Always the Bluestocking

by Murdoch, Emily E K

  A spark, a glimmer in that gaze changed, and it was incredible, the bravery in her beautiful face.

  Mariah nodded, and Patrick felt himself melt. Hand in hand, they stepped behind the podium together as silence fell in the lecture hall. Curious and astonished faces stared, hundreds of people waiting for them to speak.

  Patrick cleared his throat. This may have been a desire for Mariah, but he had never wished to step onto a stage. He coughed, attempting to clear his throat but finding it became more constricted. He needed to speak. Say something, man.

  Pressure on his hand. He glanced to his side and saw Mariah’s determined face.

  “Gentlemen,” he said aloud, his voice carrying to the corners of the room. “We spent three years, some of us more, in these hallowed halls. We learned, we laughed, and we drank far too much.”

  He had not intended to pause there, but he needed to catch his breath, and the room laughed in appreciation. Some of the tension left his stomach.

  “The entire time, we thought we knew what we were learning, and yet the one thing we needed to learn, we never did. How to think differently.”

  It was at this moment that he half-expected the audience to start their dissent and demand his removal from the stage, but they did not. His words were at the very least more interesting than Professor Twickenham’s, but they appeared to be more than interested in his words. Genuine curiosity filled the air.

  Patrick glanced at Mariah. She was standing tall, her face slightly flushed, but with pride. She was ready.

  “Now someone is going to speak to you in her own words, without interruption,” and he glared to emphasize his point, “not merely because she is a lady and we should all be gentlemen in this room, but because she deserves it. She has earned this right.”

  He stepped away, releasing Mariah’s hand, but she reached for him again, her eyes wide. “And where do you think you are going?”

  He smiled at the concern on her face. “I cannot speak for you, Mariah. I have learned that lesson, at least. This is your moment.”

  Slipping his fingers from hers, he descended the stage and seated himself beside the provost.

  Now that he was part of the crowd, he could allow some of the tension in his bones to dissipate. Ye gods, but no one could have paid him to do that for a living.

  Mariah stood behind the lectern, staring at the crowd. Patrick found himself willing her to speak, to say anything.

  Someone coughed near the back of the room, and then someone laughed. Mariah’s cheeks flushed, and she took a half-step back.

  “Ignore them.” Patrick’s words were quiet but firm, and he did not take his eyes from her. “Just tell me, Mariah. Just talk to me.”

  Their gazes met, his strength moving to her, her bravery finally encouraged to blossom from her shell. Mariah began to speak in a clear, commanding voice.

  “Every person is made to question. We do so as children, no matter whether we are girls or boys, and when we are small, we all encounter a variety of scrapes that help us to learn and make us think differently.”

  She took another deep breath before continuing. “I do not know when it is that girls stop being permitted to learn, and boys are encouraged. I know that girls do continue to learn, but it is in quiet, in secret, and without help. This makes no sense.”

  She was incredible, a force to be reckoned with. She was going to change the world. She had already changed his so much.

  “Think what contributions we could make, what advances humanity could enjoy, if women were allowed to participate,” Mariah urged. “And more than allowed—encouraged.”

  Her eyes darted away from him to glare at the rest of the gentlemen, none of whom laughed now.

  They returned to him as she said, “I am not demanding that we receive support or help. We wish to have no special treatment, no gifts of degrees handed to us. I wish to take the same studies, read the same books as you, and I am not alone. I want a day when a woman who wants to learn is not a bluestocking. She is just…a woman.”

  Her words resounded around the room, and her small smile to Patrick told him she had finished.

  Without thought, acting in pure response to her words, he rose to his feet and began to applaud. He was joined by Mr. Lawrence, and a few others in the crowd clapped though admittedly a little half-heartedly.

  Patrick stepped to the lectern to offer Mariah a hand down.

  “They are not convinced,” she said ruefully.

  “No,” he said heavily. “But I am. I love you, Mariah.”

  And finally, he allowed himself to do what he had wished for ardently the moment she had entered the room and pulled her into his arms to passionately kiss those radical lips. His very own bluestocking.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The piece of paper in her hands was lined, well-worn thanks to her continuous folding. Mariah glanced at it one more time and bit her lip. The directions were not entirely clear. The building she was standing outside looked like the right place, but how was she supposed to know for certain?

  Meet me at Alderidge Hall, opposite the Nelson corridor. Midday, and not before. Come alone.

  There had been a sign to Alderidge Hall about five minutes ago, and it had pointed in this direction, but all the buildings at Wessex College looked the same, majestic, imposing, and closed off to her.

  A church clock chimed twelve, causing pigeons to scatter into the air. The place seemed deserted, no students meandering by, no porters to tut and attempt to remove her.

  Mariah smoothed down her gown and took a deep breath. The Alderidge Hall looked utterly deserted, windows boarded up, and the door shut.

  A door opened with a crash through the quad, and a stream of students, some barely able to keep their mortarboards straight on their heads, rattled past her. While a few stared curiously, none spoke to her, and none gave a second glance at Alderidge Hall.

