The Heart of a Bluestocking

by Renée Dahlia

  Ravi rubbed his jaw. She was always running away from him. And that kiss, the rough, brash, bold kiss, designed to set him in his place had achieved the exact opposite. He wanted more of her smart mouth, and one day she’d learn that her intent to keep him at bay with such a strategy backfired. The bold way that she kept her independence and her distance spoke of a cleverness that appealed to more than just the physical. How could he have thought her plain when they’d met? He’d long ago moved on from his initial impression of her. Her whole being radiated energy, the passionate way she barged through life, made her glow. And he wanted to see her glow with a more fundamental type of passion. That gold-streaked brown hair spread over a pillow, and that mouth of hers making bold proclamations. Or better yet, making bold statements about her pleasure while he gave her what she wanted. He sipped his coffee, then took a moment to think about the rather dull 1872 Public Health Act so that he could stand in comfort. He wasn’t fifteen anymore, and usually had more control over his desire than this. Claire’s rough kiss heightened his responses around her and now he risked having an unrequited ache all day. Finally, he stood, walked to where Claire had sat to collect her cup. With both cups in one hand, he opened the door, and followed her to the drawing room.

  She sat at a large writing desk, upright, perfectly elegant, but tense through her shoulders. Piles of paper were strewn over the surface in front of her. She tapped a pencil on the edge of the table in a cyclical rhythm.

  ‘Here, I brought your coffee,’ he said, and placed the cup at the edge of her table. He wanted to place it in her hands, a simple reason to touch her fingers, but the timing wasn’t right. Not just for him, but for her and the way she nervously tapped, obviously bothered by him. Besides, he’d just spent minutes changing his thoughts to rid himself of all evidence of his attraction for her. An attempt that hadn’t worked, as the first sight of her had him leaping back to attention.

  ‘Thank you.’ She laid down her pencil and stared at him with intent.

  ‘We don’t have to discuss this if it makes you nervous.’ He pulled up a chair and sat a few yards away from her. Close enough to have an intimate conversation, but far enough not to spook her.

  ‘I’m not nervous,’ she said.

  His mouth twitched but he knew that a smile would be the wrong response.

  ‘Shall we get straight to the point then?’

  ‘Yes, you may as well hear it now before you get too involved with me,’ she said. Her face scrunched, pinched tight, as if she expected him to walk away forever. Too involved! He was already too involved with her, every fibre of his being hummed with need for her. He sipped his coffee to swallow away the odd dryness on his tongue, and tried to keep the conversation light.

  ‘I have committed to solve this mystery for your father. For you too.’ He ran his hand through his hair, and pulled his glasses case from his jacket pocket. He opened the case, took out the glasses, and cleaned them with the little silk cloth in the case.

  ‘I am accustomed to a certain degree of independence. Having you, or any man, involved in my life risks losing that independence.’ She paused to take a breath.

  ‘The Married Women’s—’ he began, but she waggled her forefinger at him.

  ‘No. That law is fine in theory, but the reality is quite different. And I have no confidence that the old men who interpret the law in court would ever be fair to the spirit of the law. In fact, I believe they would go out of their way to retain the status quo.’ She picked up the pencil again and started to doodle. He put on his glasses and tried not to peer at her.

  ‘I agree. The application of the law doesn’t always align with the technicalities of the written words.’

  ‘Yes!’ She almost shouted the word. She leaned towards him. ‘Yes, you understand. It’s never as simple as saying that it is written in law.’

  ‘It is an ongoing problem,’ he said. He tilted his head a fraction.

  ‘After hundreds of years where the wife is property and treated like a chattel, it is very difficult for me to trust that the new laws won’t be applied in the same vein.’

  ‘The world is changing, though,’ he said.

  ‘Not fast enough for me.’

  ‘So you keep saying, but what does that really mean?’

