The Bluestocking's Dilemma

by Evelyn Richardson

  “Now, Caro, you know that ain’t so. Why I’ve been down at Mandeville this age. I’ve only come up to London because Mama and Lavvy would worry me to death if I weren’t here to escort Lavvy around. And what’s a fellow to do for amusement, I ask?” Tony was aggrieved.

  “And certainly the latest crop of fillies on display at Tattersall’s is far more interesting than that being paraded around at Almack’s, not to mention a good deal less threatening.” Caro fixed the viscount with a wicked smile.

  With some effort, Clarissa was able to maintain her composure, but Nicholas laughed outright. Tony grinned good-naturedly. “Touché, Coz. But Wilmington’s grays are more than just any matched pair. And he wouldn’t sell them to just any well-breeched swell. Nicky may talk head of the family, but I’ll wager it’s his hands more than his lineage that convinced Wilmington. I’ve seen him handling them— most sensitive mouths and most responsive pair I’ve seen in a long time. It takes the lightest of touches to guide them and a strong arm to hold ‘em once they’re sprung.”

  For a man of as few words as the viscount, this was praise indeed. Impressed by this encomium, Caro and her companions looked at the marquess with new respect. “You are very daring to ride behind such a high-spirited team,” she remarked to Clarissa.

  “Oh, no,” Clary responded, smiling shyly at Caro. “I trust him implicitly.’’ But at Caro’s skeptically raised eyebrow, she chuckled and added a hurried disclaimer, “Well, by that I mean that I trust I shall either be dead or survive unscathed. In either case, I shall not be subjected to a physically painful experience.”

  “Clarissa!” Her mother was shocked. “How can you say such a thing when Nicky was so kind as to volunteer to take us for a drive in the park?’’

  “I do not disagree. Mama. Nicky is solicitude itself where we are concerned.” Clarissa’s eyes softened as they rested on her brother. “But that does not blind me to the risks he takes once he has the ribbons in his hands.”

  “Now Clary, must you be so brutally honest? You alarm Mama and she will not let you ride with me. Then where will you be when you wish to take the air?” For all his bantering tone, there was an expression of concern that Nicholas was unable to hide as he glanced at his fragile sister swathed in shawls. Despite her wrappings, she had a becoming flush on her cheeks, inspired by the fineness of the day and the bustle around her which she could enjoy from the safety of the carriage without having to participate.

  A casual but not entirely uninterested observer, Caro was surprised and just the slightest bit intrigued by this interchange. It certainly revealed a hitherto unexpected side of the marquess’s character. Somehow Caro had not expected that the dashing soldier, the romantic lover, or the arrogant lord would be such a devoted brother and it gave her pause. Perhaps she had been a trifle harsh in her critical attitude toward him. Caro resolved to be more open-minded in the future.

  Chapter 10

  However, this new perspective on the marquess disappeared some evenings later as he arrived to escort the countess, her cousin, and her cousin’s companion to the opera. Another huge floral tribute had arrived that day for Lavinia, who had left Caro no doubt as to its origin. “It’s from Nicky,” she declared, not bothering to conceal the triumphant note in her voice. “I vow, that man is the most importunate suitor. One would have thought that all those years in the army and now his assumption of the responsibilities entailed in being head of the family might have sobered him, but he is as impetuous as ever, dear boy—and so handsome,” Lavinia concluded dreamily.

  Heartily sick of listening to the catalogue of the marquess’s obvious attractions, Caro was about to inquire as to the nature of the performance they were about to attend. To be sure, Lavinia had said it was the opera, but whose and which one? Who was to perform? Having scorned the empty pleasure-seeking life of the ton, Caro had never given the slightest thought to the other amusements the capital might offer, merely being thankful she was free to avoid it. Now, all of a sudden, it occurred to her that there were many delightful things she might have missed in her dogged avoidance of the ton and its haunts. “Cousin ...” she began, only to be interrupted by Lavvy as she continued.

  “Truly, he is far more masterful than the Duke of Hatherill or Lord Edgecombe,” the countess dismissed with a pretty shrug of her shoulders the two gentlemen to whom Nicholas had once compared so unfavorably, and then she bent down to absorb the heady scent of the bouquet, congratulating herself on the success of her campaign thus far.

