfortable was probably the best thing for her. You are very brave.’

  Betsy’s tears continued to fall and she wept openly at Josephine’s comments. Josephine reached over to her and gave her an awkward hug. They sat together in front of the fire for a long time. Gradually, Betsy’s tears dried up and she looked up at Josephine.

  ‘Thank you. I haven’t ever talked to anyone about it. After Mother’s death, her stipend finished, so there was no money. I had to find employment.’

  ‘And you’ve been dragged to another country to look after me.’ Josephine grinned at Betsy, before a thought occurred to her.

  ‘Lady Hillary, my dear aunt, said that she chose you because you had experience travelling. Is that not correct?’

  ‘She said that?’ Betsy frowned. ‘I was surprised I got the job. She did all the talking when she interviewed me. Mostly I just nodded.’

  Josephine laughed.

  ‘Yes, that’s my aunt for you. She probably decided instantly on meeting you. Well, you are here now. And I’m glad of it. Now, I must get back to my books.’ Josephine stood and headed to her study.

  Chapter 11

  By the end of the week, Josephine had settled in the daily routine of study, lunch, walk, study. Oh, and kiss. Lunch, walk, kiss. She sighed a happy sigh and closed her eyes. Together they had made real progress. She approached her examinations with confidence. And whatever Nicholas—yes, she now called him Nicholas—did during the rest of the day kept Van Percy away.

  The wind finally stopped its frozen blast though the city. Josephine couldn’t resist the opportunity that the change in weather brought. The sun had come out to bathe the streets in golden light. Most of the trees had already dropped their leaves, thanks to the last few weeks of dreadful weather. They stood bare in the sunshine along the edges of the streets. The wet pavements slowly started to dry out in the weak sunlight. She sent notes to Claire and Marie proposing a study session in the library. They sent their agreements and Josephine left a note for Nicholas with Betsy. She walked briskly to the library and wasn’t surprised to find herself there first.

  Constructed during the years of wealth during the 17th century that the Dutch called the Golden Age, the library reflected that time with ornate decoration and impressive stonework. Inside, every detail demonstrated the dominance of the Netherlands over the known world. Three stories high, and each level was covered in books from across the globe. Many of the bookshelves were so high that movable ladders were needed to reach the highest levels. On Josephine’s favourite floor, where the medical texts lay waiting for her discovery, a spiral staircase with intricate ironwork allowed readers to walk up to a small mezzanine floor where the oldest medical journals were kept. From there, a person could peer over the edge and see across the whole floor. Watch people come and go, or sit around tables and whisper to each other as they studied. Watch as people discovered new adventures among the pages.

  She arrived at her usual spot, spread out her notebook and pencils, and walked over to the shelves to select some of the latest conference papers that weren’t available for taking home. She ran her fingers lightly against the spines of the books. Old friends under her fingertips. Books were constant and could be relied upon. Always there, able to be interpreted and to provide calm. She slid a few thin volumes from the shelf and sat down to open them.

  At peace, surrounded by her favourite things, she didn’t notice Professor Van Percy approach.

  ‘Ahh, here you are, my dear. Diligent as always,’ he said. Josephine’s head flew up and her eyes widened at the interruption. Then narrowed as she saw him
.

  ‘I thought you understood enough to keep your distance now, Professor,’ she said tartly.

  ‘Miss Tobinbury, I have no desire to interrupt your studies. Let me say this,’ he said and twisted the end of his moustache. ‘I will be here. For you. When St. George mistreats you. As he is bound to do. I am, forever, your trusted friend and you can come to me for help at any point.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Josephine stood up and took a step back from him. He looked down his nose at her with cold, hard eyes. He spread his hands before him with his fingers linked together.

  ‘St. George. It was rather obvious at the dinner that you have a base level of affection for him. Your femininity leaves you blind to his faults. He is just a charming rake and will, in due season, treat you with contempt. Men like that never commit to anything, especially to one woman.’ He concluded his statement with his signature double-tap of the heels. Her hands bunched into fists and she hid them in her skirts.

  ‘You think that he will reject me?’ she asked.

  ‘Naturally. It is his character. No rake ever stays true. He does not appreciate you, as I do,’ said Van Percy. He had a smug wrong-headed look on his face and she lifted her chin, torn between walking away and hitting him with her satchel.

  ‘I see.’ Her mouth dried as his comments hit that button of doubt. Yes, Nicholas—Lord St. George—was a rake who had coerced secrets from the enemy’s wives under her father’s orders. Over the last week, he had entertained her with stories of his spying across Europe, all while showing her a deeper side of himself. Had she let herself get carried away? Was Van Percy correct? St. George played a role here. How fake was the whole relationship? She held her eyes level with Van Percy. He was here because he believed her relationship with St. George was real. The fake fiancé drama was doing the job.

  ‘And just how do you appreciate me, sir?’ Josephine couldn’t help bait him. She smiled slightly. Nicholas enjoyed her vocal taunts and encouraged her to speak her real thoughts more frequently. Van Percy nodded curtly.

 

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