  ‘It means many things. I’d like to have a medical career with medicine that actually helps people, and not be some type of freak, an unnatural woman who, heaven forbid, can think. I’d like to vote. I’d like to pursue the idea of running Carlingford Enterprises without having to worry about decimating the business because our clients wouldn’t, couldn’t, stand the idea of a business run by a woman. I’d like to be able to approach men, and consider marriage, without having to worry about whether he is simply buying me. Buying influence with my father. I’d like to have a baby and survive, and have the baby live past a year old. Did you know that half of all babies die before their fifth birthday? I don’t know that I could live with the sadness of being in the world without them, after all that work to grow them. I’d pour my heart out for them, and I don’t know if I’d recover from the loss. I don’t know, Ravi,’ she said. Her words grew with passion until they raced out of her. Her pink cheeks glowed, as she stayed tense, as if unable to bend to the passion in her thoughts.

  He wanted to gather her in his arms, a completely innocent desire to soothe her. To gently stroke his hands over her back. To reassure her that her heart was big enough to cope, that he could help her through any grief they might be unlucky enough to suffer. But the reality was that she was right, which meant they’d never have the chance to discover this.

  Layered over this were the wishes of his brother, and his need for an heir, swirling and spinning until all the options looked bad. His breath caught in the back of his throat as he realised that there was no other choice for him. He wanted Claire, and only Claire, but if she couldn’t take the step and risk pregnancy, he would respect that, which meant that he would have to disappoint his brother. Or he could be a loyal brother and select a different, non-Claire, person to have in his life. It left him with an impossible choice. Claire or Sanjay. A frustrated growl emerged from him, a rumble that came from deep inside.

  ‘Are you unwell?’ Claire leapt out of her chair, and placed her cool palm on his forehead.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, but his tight voice betrayed him. The depth of uncertainty in this difficult decision took away the usual desire that her touch would normally have given him.

  ‘Your forehead is certainly cool enough, but you made an odd noise, so I wanted to be sure.’ She removed her hand and sat again. Immediately he missed her touch, and was left with only a tiny fragment of her signature violet scent that wafted in the air between them. Maybe family loyalty mattered more than this madness he felt around her.

  ‘It’s just that this conversation became rather too serious for a simple kiss. It was just a kiss, nothing worth all that angst,’ he said, needing to push her away as he tried to make his choice more palatable. She shrank back in her seat, a tiny flinch that sent regret surging in his veins like a cool wind before a thunderstorm.

  ‘I see,’ she said through pinched lips. He opened his mouth to protest his own comment, but closed it again as the image of Sanjay’s hope-filled eyes flooded his argumentative brain. He took off his glasses, tucked them into their case, and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Shall we put this behind us and stick to the case?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Solve this mystery and we can go our separate ways. It’s obviously what you want.’ The hurt in her voice stung like a thousand bees, matching the swarm of confusion in his brain. He stood up and paced around the room, trying to shake off the chaotic mess and refocus on his original goal. He pictured the little brass plate, the clerk sitting at the front desk to his own offices, the clientele he’d build. Physical action had always helped calm his overactive brain, and the simple act of pacing in the drawing room helped. He could feel Claire’s eyes watching him, a distraction that he di
dn’t want to deal with. He turned to her, and spread his arms before him.

  ‘We need to talk to the bookmakers involved in this scandal. I want their point of view. Maybe they know someone in the household that will give us the final piece of this puzzle,’ he said.

  ‘Did you write to Officer Wedsley yesterday?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. I’m not holding out hope as I got the impression that he doesn’t want to help us. He thinks he has his man, and is going to do everything he can to protect himself and his choice.’

  ‘Are you saying he is actively trying to get Father re-arrested?’

  He shrugged. ‘Who knows? His responses to my letters have been terse.’

  ‘But he hasn’t done anything since he let Father go home?’ She bit her bottom lip as a frown flashed on her brow.

  ‘No. But I sincerely doubt that he’s doing nothing. Therefore, we need to be proactive and find the answer before he gets a clue that sends him into another overenthusiastic demonstration,’ he said.

  ‘Said like a lawyer. In your letter to Wedsley, did you mention Lord St. George?’

  ‘No. Why should I?’ He started to pace again with his hands jammed in his pockets. She chuckled. The noise made him spin on his toes towards her.

