“Gentlemen,” he said quietly, and the room immediately fell silent. “Welcome back to the place where you gained and gave so much,” he said, his white beard creasing into a smile. “I am sure you will find yourself reliving many happy memories as you stroll up and down our corridors, and…”
Patrick managed to force down the snort of derisive laughter. Many happy memories. The best thing that could be said about this place was that it had held out against the nonsense these bluestockings had tried to force into Cambridge. Why, he had heard from Braedon not two weeks ago that they had seriously considered opening one of the colleges up to young ladies.
“…join me in welcoming Sir William Herschel to the stage to share with us his fascinating insights into the heavens. Sir William.”
The gentleman bowed as a second rose, stepping toward the lectern. Patrick rose in his seat and focused properly for the first time since entering the lecture hall.
Did he say Herschel?
“Was it not Herschel who discovered Uranus?” Larnwick whispered in his ear.
Patrick nodded but was prevented from speaking by Herschel himself.
“If any of you gentlemen take a moment to stop in the darkness of the evening and throw your head back, you will see not only a vast expanse of nothing, but the secrets that the universe is only now starting to reveal to us. The mathematical formulae that bring us there, however, are quite the opposite of nothing. Over the next hour and a half…”
It was very warm in the lecture hall. A part of Patrick knew how fortunate they were; Professor Herschel was an international treasure.
But it was too hot. Patrick shifted in his seat, attempting to keep his focus, but it was impossible. He had never been particularly academic, even when his grades had depended on it, and all he could think about was the dinner he would enjoy later. It was easy to allow one’s mind to drift…
He could be at home reading a good book, or playing cards, or riding—anything but sitting here stuck in an uncomfortable seat.
And yet, the lecture continued…and continued. Sir William Herschel had not been exaggerating; he really could talk about mathematical principles for what felt like hours…
Patrick attempted to stretch to give his back some relief, but it wasn’t possible in the cramped seat. In any other situation, he would have enjoyed hearing the man speak, and it was perhaps this scientific lethargy which was why Patrick did not realize what he was seeing until a few minutes after his eyes fell on the young lady sitting to the side behind a pillar.
Patrick blinked. A young lady—a woman! A woman, in the lecture hall?
Chestnut hair, bright in the sunlight, streaming through the windows behind the lectern, her head bowed over her notes.
Her notes.
Patrick felt the outrage grow in his stomach. How dare she—a woman, in an Oxford lecture hall! It was disgraceful. How had she managed it—and how did she think she would ever get away with it?
No matter how much Patrick attempted to focus on Sir William, the interloper kept drawing his attention. There was something about her, something he could not put his finger on. Almost familiar.
It was only when she glanced up that it struck him.
Old Wynn’s wedding. He had seen her before; the chit who had argued with Mr. Worcester so vehemently, who had made him look the fool for merely asking her to dance!
A wry smile crept over his face. Well, well. At least she was true to her ideals. She had chastised him for not supporting the right of a woman to education, and here she was, essentially stealing it right before his eyes!
Yes, it was definitely her, the same curls at the back of the neck, the same flush of the cheeks. The excitement of education, the love of learning. In that instinct, he understood her like he had never understood a woman before; it was visceral, inexplicable.
Sir William’s voice droned, but Patrick’s mind was now utterly captivated by the woman. What had her name been—Margaret? Mary?
She was beautiful, in a strange sort of way. Not purposefully beautiful like so many of the idiotic ladies one met with. He would not go so far as to call her a true beauty, but there was a more casual, unprepared beauty within her.
Here was someone not attempting to impress, but she was impressive, nonetheless. Patrick followed the line of her arm, her hand, and the pencil with which she was sketching some sort of chart on the paper.
He shook his head. Attractive or not, this woman cannot hope to get through the entire lecture without being discovered.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, a voice rang out.
“What in God’s name is she doing here?”
Patrick’s was not the only head to turn to stare at the gentleman who had shouted—and then the woman at whom he was pointing.
Her cheeks flushed dark, and she became once again the lady he had watched at Edward Wynn’s wedding.
“I am listening to Sir William about—” she said clearly into the silence but was not permitted to complete her sentence.
“A woman? Ladies are not permitted here!” A different gentleman shouted, and there were plenty of murmurs of agreement around the room.
Patrick found himself nodding. What a fool, coming in here. What had she hoped to achieve by coming?
But she was not going to allow herself to be dictated to. Rising to her feet, bristling, she said, “So learning is the home of men, only?”
“Yes,” a voice cried out, and the room echoed with laughter.
Patrick could not help it—he joined in.
“I do not agree that…” The young lady’s voice was quickly lost under the noise of outrage now erupting from all quarters.
Two porters rushed into the room, hailed undoubtedly due to the raucous noise erupting from the lecture hall, and gazed around in astonishment, attempting to find the source of the noise.
“Why, ’tis almost like a play,” Larnwick said, leaning to mutter in his ear. “I cannot wait to see what happens next—do you think it is a ruse to keep us entertained?”
