Always the Bluestocking

by Murdoch, Emily E K

  When he was with her, nothing else seemed to matter. The moment he had awoken that morning, the idea had occurred to him, and it seemed the perfect way to show her just how seriously he understood her. It had taken more than a few favors, and all day, to get ready.

  But it was ready. Patrick took in every detail of the room and nodded to himself. He was ready. Now all he needed was…

  The doorbell jangled in the hall, and there were excited exclamations around the room.

  “Shush,” he said imperiously, far more confidently than he felt. “Quiet, all of you!”

  He stepped across the room to the door, which he opened slightly. From his vantage point, he could not see the front door, but he could hear it open, and the conversation that was now occurring in the hall.

  “Good evening, Miss Wynn.”

  “Good evening, Johnson, how are you?”

  Patrick shook his head with a smile. How was it possible that Mariah was able to remember everyone’s name? Even his butler. Perhaps it was something to do with her inquiring mind or her impressive memory.

  Whatever it was, it sounded to Patrick that his butler was just as impressed.

  “Why, Miss Wynn, you do me much honor. Here, let me take that for you.”

  There was a rustling. Johnson was evidently removing Mariah’s pelisse, and Patrick remembered with a shiver that feeling of removing clothes, revealing that soft and delectable body underneath…

  “I received his lordship’s invitation quite late,” Mariah’s voice resounded, jerking Patrick to attention, “but I was not engaged.”

  “Yes,” Johnson said smoothly in his deep voice.

  There was a nervous laugh before he heard her say, “I assume I was not the only one to receive such an invitation? It would be most thoughtless of your master to expose me to such gossip.”

  A giggle erupted from behind Patrick, and he turned to the room. “Shush! I said, be quiet!”

  His hiss was followed by a few more giggles, and he sighed, stepping through the door and closing it behind him.

  “Good evening, Miss Wynn.”

  Mariah had been handing her bonnet to the butler, and her cheeks crimsoned as she saw him.

  Mariah flushed. “I did not expect to see you again so soon after our…excursion yesterday.”

  Patrick stepped across the hallway and took her hand, kissing it affectionately and winking as a response.

  Her flush, if possible, deepened.

  “Thank you for attending to Miss Wynn, Johnson,” he said smoothly, standing up straight but not releasing her hand. “I can look after her from here.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” Johnson bowed. “Miss Wynn, your servant.”

  The seconds it took Johnson to step across the hallway and close the door behind him seemed an age, but the moment he was gone, Patrick pulled Mariah into his arms for a close embrace, kissing her deeply.

  She resisted at first, pulling her lips away from his. “Patrick, someone will see!”

  “And you think I care?” he growled, pulling her toward him.

  She melted under his touch, losing herself in the moment of sweet stolen kisses. If Patrick had not carefully prepared the surprise in the drawing room, he would have been tempted to pull her upstairs and ravish her once again, but after a few minutes of wild kissing, he regretfully released her lips—but not her body.

  “Well, then,” she said breathlessly, her eyes bright. “I assume you did not invite me here just to…to do that?”

  “Why shouldn’t I? Do not tell me you did not enjoy it,” he teased.

  Mariah smiled. “I would not lie, certainly, but assuming I am not the only person you have invited to dinner, I think we should not leave them waiting.”

  He could do nothing but smile and revel in the feeling of her in his arms. By God, but he could get used to this.

  Her face fell. “Patrick—you did not only invite me, did you? That is most indecorous. What will the gossips of Oxford say? No chaperone?”

  “Do not fret,” he said, shaking his head. It was challenging to keep his voice level, barely able to contain his excitement. But at the moment of revelation, concerns started to creep up in his heart again. Was this surprise something Mariah would enjoy?

  He swallowed. This was not the moment to retreat into cowardice. “I have invited a few other people, of course. I don’t believe you are acquainted, but I think you will like them.”