  ‘Because he breeds racehorses,’ she said with one eyebrow quirked up. He grimaced, he should have remembered that comment last night.

  ‘Right. Did you intend to contact them?’ he asked.

  ‘Better than that. We will visit them tomorrow in Newmarket to discuss the issue. I arranged everything earlier this morning.’

  ‘That’s terribly efficient of you.’ He managed to choke out the words rather than blurt a comment about her not lazing in bed. Her, in bed. The image rocked him.

  ‘Thank you.’ At some point during her sing-song speech, she’d stood up and walked towards him, and now he suddenly realised that she stood only one step before him.

  ‘And are they receptive to our visit?’ he asked. Her cheeks flushed pink as he whispered in her ear. She reached up and brushed her hand on the back of his neck. He stepped closer, even though his brain screamed at him to avoid further complications, and kissed her. Gently, on the cheek. As non-threatening as he could manage, yet unable to resist the temptation of her proximity.

  ‘I think they’d welcome us with open arms,’ she said. Just as his body would welcome hers. Hai bhagwan. Mujhe rok lo! He called on his gods to give him the space he needed if he was going to survive the next few days without ravishing her. She inclined her head, her lips parted, her hands resting lightly on his elbows.

  ‘Didn’t we just discuss not doing this?’ he asked cautiously.

  ‘I outlined my reasons for not indulging any further, but I fail to see why I should stop completely.’

  He chuckled. ‘I hate to point this out, but the pathway stays the same if you continue on. Even if you walk slower, the end point is inevitable.’

  ‘What if I want this to be the end point?’ She tilted her head to the side, and stared at him with a challenge sparkling in her gaze.

  ‘It doesn’t work like that. You can’t just—’

  ‘Yes, I can. I can and will determine for myself. I want to kiss you. I don’t want to risk anything else.’

  ‘Therefore, I should just take it or leave it?’ He would take every kiss, of course, no matter how illogical she sounded. He knew that more kisses would lead to more, and stopping would only be more difficult if they kept on this path.

  She shrugged. ‘You don’t need to make it sound so brutal.’

  A laugh caught in his teeth with an odd crunching sound. ‘Brutal?’

  ‘Yes. Take it or leave it. You make it sound like I’m offering you a piece of fruit.’ Her fingers tightened against his forearms.

  ‘That paints a terrible picture. If someone kisses you in the same way they eat fruit, it won’t be a pleasant experience.’ He couldn’t prevent a laugh at her expression of horror. ‘I promise not to bite. Or at least, not a lot.’

  ‘Not a lot!’ Her eyes widened and her lips parted on a gasp. A hint of her perfume, fresh violets, hovered in the air between them. He reached up and brushed his fingertip across her bottom lip.

  ‘Trust me. I could bite you and you’d love it,’ he said.

  ‘But …’

  ‘I’d start with little nibbles down the side of your neck. Then kiss them better, until your skin stung with my touch.’ He paused for a breath, and noticed how she also panted at his words, in time with his own rapid, shallow breathing. She shook her head.

  ‘No. No. Perhaps you are right. Down this path lies trouble for me, and we should just stop now.’

  He took a deliberate step backwards and clasped his hands behind his back.

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘I … I do wish.’ Her nostrils flared as she inhaled. ‘I need to concentrate on this paperwork now. Shall we meet at St Pancras station tomorrow at nine?’

  His mind took a moment to catch up to her dismissal, and her quick change of subject. How was it that he felt flattened by her, off guard, and unable to think in her presence? Yet she apparently managed just fine.