  “Lavvy,” Caro began again.

  Reluctantly, Lavvy abandoned her daydream of a love-smitten Marquess of Everleigh on bended knee pleading with her to do him the honor of becoming his Marchioness. “What?”

  “I was just wondering what opera we are to see?”

  “Lord, I don’t know. What does it signify? If Nicholas has chosen to escort us, we are certain of enjoying ourselves,” she responded sharply.

  To Caro, the presence of the Marquess of Everleigh was not necessarily a guarantee of the success of an evening, but seeing she would get nowhere with her cousin, she gave up.

  “I believe that the Times was advertising Le Nozze di Figaro, but it did not list the performers,” a quiet voice added from the corner of the drawing room.

  “Thank you, Helena. That will be wonderful. I could look forward to anything, but I had liefer it were Mozart than Handel.” Caro’s eyes lit up with anticipation. She had heard arias performed at musicales, but never an entire opera and suddenly an evening at which she had dreaded being an uncomfortable but necessary accessory to Nicholas’s and Lavvy’s flirtations actually seemed to hold promise of’ enjoyment.

  “If it is not Catalan! singing then it does not matter, for one cannot truly claim to have been to the opera with any hope of impressing the ton unless one can say they have heard the Catalani. But enough of this. I must be going. Madame Henriette promised to make a few alterations on the gown I am to wear this evening.

  Indeed, as Lavinia, clinging to the marquess’s arm, made her way to the box that evening, she looked as exquisite as ever in a white lace dress over a white satin slip with a low, tight corsage of rose-colored satin that revealed a creamy expanse of bosom and emphasized the faint flush in the countess’s cheeks. Following in her cousin’s wake, Caro felt extremely plain indeed in a serviceable white crape over white sarcenet. Until now, if she had thought about it at all, she had been perfectly satisfied with its simple lines; but next to Lavinia’s gown, it appeared positively dowdy.

  Stop it, Caro Waverly, she admonished herself. You should be above such things. You know you wouldn’t wish to spare half the time for your toilette that Lavvy does, so don’t repine now. But somehow this salutary scolding could not stop the most unwelcome pang of envy that struck her when she observed the look in the marquess’s eyes as they rested appreciatively on her cousin. Nor was the marquess the only one enjoying the picture Lavvy presented. Caro could see quizzing glasses raised in several boxes as the Countess of Welham took her seat and acknowledged these admiring glances with a small satisfied smile.

  Caro sighed. She had thought she was above such mean-spirited thoughts. And you are, she resolved, giving herself a mental shake and forcing herself to turn her attention to the stage. In a short while, her conscious attempt to fix her thoughts elsewhere was rewarded and she became engrossed in the opera with no thought in her head but the beauty of the music and the exquisite voices. Her spirits soared. Not since her arrival in London had she been so absorbed in something and she felt like the old Caro, free to follow her own interests without having to be forever conscious of the observations and strictures of the fashionable world around her.

  Her total preoccupation with the spectacle before her was tangible. Glancing in the direction of Lavinia’s companions to assure himself of their comfort, Nicholas was struck by the thought that he had never seen Lady Caroline Waverly so relaxed and happy. This was succeeded by an even more surprising revelation, which was that her plea
sure in the entire scene made her appear quite pretty—beautiful in fact. The marquess had never really stopped to consider Caroline as a female before. She had always been Lavinia’s younger cousin and as such had paled in comparison to the older, more sophisticated woman. In their initial encounter this year, she had figured as an adversary, though an adversary worth reckoning with, at that. Since then, the evidence of her erudition and her pedagogical bent had caused him to write her off as a bluestocking, one of those charmless females who preferred to overwhelm their fellows with pedantry rather than relate to them as human beings. Now, however, observing the sparkle in the gray eyes and the full red lips, which were parted in breathless anticipation, he began to revise his opinion.