But Patrick was barely listening. She intrigued him, this strange woman, and he knew from his careful examination of her at the wedding that this was no prank.
She was in earnest, and he wanted to know more.
Patrick stood up.
“Where in God’s name are you going?” Larnwick asked with surprise. “It looks like the fun has only just begun—look, they are trying to drag her out!”
But Patrick grinned. “I am off to catch a bluestocking.”
Chapter Three
Mariah pulled her arm from the porter’s hands and gave him the dirtiest look she could muster. The gentleman took a hurried step back and almost hit the wall behind him.
“Do not touch me again,” Mariah said as elegantly as she could.
Her heart was frantically beating. To think, she had almost managed it.
“You have no right to be in there, girl,” the porter said gruffly.
“You have no right to treat me like that, sir. For what crime am I dragged from a hall of learning?”
She had never felt more alive. Here she was, brawling like a common scullery maid, a few students passing by, staring at her like she was an animal.
She felt like one. She felt like a tiger forced once more back into a cage, the door clanging shut between her and the education she so desperately wanted.
“I have every right to treat trespassers as I see fit,” the porter said stoically, his eyes darted around the quad in the hope someone else would intervene and remove this hysterical woman from his college. “You had no right to be in that lecture hall, miss, and I am sorry for it, but them’s the rules.”
Mariah took a deep breath. She had known it would be a gamble. Part of her could hardly believe she had done it, not when every fiber of her being had told her that where she was sitting was wrong.
It was like creeping up to the front of the church and peeping in at the vicar as he finished off the communion wine.
A smal
l smile grew on her lips. So, she had been caught, but not immediately. For twenty minutes, twenty glorious minutes, she had experienced what it was to be a gentleman and receive a gentleman’s education.
The stars, the angles of the heavens, the formula to predict their movements—all that knowledge, just sitting in that room, and no one else seemed to be interested in it! She could hardly believe it when she had looked up to see one gentleman actually asleep.
Asleep! When ladies such as herself were desperate for any chance to be there.
“Miss, you have to go now,” the porter was saying.
Mariah was not listening. She had been right in the middle of it, the best university in the world, amongst some of the brightest people, listening to Sir William speak!
And then it had all been taken away from her.
Catching her own reflection in the mullioned windows of what looked to be a small chapel or a library, Mariah saw her hair was unpinned at the back, her sleeve ripped on one side, and there was a horrible pull on the seam of her gown.
That would need mending. Blast it all, Mariah cursed in her mind. Why did everything have to be so…so damned difficult!
“I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere, thank you,” she said curtly as the porter waited for a response. “I am a British subject, and I have committed no crime. You have no need to escort me anywhere.”
“No crime? No crime?”
Mariah almost grinned at the incredulous tone of his voice. Clearly to this gentleman and undoubtedly many like him, simply being here was enough.
“Young ladies do not attend the University of Oxford,” the porter said stoutly. “Never have, and never will. Now, be off with you, you bluestocking. Do you not have a brother who can come and collect you?”
The gentleman’s words made Mariah swell with indignation. “I am my own person, sir, and I need no father, brother, nor husband to collect me like a chattel, like a horse which has got loose!”
Fury made her incoherent, and though she wished to say much more, she had no ability to construct a meaningful sentence. How dare he? He did not even know her name, and yet he had the cheek to speak to her like some common kitchen-maid!
“No husband, eh?” The porter grinned in a most unappetizing way. “No surprises there then. Bluestockings, I swear to God, you do not understand. You cannot come here! University is no place for a lady.”
Mariah snorted, but before she retaliated, something made her hesitate.
Something had changed in the quad. Something was different, and whatever it was made the back of her neck prickle uncomfortably. It was similar to a sensation she had experienced a few weeks ago, but she could not put her finger on when.
Almost as though someone was watching her.
She turned around. There were still a couple of students running through the quad, late undoubtedly for a tutorial. In one corner, leaning against a column and just hidden in the shadows, was the outline of a tall gentleman staring in her direction.
She cleared her throat. “Can I help you?”
He laughed. “I think I should be asking you that question, do not you think?”
Mariah’s mouth fell open as he moved into the sunlight, and the moment of recognition solidified in her memory.
It was him. The gentleman from Letitia’s wedding. It did not seem possible. It was, at the very least, highly improbable.
Those dark eyes were just as she remembered, inquisitive and curious beyond the realms of proprietary. He was dressed formally, his cravat and collar points high, and with a gown over his coat. As he stepped forward, Mariah felt her heart flutter.
He was handsome. She wished she had not noticed, but it was too late now. Please, she begged her cheeks, please do not betray me now. You are angry, and rightfully so. Do not allow a charming gentleman to allow your words to run away with you.
“Got yourself into a little bother?” the gentleman said easily with a grin at the porter.
Mariah swallowed. What were the chances that he would be here? Did he recognize her?
He was watching her carefully, and her cheeks heated when he laughed and said, “I cannot keep the conversation alone. I think it is your turn to talk, my lady.”