  She sighed. If this was some sort of goose chase that Patrick had thought it amusing to send her on, then she was going to be most displeased. She was hardly enjoying it, and most importantly, he did not seem to be anywhere.

  The mere thought of Patrick was enough to make her smile. That man. Just when she thought she understood him, just when he had given up on attempting to understand her, they had found each other again.

  It was hard to believe it was just a few days ago. Her heart still fluttered when she remembered standing at the front of all those gentlemen, but it had been Patrick she focused on. He had been more than enough to give her the courage to speak.

  The paper fluttered in her fingers as a breeze rushed through the courtyard. Whatever Patrick had up his sleeve, whatever reason he had for bringing her out here, she was game to see it through.

  Folding the paper up and placing it in her reticule, Mariah took a deep breath and opened the door to Alderidge Hall. There was an atrium of sorts, cold flagstones on the floor, and not much else in way of decoration. The only sound was her footsteps, and before her were a rather impressive pair of double doors.

  She reached out and hesitated. What on earth could Patrick have waiting for her on the other side of these doors?

  Pulling them open quickly to get it over with, whatever it was, Mariah was hit by a roar of sound. Surprised, she almost took a step back and dropped her reticule before seeing smiling faces were cheering and applauding.

  There must have been fifty people in there, almost all ladies, many of whom she recognized. Shoulders relaxing, Mariah saw Miss Barlow and Miss Ashton from Patrick’s special dinner party.

  Each of them was standing by chairs, set in rows, and all facing what appeared to be a theatre stage at the front of the room.

  It was only then that something which had been tickling at the back of her mind finally forced its way to her consciousness. They were ladies she recognized, to be sure, but they were dressed in a most peculiar manner. Instead of wearing the latest styles, or in some cases, the styles they had worn when they had been courting, they were wearing…<
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  Graduation gowns. It was bizarre to see them over empire-line dresses, when Mariah had only ever seen them draped elegantly over the waistcoats of landed gentry.

  But they looked…right. As though they should have been worn that way all along. As though the world had finally been brought into alignment.

  What on earth was going on?

  “Congratulations, my dear,” said Mrs. Paxton, reaching out to wring her hand. “I could not be more proud.”

  “To think that I have lived to see such a day!” A lady who Mariah did not recognize appeared to be holding back tears. “I am so grateful to you, Miss Wynn. You are truly a lady worthy of this day.”

  There were other words of praise and congratulations falling around her. Mariah blinked, attempting to take it all in, still unsure precisely what she was being praised for.

  Miss Herschel was seated near the front, by the stage, with a few gentlemen in the hall beside her. They had turned to watch her enter the room, and there were tears in Miss Herschel’s eyes.

  Mariah looked around the room, desperate to find some clue as to what all these women were doing here, and saw a familiar profile leaning against the wall.

  Patrick. He was grinning, and his smile only widened as he pulled himself up straight and walked toward her.

  “Th-this—is this your doing?” Mariah spluttered.

  He nodded. “It took some doing, I must say, and the thanks in truth should go to Miss Herschel. I have never known anyone, lady or gentleman, who has such a way of getting people to do what they want.”

  There was an appreciative laugh around the room, and Miss Herschel rose, took a small bow, which elicited louder applause, and then took her seat.

  The grin had not left Patrick’s face. “Mariah, dearest one. The university may not agree to recognize your intellect, and the intellect of many of the other ladies in this room, but I do, and so do some of my acquaintance.”

  Mariah turned once more to look at the crowd, and now she paid more attention, she could spot a few gentlemen in the crowd. Was that the Duke of Larnwick—and Priscilla’s friend, the Duke of Orrinshire? If she was not mistaken, there was the Earl of Chester seated quietly near the front, with the provost alongside them, and—her heart jolted at the sight of them—her brother and his wife.

  “B-but what are they all doing here? What do they expect of me?” Mariah stammered, turning to face Patrick. “You don’t want me to speak, do you? This is a celebration, a gathering—for what?”

  “For you,” he said simply.

  Head reeling from all the noise, Mariah tried to laugh. “It seems a strange gathering, to just watch me enter a room.”

  “They are not here to watch you enter a room,” Patrick said softly. “They are here for your graduation.”

  Mariah blinked. She had understood all of the individual words in his sentence, but together they did not seem to make any sense. A graduation? Surely the gentlemen here had already graduated years ago.

  Her gaze was drawn back to the stage, and now she considered it properly, she could see a table with what looked, from a distance, like…

  “Diplomas,” she breathed.

  Mr. Lawrence stood and made his way up to the stage as Mariah’s heart thundered. The ladies in caps and gowns, their mortarboards balanced precariously over their hair pinned up. Professor and Miss Herschel. Patrick. Diplomas.

  Priscilla Seton, previously just part of the crowd, stepped forward. In her arms were a mortarboard and a black graduation gown. She handed them to Mariah with a smile.

  “It is your time now,” she whispered.

  It was all too much. Tears welled up in Mariah’s eyes as the enormity of what was before her finally registered in her heart and mind.

  Graduation. This was something she could never have imagined, could not even have comprehended. All she had asked for was access to lectures, to libraries—the idea that she could be considered a graduate of this fine academic institution was just too much.