  Just as the marquess was digesting these new and slightly unsettling perceptions, the door to the box opened and a tall, exquisitely attired gentleman entered. The lights glinting off silvered locks, and the magnificent ruby buried in a snowy cravat contrasted with the severity of a dark coat tailored to perfection.

  “My dear Countess, I am enchanted to see that you were so encouraged by your reception at the Countess of Mortmain’s that you are once again gracing society. May I be the first to inform you that the world has been an extremely dull place without you?” he murmured bending low over Lavinia’s hand.

  “You are too kind, Sir Evelyn. I have not been out of society so long that I do not recognize the most blatant flattery,” Lavinia responded modestly. However, her triumphant expression belied the gracious disclaimer. “And what brings you here? I thought, purist that you are, you avoided the theatrics of opera in favor of the more restrained pleasures of the Academy of Ancient Music.”

  The exquisite gentleman sighed. “How true, but one will sacrifice a great deal for the pleasure of convivial company and Fortescue absolutely insisted we come to Figaro.’’ Then, recollecting his surroundings, he smiled apologetically and continued, “But do introduce me to your companions. Nicholas I am well-acquainted with. I am reasonably certain that, barbarian that he is, he can have only one aesthetic reason for attending such an evening.” He smiled meaningfully at Lavinia who summoned up a conscious blush as she laid a possessive hand on her escort’s arm.

  “Of course you know the Marquess of Everleigh. This is my cousin, Lady Caroline Waverly and her companion. Miss Helena Gray.’’

  The newcomer looked at Lavinia’s companions with some interest for he had been one of the crowd surveying the theater through his quizzing glass. He had remarked upon these two unusual ladies who, oblivious to the critical observations, the malicious comments, and the general drama of gossip enacted all around them, were actually concentrating upon the action on stage. Furthermore, they were, to all intents and purposes, enjoying it immensely. Intrigued by such a novelty, Sir Evelyn could not help inquiring, “And pray tell me, ladies, how do you find the entertainment at hand?”

  Caro turned a glowing face toward him. “Oh, I am enjoying it immensely, thank you. The characters do remind one of those in a Shakespearean comedy. Of course, part of the success of this is owing to the librettist, but what I find most fascinating is that somehow through his music Mozart manages to imbue his characters with a unique personality. Helena and I were just remarking at the extraordinary individuality his musical passages confer upon them. Personally, I prefer Don Giovanni for the power of the music, but this is an extremely accomplished piece of work. I had not fully appreciated it before.”

  His curiosity piqued, Sir Evelyn pulled up a chair and sat down next to the two women. “I find it highly unusual that you should feel this way, for most people, if they stop to consider it all, prefer his Abduction from the Seraglia, which is indeed a most attractive piece of music.”

  “Yes.” Caro tilted her head considering this carefully. “But I believe that its chief recommendation is that it has an aria here or there that demands a great deal of skill from the performers, while in this opera it is the musical whole that captures the attention. Most people seek the sensational performance over the subtly accomplished, which is what this calls for.”

  Sir Evelyn appeared much struck by this interpretation. “I do believe you may be in the right of it, Lady Caroline— a sad commentary on the taste of the general public, but nonetheless true.” He shook his head.

  “Well, I don’t repine,” Caro declared stoutly. “I find that I am forever at odds with the ton so I have become accustomed to it.’’

  Sir Evelyn laughed gently before turning his attention to the countess, who was becoming annoyed that the general conversation appeared to be turning to such a boring topic. Overhearing Caro’s last remark, the marquess could not help but concur. He had been listening—at first, most unwillingly but critically to the dialogue. It was just the pedantic sort of conversation he had come to expect from Lady Caroline, but the more it continued, the more intrigued he became. Certainly the discussion was far more enlightening than his companion’s animadversions on the quiz of a gown that Abigail Beauleigh had seen fit to appear in or how hagridden Sally Jersey was looking. The more he considered it, the more Nicholas remarked upon the contrast Caro’s conversation offered to her cousin’s. It was true that unlike Lavvy, she did not manage to look absolutely enchanting with every utterance. But on the other hand, she had no need to. What she had to say was interesting enough in and of itself to capture attention. Unable to refrain from commenting, the marquess turned to Caro, “So you are not an admirer of the Singspiel tradition, then, Lady Caroline?”

