by Linda Banche
Drat Laurence!
Ellen pressed down on her pencil so hard the tip snapped. The little piece of graphite arced across the parlor like a shooting star.
She scowled at the innocent writing utensil. And drat Laurence—Mr. Coffey—again. Now she had a broken pencil.
She slumped against her chair back. How she missed him. She had been here every time he knocked at the front door the past three days. At her request, her mother had turned him away. But this morning, Mama had refused to do so again, saying the two of them must come to terms.
She picked up her pen knife and then sharpened the pencil tip. Papa had promised her that Tom wouldn’t interfere any more. He also asked her to resume her calculations. His eyes had twinkled as he assured her that he needed her expertise, and was certain she and Laurence could reach an agreement.
Did he know something she didn’t?
The door knocker rapped and then the maid’s footsteps scurried down the hall.
Ellen glanced at the mantel clock. Half after eight. Who would call this early?
Laurence? Her heart skipped.
A deep male voice drifted to her ears as the visitor greeted the maid. A once familiar voice. Ellen’s breath caught. George! She did NOT want to see him! She would tell the maid to inform him she was not at home.
In the back of the house, a door slammed. Muffled voices, male and female, travelled down the corridor. Good, she wasn’t alone.
Unbidden, a tall, dark-haired man strolled into the room. George Coles, fair of face and warm of smile as always. Well-dressed as usual, too, in tailcoat and Cossack trousers. They don’t look as good on him as they do on Mr. Coffey. The nasty little thought somehow made her feel better.
His lips curved wider into his heart-stopping, and, at one time, welcome, smile. In the past, she had dreamed of his smile, and rejoiced every time he favored her with it. “Good morning, Ellen. I’m happy to see you.”
Her fingers curled around the edge of the table. So happy he had insulted her the last time they spoke. She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?” Oh, why hadn’t she instructed the maid sometime in the past two years not to admit him? Because she hadn’t thought he would ever return.
“Tsk, tsk, such a greeting for an old friend.”
“We are not friends, not after what you did.”
He widened his eyes into fake innocence. “And what did I do that was so bad? I confess, I’ve forgotten.”
“How convenient” She stood, keeping the table between them. “Well, I remember. For years, we studied mathematics together and we solved your mathematics puzzles. You never minded that I was better at solving them than you.” I thought I had found a man who liked my facility with numbers. “But then I discovered you got the puzzles from a little American mathematics magazine that awarded prizes for the answers. You turned in our solutions as your own and kept the money. Quite a considerable amount, as I recall.”
When she had found out, she was furious. Father was even angrier. After shouting loud enough for the whole block to hear, he threw George out and told him never to return. “Did you not think I would help you if I knew? And if we split the prize money?”
He winced, but recovered quickly. “Come now, you misunderstood me.”
“Fairly hard to misunderstand the award certificate you left in a book you borrowed from me.” She pointed to the door. “You can leave now.”
He heaved a weary sigh. “I see, you want me to crawl. Very well, then, I apologize for my actions. Are you happy now?”
As if mere words could undo the damage. What brass! “No, I am not. Please leave.”
“But I don’t want to leave.” He sat in the chair beside her.
She yanked the bell pull and then moved to the chair by the fireplace. She would send the maid for her mother.
His eyebrows lowered in that angry scowl she had dreaded and had always jollied him out of. More fool she. “Very well, if you want me to shout across the room.”
“I want you to leave.”
“Not until I have my say.” He set his beaver hat on the desk. “I’ve missed your sunny smile, your pretty face, and your knowledge of mathematics.”
“You expect me to come back after you used me? And after you said my interest in mathematics was unwomanly, and you would not come around any longer?”
He shrugged. “Youthful foolishness. I have seen the error of my ways.”
I doubt it.
“Did you know I have become a mathematics instructor at the Latin School for Boys?”
As if I would follow his progress. “No. My congratulations.”
“Yes, except…” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Except that the students are very advanced. They almost know more than I do. I need help.”
“And you come to me?” Why was she being so polite? If she were a man, she would plant him a facer.
“I want you to help me. The salary is generous, and I would not like to lose the job.”
He had always had gall. She crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”
He sighed. “I see you are just like other women. You won’t help me unless I marry you. Well, then, I’ll marry you.”
She balled her fists. To prevent herself from picking up the nearest book and flinging it at his head. “And you expect me to jump at the chance?”
“Well, why not? It’s not as if you have men spouting marriage proposals beating down your door.” His lips curved into a sneering smile. “Most would not consider wedding a bluestocking.”
“Not even you, until you needed me.” At one time she had dreamed of marrying him. But that air castle had died a swift death when she found out how he had cheated her.
“Oh, come now.” His air was that of a man being patient with an unruly child. As if she would ever subject herself to a lifetime of such patronizing. “Stop being difficult. You’re not likely to do any better than me. I’m your last chance.”