  Mariah pulled away from his embrace and looked a little askance. “If…if there is a room of gentlemen in there to debate with, Patrick, I am not sure whether I am up to the task this evening. After all, I was kept up late all last night with a most interesting experiment.”

  Patrick’s whole body responded as she gave a nervous smile, and once again, the temptation to pull her upstairs and be damned to the people waiting for them in the other room rushed through him—but at that very moment, a giggle emanated from the drawing room.

  Now there was a real look of concern on her face. “Who have you invited, Patrick?”

  She was like a wild horse recently tamed, a horse now spooked. There was something about the eyes, the way she glanced at the door as though reassuring herself, she could escape at any moment.

  She took another step away. “Who else is here, Patrick?”

  He smiled. The secret was too good to keep to himself, and he was desperate to see her reaction to what he had planned.

  He reached out a hand. “Come and find out.”

  For a few terrible heartbeats, he did not think she was going to take his hand. She looked at him carefully, as though attempting to discern whether this was all a trick, a game that would leave her the loser.

  But she nodded and took his hand, allowing herself to be led to the drawing room door, which he opened.

  “My lady,” he said, voice strained.

  Mariah stepped into the room and gasped, dropping his hand. Patrick followed her and smiled at the numerous women who were seated and standing throughout the room. They smiled at the pair of them, and Mariah looked from one face to another, her mouth still open in shock.

  Eventually, she was able to find her voice. “Patrick are you…are you introducing me to your harem?”

  A woman close by them, wearing a gown, that ceased being fashionable about twenty years ago, snorted. “He is no sheik! Besides, the practice of harems, or hareems in the original Arabic, are more out of date than us Europeans would expect.”

  An older lady who was seated on the other side of the room nodded. “In reality, we hardly merit a collective noun at all. Many of us have never met each other before, and all but one of us had never met Viscount Donal before this evening.”

  Patrick’s smile could not grow any broader, but there was still a look of panic and confusion on Mariah’s face—an expression which softened when Caroline Herschel appeared, rising from her seat by the fire.

  “That is my doing.”

  “I-I do not…what is happening?” Mariah spluttered. “Miss Herschel, who are—Patrick, what is going on?”

  Patrick took her hand as he spoke quietly, “Mariah, after our numerous talks on the matter, I wanted to understand more, and Miss Herschel was more than happy to oblige me.”

  “Oblige you?” Mariah’s eyes were wide, and he could see she had not been reassured by Miss Herschel’s presence. “Why are we all here, Lord Donal?”

  Pained to hear the more formal version of his name uttered by her lips, he tried to do a better job at explaining. “You wish to study here at Oxford, Mariah, and although a bluestocking, I do not believe you had ever considered that there were others here who shared those goals. And so I spoke with Miss Herschel, who is far better connected than I could ever hope to be, and here we all are.”

  Mariah’s face started to relax as the truth dawned. “They…we are all bluestockings? We all desire education, the opportunity to attend university?”

  There were nods around the room as the ladies smiled.

  Patrick squee
zed her hand. “Mariah, you are not alone.”

  A woman in a blue gown smiled. “Are you a linguist, a scientist, a historian?”

  “I-I am not entirely sure,” Mariah stammered, her hand gripping Patrick’s tightly. “I have not had much of a chance to explore any discipline.”

  The woman laughed dryly. “You are not the only one, Miss Wynn. Come, sit with me, and we can introduce ourselves.”

  Before she moved, Mariah glanced at Patrick, seeking reassurance. He loved that look; it told him that in this moment, his opinion was the one she trusted. He nodded encouragingly, forcing himself to release her hand.

  “I am Miss Ashton,” the woman said as Mariah sat beside her. “Linguist.”

  “Miss Barlow,” another said with a smile. “Botanist.”

  “Mathematician until I die,” another interrupted with a grin. “Mrs. Paxton, and it is lovely to meet you, Miss Wynn.”