  Chapter 18

  The train pulled into Newmarket station after a dull four-hour ride. The presence of Officer Wedsley prevented any discussions. Ravi had found it hard to concentrate on his book with Claire beside him. The enforced silence beat an irritated drum in his veins. He bounded down the steps onto the platform, and paced along, leaving Claire to her preferred independent method of disembarking. She had her footman to assist, and he needed to rid himself of this excess energy. He stomped loudly on the macadamised surface. He’d rather argue with Claire every day for the rest of his life than endure this frustration. He stopped. Huh. The rest of his life. The wind whipped past, bringing the smell of farmland in summer, dried grasses, fruits ripening on trees, and of course, meadow flowers including his new favourite, the humble violet. No matter what he’d promised his brother, Ravi knew that choosing a path that didn’t include Claire would be the wrong one. Even his goal for his own legal practice melted into the background, although to be fair, without her, it wouldn’t even be a goal. She’d goaded him into it, unveiling his own desires to himself by dragging him out of the safe rut he’d been in. Without her, he risked living the same dull existence forever. The train puffed out a large blast of steam, covering him. The heated air shocked him out of his reverie. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

  Claire leapt forward out of the steam, bundled up her skirts and ran. He sprinted after her, automatically. His muscles tensing into action as he tore along, ready to defend her from whatever she was running from.

  She flung out her arms. ‘Josephine. How are you?’ He skidded to a halt, his breath ragged in his throat and his chest pumping. Oh. She ran towards, not away, and was now being bundled into a ferocious hug. He slowed, inching cautiously towards her, as she spoke rapidly to her friend. They held each other by the shoulders, as if unable to step out of their initial hug. The gesture spoke of a deep friendship created over years, and an odd tug in his stomach made him shove his hands in his pockets. Necessity had kept him separate, unable to allow people close after a few ugly incidents early in his life. He had his brother, and they had to make do with each other for friendship, which brought him back to his current dilemma.

  ‘Is this the Mr Howick you mentioned in your telegraph?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Howick, meet my good friend Dr Josephine, also known as Lady St. George,’ said Claire. Ravi was jerked out of a reverie at his name. Claire shook her head at her friend’s wide-eyed expression. ‘No, I see you have piles of questions, Josephine. Surely they can wait until we are more settled.’

  ‘Of course. Come along, I brought the large carriage to the station, as you mentioned you were bringing a few people.’ Lady St. George marched off, and Claire paced beside her. Ravi shrugged, ready to follow when Higgins arrived beside him with their luggage.

  ‘Which way did they go?’ said Hig
gins.

  Ravi waved in their direction. ‘Lady St. George has a carriage. Where did the good officer go?’

  ‘He is still organising his luggage,’ said Higgins, with a nod of his head in the general direction of the porters.

  ‘Could you wait for him?’

  ‘Yes. I believe Dr Carlingford will be safe with her friend.’ Higgins reminded Ravi of his duty in a carefully polite tone. Perhaps he shouldn’t have let them walk off. He nodded to Higgins.

  ‘I will keep an eye on them while you wait,’ he said. He paced down the platform as the two friends disappeared around the end of the long station building. Every interaction with her, even these dull moments while organising luggage and transport, somehow left him off balance. A growing need to resolve all these different elements made him irritable. He wanted Claire. He wanted to help Sanjay. He wanted to solve this crime so he could have his own practice. It must all be possible, not just because he desired it, desired her, but because the strands of each section were tangled together. He had only needed to find the end of the strand and the answer would unveil itself.

  He rounded the corner of the building to see a handsome open carriage with a matching bay pair waiting, a lad standing at their heads. Claire and her friend were seated already. He climbed in as Lady St. George said, ‘But you are usually so brave.’ He lifted his hand, wanting to caress Claire’s shoulder in reassurance of her bravery, but he dropped it back beside him.

  ‘There is a story from my childhood, about the boy and the wolf,’ he said as he sat opposite them.

  ‘Oh, I know that one,’ said Claire.

  ‘No, not the boy who cried wolf. That’s a different story.’

  ‘We all know the story of the boy who cried wolf. That doesn’t apply to Claire. At all,’ said her friend. Claire nudged her.

  ‘Josephine, he said it wasn’t that story.’ She grinned at him.

  ‘It is a story of bravery. It starts with a boy walking in the forest. A wolf comes along and says he will eat him. The boy is scared. He doesn’t want to be eaten, so he sings as loudly as he can. The family’s dog hears him and rushes to his side, scaring away the wolf,’ he said.