The anger and fury boiling inside her erupted, and in the only way that she knew how, barely concealed contempt underneath cold civility.
“I have been refused entry to learning,” she said stiffly. “I am discussing said refusal with this gentleman here,” indicating the porter, “and I am in no need of assistance. Good day.”
Mariah turned her back on him, but that only made the situation worse. Without being able to see him, she felt somehow…more vulnerable.
He was only a few feet from her, and yet she could feel his influence on every inch of her skin. Heat was not the word for it; searing awareness of his presence was the only way she could think to describe it.
Why did he not go away?
“You have been refused entry to learning,” repeated the gentleman. “Good.”
“Good?” Mariah whirled around to glare at the interloper who was smiling. “What do you mean, good? It is terrible! It is an outrage, sir, and I will do my utmost to get back in.”
She had expected her callous words to force him away, for a look of disgust to rise and overwhelm that charming smile, and for the gentleman to stalk away in high dudgeon.
But his smile, if anything, grew. “My, my, you are a firebrand, aren’t you? I thought as much at old Wynn’s wedding, but I do declare, I did not expect to see you here of all places. What is your name?”
Every instinct within her told Mariah to walk away.
Her feet did not move. Something held her like she had been glued there.
The gentleman’s eyes were blazing as though the rest of the world did not exist. Perhaps it did not. Perhaps they were all that was left of the universe, just her and those eyes.
“I-It is not good manners to ask a lady directly,” she managed to stammer, unable to tear her gaze away. “One would expect to…to be introduced.”
Where were these feelings coming from? Why was she so easily overwhelmed? No gentleman had ever had this effect on her before.
But no gentleman had ever looked at her like that before. Like he wanted to know her soul. Like he was undressing her.
Flames blossomed across her body as the scandalous thought occurred to her, and Mariah swallowed. She had prepared herself for insults, for a bodily attack even, and she had been right to expect them.
But this?
He took another step closer. “Who is going to introduce us—the porter?”
Mariah glanced at the porter, standing awkwardly to the side, and suppressed a smile.
“Well, I know when I am no longer wanted,” muttered the porter, shaking his head. “I will return to the lecture hall and ensure order has been restored.”
Rude and obnoxious as he had been, the porter was a chaperone of a sort. Now she was standing alone in the quad with this strange gentleman who somehow managed to melt her bones.
“I thought we would never be alone,” he said, closing the gap between them.
Mariah flushed. Who does he think he is? Standing there, laughing at her, laughing at the porter—did he not understand what had just happened? Perhaps he was not in the lecture hall at the time.
Still, she thought wildly, he had no business speaking to her as though they were intimate acquaintances. She wished he wouldn’t.
And yet, she desperately wanted to stay in his presence.
“If you do not have the good manners to introduce yourself to me,” Mariah said stiffly, filling the silence finally, “then I do not see why I should introduce myself.”
Why did her mouth feel so dry? Why was the air so still in this warm afternoon? Why was her breath catching in her throat?
He grinned and dropped into a ludicrously low bow. “My lady, I am Patrick O’Leary, Viscount Donal, former graduate of this college and of the university. And you are?�
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Mariah blinked. So, Lord Donal. Well, that would explain his presence in Wessex College, the arrogance, the self-confidence that oozed from every pore.
She swallowed and tried to focus. She had not been able to put her finger on it before at the wedding, but she had discovered finally why her instincts toward this Patrick O’Leary had been so instantaneously negative.
He reminded her too much of the worst habits of her brother, Viscount Wynn. Edward was arrogant, too. Too self-assured, always convinced he was correct, even when he had been disproved.
He looked expectant. A bell rang from a tower nearby. She had been here for over an hour and could not expect to successfully remain much longer. If she could just get into the library and hide amongst the books…
“It is good to meet you, Lord Donal,” she said awkwardly. “You must excuse me, I need to—”
“Not so fast.”
Mariah had only taken three steps but was immediately halted in her tracks as Lord Donal moved to intercept her. She was forced to put her hands out to prevent from falling into him, and instead, they collided.
Lord Donal looked into her eyes. Mariah stared back, unable to move, unable to understand what was happening. The merest touch, a little pressure from her gloved hands onto his coat, and it was enough to cause a shockwave through her body.
He took a step back and broke the connection. How long had they had been standing there, her hands placed on his chest, Mariah did not know.
“My…” Mariah swallowed and tried again. “My name is Mariah Wynn.”
Lord Donal did not appear to have the power of speech immediately, but after coughing, he managed, “Wynn, you say? No relation to that poor gentleman signing away his freedom and fortune at the wedding where we first met?”
A flicker of irritation flared. “He married one of my closest friends,” she said coldly.
How did he do it? Fill her with fire one moment and freeze her insides with his rudeness the next?
Lord Donal’s dark eyes widened. “Wait, Wynn? He is your brother…you are the sister of the groom! You were part of the wedding party when I saw you rip that gentleman to shreds?”
Always the Bluestocking Page 3