  “In general, no,” she replied cautiously, well aware of the challenging gleam in his blue eyes. “Of course it is all very pretty and the Magic Flute a more uplifting work than the rest, but ordinarily I prefer the richness and complexity of Mozart’s other operas. And you, my lord?” It was Caro’s turn to raise one interrogative dark brow.

  The marquess found himself at the point non plus. On the one hand, he was congratulating himself with a certain grim satisfaction for having known that Lady Caroline would naturally be drawn to the more intellectual and challenging aspects of Mozart’s compositions. After all, no bluestocking worthy of the name would admit to enjoying those works that incorporated the songs and tales of popular culture. On the other, he was forced to admit that he himself found the particular school of Singspiel to be trivial and, at times, even dull. “I,” he began, groping frantically for an answer that would show him to be a man of taste and intelligence while at the same time depressing her own intellectual pretensions, “Well, actually ...” Unfortunately for him, Nicholas looked up for an instant while he grappled with this problem only to discover Lady Caroline regarding him with a twinkle of amusement in her big gray eyes and a sympathetic smile quirking the corners of her generous mouth.

  “Never fear, my lord. I shan’t tell a soul, especially Lavvy, that you happen to find yourself in agreement with a bluestocking,” she whispered confidentially.

  Nicholas was taken aback. Accustomed as he was to being far more perceptive than his fellow man, he was unused to having his cynical observations interpreted so accurately. Even less was he accustomed to being confronted with them. Ordinarily an articulate man, he found himself at a momentary loss for words.

  “Yes, I expect it is a trifle disconcerting to have one’s negative opinion thrown in one’s face, but I believe it is always a salutary experience,” Caro teased.

  A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. “Salutary perhaps, but lowering, nonetheless. However I do not apologize for thinking you a bluestocking when you try so very hard to ensure that one thinks of you as nothing else,” he responded with a chuckle.

  Caro laughed. “You are quite in the right of it, but far from being insulted that you are forced to view me in such a dreary light, I am made most comfortable by it.”

  “Comfortable?” Nicholas was again nonplussed.

  “Yes, comfortable. Most women do not wish to be thought bluestockings for fear of being considered too serious to be attractive when the ton demands that they be an ornament to society rath
er than a critic of it. And for most women who must make marriage their goal, the risk of being thought unattractive is to be avoided at any cost. Nor can they afford to offend any male. Therefore, every man is fair game and subject to their stratagems to win acclaim and possibly a husband. Thus, a man must be constantly on the alert to preserve his freedom. However, a man conversing with a woman who is not consumed with the idea of such pursuit may relax and pay attention to the matter at hand rather than worrying about being caught in the parson’s mousetrap.”

  Nicholas was silent for a moment, struck by the novelty of this opinion. “You make it sound like some deadly game,” he protested.

  “It is, for the stakes are very high, are they not?”

  “But very enticing, for all that matter, and it can be most exciting, depending on the players.” A wicked grin spread over his features.

  “I would not know,” Caro responded stiffly.

  “No, you would not, but you might try playing it before you condemn it out of hand. After all, experimentation is the best way to proceed if one wishes to establish the truth of one’s theories. You might find it more pleasurable than you expect,” he teased, a disturbing gleam in his eye.

  “I . . .” It was Caro’s turn to be bereft of speech, but fortunately for her, Lavinia had decided that attention had been diverted from herself for long enough.

  “Nicholas, the next act is beginning. You are distracting Caroline and she particularly wished to hear this opera. Come, tell me how your dear Mama goes on. I was charmed to see her the other night.” Lavvy leaned forward to place a hand on his arm, allowing him a tantalizing view of a beautifully rounded bosom, but not before she had bestowed a brilliant smile on Sir Evelyn who, hearing the opening strains, took his leave.

  Privy to her cousin’s ploy to draw all eyes, or at least the male eyes, back to herself, Caro could not suppress her amusement. She quickly turned her head so that only Helena would see the cynical smile that rose to her lips.