  “It is lovely to meet you all, if not a little overwhelming,” Mariah said nervously, and a ripple of genial laughter moved around the room.

  “I am working with Miss Herschel on the telescopic examination of comets,” one lady said shyly. “Miss Milton, at your service. Have you seen the Herschel telescope, Miss Wynn?”

  Patrick had moved to the edge of the room, but he was still able to catch Mariah’s eye as she blushed.

  “I have,” she said with a smile, “but I…I did not have much time to look at it in any great detail. I was able to see Mimas and Enceladus, the moons of Saturn.”

  “And is it not the most incredible piece of equipment?” Miss Milton asked breathlessly, her passion evident. “I helped Miss Herschel with one of the lenses, and I have learned so much about…”

  The conversation grew around the room as other bluestockings found kindred spirits in their disciplines or shared the most exciting developments they were working on.

  Patrick saw Johnson hovering by the door to the hallway and nodded. Liveried footmen started moving around the room with silver platters of food for the women to enjoy.

  “And is it true, Miss Wynn, that you met with the provost of Wessex College?” Mrs. Paxton looked inquisitive. “The alma mater, I believe, of our host?”

  Patrick watched Mariah color at the pleasure of being asked such a question.

  “It is true,” she said quietly with a smile. “I spoke with Mr. Lawrence very directly about the need for ladies to attain the same education as any of our male peers, and he was very interested in discussing it.”

  “Old Lawrence?” Mrs. Paxton snorted. “Why, I knew him from a child, and a fierce gentleman he always was to behold. What did you say to him?”

  “We discussed his granddaughters,” Mariah explained, and Patrick’s interest was piqued, despite himself. The gossips had not included this piece of information. “He spoke of his desire that they, when a little older, would have the choice between matrimony and an education.”

  There were murmurs of surprise throughout the room.

  “How did you ever convince him to meet you?” Miss Barlow asked.

  Patrick saw Mariah hesitate for a moment, and wondered himself. Few people ever secured a meeting with Mr. Lawrence.

  “It…it was my brother, I think,” Mariah said hesitantly. “He wrote a letter in my defense, and that was what swayed Mr. Lawrence.”

  Mrs. Paxton sighed. “Ah, ’tis always the way in the end. A gentleman gets involved and rescues us. What a shame that you were not able to do it on your own, dear.”

  Irritation rose in Patrick’s chest, but before he was able to speak, Mariah did in a clear and unafraid voice.

  “On my own? Is that really how we think this battle will be won?” The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to her. Mariah swallowed and then continued, “I was on my own for years, and I have barely made any progress in my own education or securing it for others. My brother is an ally. This very evening, I find I am not alone, and that gives me the strength and determination to keep going. If gentlemen do not step aside for us to enter, it does not matter how heavily we pound at the door!”

  Her hazel gaze met his, and Patrick felt a thrill of delight he had never experienced before.

  She was truly remarkable. He had never felt like this, not for anyone. He had never realized it was possible to care about someone else so much.

  “Well spoken, Miss Wynn,” Miss Herschel said. “Why, my brother cleared the way for me, but it was I who stepped along it, and who has continued to bring others along with me. Without gentlemen supporters, we are nothing—and yet it is our merits which demand it!”

  There were murmurs of agreement around the room.

  “Did you speak with him about lectures?” Miss Ashton asked eagerly. “I heard about a fascinating lecture last term on the true history of Marlowe, and wished beyond anything that I could have been there.”

  “Oh, that old theory?” Another lady shook her head. “He was a spy and nothing more, my dear, the idea that he and Shakespeare were the same person—”

  “Surely, there is some merit in it, or the theory would not have lasted two centuries!” Mariah said spiritedly. “Why, I read somewhere…”

  The conversation continued in a murmur of delight, and Patrick helped himself to a sandwich from an almost empty platter.