Boot heels clicked on the corridor floor. “Good morning, Ellen.” Laurence, resplendent in dark blue tailcoat, high starched cravat, tight buff-colored pantaloons and mirror-bright Hessians, looked ready to step into one of those elegant men’s clubs on St. James Street. Eyes hooded and lips firmed in a classic picture of patrician disdain, he looked George up and down as if he were less than a worm. All that was missing was the quizzing glass. Where were the old, ill-fitting clothes he wore in the workshop? “And what is this?”
“Mr. Coles was just leaving.”
George’s face reddened. “Oh, now I see. You do have someone else, or think you do.” His sneer contorted his handsome features into those of a gargoyle.
How could she have ever considered him attractive?
“A fine gentleman, in fact.” George jabbed a finger at her. “Well, let me tell you, a gentleman will never deign to wed a cit like you. He may dally, but you will be the one to suffer.” His mocking tone scraped along her nerves. “I give you one last chance to accept my offer. If you don’t, I will never make it again.”
She pointed at the door. “Get out!”
George’s jaw sagged. “What?”
“You heard the lady.” Laurence grabbed George by his collar and dragged him from the room.
Ellen snatched up George’s hat and ran ahead to open the front door.
A cursing George twisted in Laurence’s grip but couldn’t break free. “You’ll be sorry! Both of you!”
“I doubt it.” His lips curving in a smile that proclaimed he was enjoying himself mightily, Laurence flung the sputtering George bodily outside.
With a huff of outgoing breath, George landed in a sprawled heap at the bottom of the steps. He hissed as he pushed himself up to his hands and knees. A passing hackney clattered through a puddle left over from an early morning shower and spattered mud on his fine clothes.
Ellen pressed a hand to her mouth to smother her chuckle.
Laurence dusted off his hands. “Be grateful I didn’t throw you down harder.”
Ellen
tossed his hat after him. The expensive headgear landed top down in the settling water of the puddle. Well, the waterproof beaver hat, at least, wouldn’t get wet. “And do not come back!” She slammed the door shut, muffling the curses wafting from George. She took a deep inhale. “Thank you, Laurence.” She stalked back to the parlor.
“Any time.”
Now that the villain was gone, a wave of trembling overtook her. She sank into the nearest chair. What must Laurence think? “Did you hear our conversation?”
“Yes. What a blackguard. You are well rid of him.” He paused in the doorway. “I am glad I finally found you in, although I would have preferred you were in a happier mood. I would like to speak with you.” His words were hesitant. Was he nervous?
She clasped her still-shaking hands together to still them and then nodded.
He bent to fetch a wrapped package from the corridor floor by the entrance. He set the parcel on the table at their side before taking the chair next to her. “Ellen, I apologize for doing that set of calculations for you, but I had no idea you would be angry.” He explained that George had come to the workshop. “I knew Coles was unwelcome, but no one told me why.”
“He came earlier?” She pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. “Oh, I wish Papa had said something! George’s arrival would not have been such a shock.”
“I should have asked what he had done, but I was afraid to pry.” He blew out a breath. “My mistake.”
“Please, do not blame yourself. Nothing to do with George is your fault. Indeed, I am most grateful you arrived when you did.” Her shoulders slumped. “And I am sorry for yelling at you when you did the calculations. All I could think was that you were another George. My mistake.”
“But, I do owe you an apology for neglecting you.” He set his hands on his knees. “I got caught up in my excitement in working on the steam engine. I also let Tom run all over me, but that is no excuse.” He shifted in his chair. “I originally came here to see you. The steam engine is an unexpected bonus, which I can live without, if you will forgive me.”
Her heart clenched. She doubted he could feign the sincerity in his eyes. “Well, no need to give up the steam engine. But I was annoyed when you spent most of your time in the workshop. How lowering to discover that a lump of metal holds more allure for a man than I do.”
“Not just any lump of metal, but a steam engine.” He cracked a smile. “But, lowering, indeed. I can only say, for the first time in my life, no one condemned me for my ungentlemanly interest in machinery. Even encouraged me. I fear the freedom to do as I have long wished went to my head.” His smile widened. “I also enjoyed wearing ill-fitting clothes—for the most part—and becoming filthy.”
She laughed. “Playing in the dirt is always fun, no matter what your age.”
“Some day I will tell you about the not-so-fun part of my ill-fitting clothes, and the duck, too, but not yet.”
What could he mean? Well, sooner or later she would wheedle the tale out of him.
“Laurence, is that you?” An out-of-breath Tom bounded into the room. “Father and I had no idea where you went.” He stopped and stared. “And all dressed up. Are you going to a funeral?” He hopped from foot to foot. “Well, you had better change back into your old clothes because Father is ready to test the latest version of the steam engine and…”
“I will be there in a nonce.”
“But we can’t wait. I ran all the way over. Father has the engine almost up to steam.”
“Well, then, I will see it the next time.”
“What?” Tom gaped. “Are you ill? You have always jumped at everything we do with the steam engine.”
Laurence’s lips pursed. “Not this time. I will return anon.”
Tom’s forehead puckered. “Oh well, I will tell Father. Mayhap we can delay a few minutes.” Scratching his head, he exited the parlor. “Comes early, changes his clothes and then won’t see the steam engine. What’s amiss?” His grumbles floated from the corridor.