  A real graduation, a recognition of her desire, her drive for education.

  True, it was not a diploma anyone else outside of this room would believe, but it was close—so close, and all because of Patrick.

  He was watching her with blazing love pouring from his eyes. He knew. He knew what this would mean to her, what it meant to others like her.

  He saw her and knew her, and loved her no matter what trouble she managed to get herself into.

  It was all thanks to him. She had not thought it possible to love him any more than yesterday, but the thought struck her that she may even love him more tomorrow.

  “Let me help you with that,” he said, stepping forward to assist her in putting on the graduation gown. “And the mortarboard like so…there. You are ready.”

  Mariah could not stop smiling. “Is it on straight? Is the gown on correctly?”

  “Yes, and yes,” he said. “I must apologize for not giving you an opportunity to prepare for this—you may have preferred a different dress, I am not sure. But I wanted it to be a surprise, and you will have to learn to live with my selfishness.”

  A spark of something else—hope, desire?—fluttered through Mariah. He had not mentioned marriage, and neither had she, but surely it was on his mind? After everything they had been through together, after all they had shared…

  But now was not the time for that conversation. She laughed as she said, “When was the last time you remember me caring what clothes I wore? This is…this is so much more than I could ever have expected.”

  Patrick grinned. “Good.”

  Taking her arm, he led her to the front row of chairs where Miss Herschel’s smile was ready to greet her. She took a seat as Mr. Lawrence cleared his throat.

  “Well, now that we are all here, we can begin,” he said in a loud, clear voice. The room went silent as eager and expectant faces turned toward him. “Now, when Lord Donal requested not only my presence here at Alderidge Hall today, but my assistance in making this day happen, I will admit that I had my doubts.”

  Mariah’s joy dulled. There was no such thing as a perfect day.

  He continued, “Because I thought we should be holding such an event at Wessex Hall! Why should half the population of our great country be refused access, I asked myself?”

  There was scattered applause within the crowd, although Mariah noticed that Patrick’s friends did so reluctantly.

  “I have dedicated my life to education,” Mr. Lawrence continued. “I have valued it before almost all things for most of my life, as my dear wife would have told you, and I have discovered something crucial. Learning and education are completely different.”

  Mariah could not take her eyes from the provost, but her hand was taken by Patrick, and he squeezed it. To think, he would do all this for her.

  “Learning does not stop when you receive a degree. It does not stop with the passing of a diploma from one learned hand to another. Learning how to learn,” Mr. Lawrence said, “is what I have always aimed to teach. When you have learned how to learn, you can venture out once more into the world and be challenged to think differently and accept people for who they are.”

  Patrick squeezed her hand again. “A lesson I have only managed to learn recently,” he whispered.

  “It was my pleasure to teach you,” she murmured back.

  He chuckled as young ladies were called up to the front one by one, by name, to receive their degree.

  Mariah saw the joy, the surprise, the confusion, and the embarrassment of being the center of attention for just a few minutes—but nothing compared to their faces when they returned to their seats, a diploma in their hands. Wonder and joy captured their features, and it felt an age before Mariah heard her own name uttered from the stage.

  “Miss Mariah Wynn.”

  She was not entirely sure her feet would carry her, but she did not stumble as she reached the provost, who nodded appreciatively.

  “You have taught me much, Miss Wynn,” he said s
oftly. “This day may not be recognized by the university, but it is by me, and one day I truly believe that this event will be as natural as any other graduation. This,” and he placed the degree in her waiting hands, “is in appreciation of your hard work, determination, and dedication to education.”

  The vellum was heavy in her hands, and she clasped it to her heart. A medley of joy and pain that it was not, in the world’s eyes, a real degree, soared through her heart. She nodded.

  “And before you take your seat, Miss Wynn, I have a few questions I must ask you to ensure that you are deserving of that degree.”

  It had not been Mr. Lawrence who had spoken, but Patrick. He had risen from his seat and moved to the stage to stand alongside her.

  There was an appreciative murmur of laughter in the room, and Mariah grinned wryly. “Does that mean if I do not respond correctly, you will take it back?”

  Patrick did not answer. “Miss Wynn, you are fully committed to seeking education, are you not?”

  She nodded. “Yes, absolutely.”

  What was he thinking? There was that mischievous grin dancing across his face that she knew so well, and while it made her heart flutter, it also edged a little concern into her heart.

  “At the cost of everything?”

  Her smile slipped, and she swallowed before answering honestly, “I thought so, once. Now I am not so sure. The price of fighting for education is indeed a costly one.”

  She saw a few agreeing nods in the crowd.

  “And,” Patrick said, “would you consider taking on a pupil?”

  Mariah hesitated. “That pupil would have to be dedicated indeed.”

  She appeared to be answering his questions correctly and was heartened—but her heart stopped as Patrick dropped to his knees on the stage.

  “In that case,” he said without taking his eyes from her, “will you do me the honor of marrying me? Becoming my wife is a costly affair, I will admit, but I promise to be the best possible student to all your desires and hopes for the future. Will you take me on this learning journey with you?”