  This was Mariah in her element—or at least, in one of her elements. He was beginning to realize, and he felt a fool for only now coming to the conclusion that she could probably flourish in almost every setting, as long as she felt comfortable enough to be herself.

  Like a flower planted in the right garden or a fish finally returned to the waters of its youth, Mariah had just needed the right setting to truly shine. Here, she was amongst equals.

  It was a crime, really, that she could not be the same everywhere. The brilliant, witty, sharp Mariah he knew was one the world simply did not see.

  She stepped toward him to help herself to a glass of wine.

  “Enjoying yourself?” he whispered.

  Instead of replying, Mariah grabbed his arm and pulled him through the door into the hallway, where she kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  “What for?” Patrick asked, his head hazy with the hope she would kiss him again.

  She laughed and shook her head. “You know precisely what! Patrick, I could never have imagined there were so many other women like—well, like me. And these are just the ones that you were able to find in one day, and in Oxford alone. The whole country could be full of them!”

  Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and genuine excitement radiated from every inch of her.

  He swallowed. Unless he was incredibly careful, he would very soon fall in love with Mariah Wynn. Here was a woman truly his equal, one who would fight for justice, who would challenge him just as much as tease him, and one whose beauty was matched by kindness of spirit.

  “It–it is absolutely my pleasure,” he managed to say aloud. “Now, go back in there and enjoy your time with the other ladies.”

  She nodded and stepped back into the room.

  Patrick leaned against the wall. It was quite evident that despite being the host to this gathering, the ladies he had invited into his home had quite forgotten that he was even here. They were far more interested in speaking to each other.

  Except, Mariah. She remembered him, and he was going to have quite the challenge of forgetting her later when he would have to sleep in a lonely, empty bed.

  Chapter Eleven

  No matter what she did to distract herself, Mariah found her eyes constantly lingering on the card she was using as a bookmark in The Theory of the Four Movements.

  She had stuck it at the back of the back while she perused chapter four, but she could still see the gold leaf edging, which caught her eye in the candlelight.

  Sighing, she pulled it out and had another look, although thanks to the numerous times she had already read the short invitation, she almost knew it by heart.

  Edward Wynn, Viscount Wynn and Letitia, Lad
y Wynn cordially invite you, Miss Mariah Wynn, to a card party on the evening of the fourteenth of March, at their residence in Pembroke Square.

  Répondez s’il vous plaît to the lady of the house.

  Yours sincerely,

  V. W and Letitia, Lady Wynn

  Mariah’s fingers brushed over the ink signature of her brother and sister-in-law. To think that little Letitia Cavendish was now Lady Wynn.

  And now they were sending her an invitation to play cards. She should really have responded in the negative as soon as it arrived in the post, but she had not. Neither had she responded in the positive. In fact, she had done them the great discourtesy of not replying at all.

  That was badly done—no wonder the invitation was weighing so heavily on her conscience.

  “What are you sighing about?”

  Mariah looked up to smile at her guest, Miss Priscilla Seton. Their mothers had been friends back when they had been girls, and out of habit, the two of them occasionally met whenever they were both in the same town.

  There was nothing objectionable to Miss Seton. Indeed, now that Mariah came to think about it, she could not think why they were not more intimate friends. Perhaps because Priscilla came from truly noble stock and Mariah, as the adopted daughter, had never quite felt she had the right to consider a Seton more than an acquaintance.

  At this moment, Priscilla was lounging on the opposite sofa in the second room Mariah was renting from Mrs. Goddard, which she used as a sitting room.

  “This,” Mariah said succinctly, handing over the invitation.

  Rain was pouring against the window, drumming behind Mariah. She quite enjoyed it. There was nothing like being inside on a wet evening to make her feel cocooned in warmth.

  Priscilla frowned as she read the card aloud.

  Mariah nodded.

  “Well, I do not see the problem,” Priscilla said airily. “’Tis just an invitation.”

  Mariah snorted and reached out for the invitation. “You do not have a brother, do you?”