Ellen’s gaze lingered on the entry. “Gracious, Tom listened to you? He does not listen to anyone, not even Papa.”
“From now on, he will listen to me.” He cleared his throat. “I would like us to make a new start. Shall we return to our original discussion of mathematics?”
At her nod, he blew out a breath. “My Cambridge education taught me mainly abstract mathematics, not the practical type you know, such how to calculate the pressure within a steam engine. But I have more liking for applied computation than for the pure reason of solving theorems. Despite providing those calculations in your place, I have much to learn.”
“I never learned much theoretical mathematics. I would like to do so.”
He leaned forward and took her hand. Her skin tingled all the way to her shoulder.
“We can be partners, if you choose. I can teach you what I know, and you can teach me what you know. Together, we can make your father’s steam engine the best ever.”
“Oh, yes!” She was so light she could fly up into the sky and never return.
After dropping a quick kiss on her knuckles, he released her hand to unwrap the package he had brought. “But first…”
“Oh, Pride and Prejudice. Did you check that out from the library?”
“No, this is a gift. Before I came here I went to Hookham’s and bought a copy. Had them open the shop early for me.” His grin glimmered. “Being a gentleman of some means has its advantages.” His smile faded. “A friend lent me his copy yesterday. I stayed up most of the night reading it.” He ran a finger over the book’s leather cover. “I decided not to be a nodcock like Mr. Darcy and talk to my lady right from the beginning.”
“I also reread parts of Pride and Prejudice last night. And I need to talk to you, too.”
His grin returned. “Good. After all, neither of us can read minds.”
“Very true.” She set her hand over his. “But I will be most happy to learn more about yours.”
“I will remember that.” He set Pride and Prejudice to the side and pulled a second book from the package. “Another gift.”
“Oh, Mr. Galloway’s History of the Steam Engine. I borrowed that from the library and have studied it for the past week.” She clasped her hands at her breast and favored him with her most winning smile. “Thank you.”
“Splendid.” For a second, his eyes darkened. Then he cocked an eyebrow and flashed a smile that promised all sorts of exquisite delights. “From now on, shall we study it together?”
THE END
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Author’s Note
The Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce received a Royal Charter in 1847 and is now known as the Royal Society for the encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce (RSA), shortened to the Royal Society for the Arts. The institution retains its original location at 8 John Adam Street, but the name of the street has changed from John Street in the Regency to its current name of John Adam Street.
Glass paper, the original name of sandpaper, is paper embedded with sharp shards of glass and used to smooth wood and other surfaces.
History of the Steam Engine, From Its First Invention to the Present Time by Elijah Galloway, Engineer, was published in 1826. I pushed its publication date backward for the purposes of the story.
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Excerpt from A Similar Taste in Books
Part 1 of Love and the Library, available now!
Chapter One
London, England
June, 1818
“Pride and Prejudice again, I see.” The thin, bespectacled clerk behind the circulating library counter at Hookham’s Bookshop curled his lip.
Mr. Justin Fellowes cleared his throat. “For my sister.”
“Indeed. The ladies enjoy these novels by Miss Austen.” The clerk sniffed. “I cannot understand why. All that talk about love and marriage.” He added the novel’s three volumes to Justin’s
other selection. “I daresay, there is no accounting for taste.” Paper crackled as he wrapped the books.
Justin cracked a smile. “As you say.” How surprised would you be, my man, if you knew I am the one who reads “Pride and Prejudice”.
Justin’s liking for novels was his dark little secret. Many men, including Mr. Collins in the novel, loudly ridiculed the books. They were widely regarded as rubbish although, in all the libraries and book shops Justin had visited, the collection of novels was the largest one there, and probably also the most lucrative.
Pride and Prejudice was his favorite novel. He loved the wit and intelligence in the book. But most of all, he loved Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Justin’s heart warmed. Lively, intelligent, fiercely loyal, she was sometimes wrong, but willing to change her mind when more information appeared. And beautiful. Although the book never described her, such a lady must be beautiful. A veritable goddess.
The clerk consulted a ledger at his side. “According to my records, you have borrowed this book three times in the past two months.” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “If your sister likes the novel so much, perhaps you should buy her a copy.” His disapproval vanished, replaced with a thin-lipped smile that was nothing short of irritating. “In the shop section, we have many copies for sale.” He gestured toward the front room.
Justin didn’t spare a glance for the other portion of the establishment. Patrons must pass through the shop before reaching the library, no doubt to encourage buying rather than borrowing. Book prices were high, due to the tax on paper, but Hookham’s had found a way to profit both from those who could afford to purchase and those who couldn’t. Still, Justin loved books and would prefer to buy Pride and Prejudice. Perhaps, if he saved a few pennies a week, he could afford a copy bound with paper-covered boards and forgo adding the leather or cloth binding.
The clerk secured the folds of paper around the parcel with a length of twine. “I would be most happy to fetch you a copy.”
“I will think on it.” With a curt nod to the officious clerk, Justin gathered up his package and stepped back. He collided with the person next in the queue. “I beg your par—”