The Railway Countess

by Julia Justiss

  ‘Yes. Though Mr Gilling didn’t join us, we shared a few words before I left.’

  ‘And?’ He raised his eyebrows in enquiry.

  She blew out a sigh. ‘He admitted he’d been surprised to learn I was making my debut—meaning that he was shocked to suddenly realise I am old enough to wed.’ Recalling the conversation, she flushed. ‘I was actually brazen enough to tell him when I did marry, I hoped my husband would be an engineer...someone I knew well and valued.’

  ‘Bold indeed! What did he say to that?’

  ‘Well, he didn’t run in the other direction. I think he’ll finally consider the possibility, once he full accepts the fact that I’ve grown up. We’ve been dear friends for ever, after all. But I don’t know. He did say he was confident that my hopes to marry the sort of man I wanted would be realised. But I couldn’t tell if he meant that remark in a general way, or was referring to possibly making me an offer himself.’

  ‘If he’s at least thinking in that direction, then enduring the Season will have been worth it, don’t you think? Bravo!’

  ‘Don’t be celebrating my nuptials yet! Having you call at Papa’s office once I leave society might help continue to move his thoughts in that direction, if he’s not progressed there on his own.’

  ‘Delighted to offer my assistance. But I’d not wish to move his thoughts along too quickly. After all, he may prefer to have his wife remain at home and stay out of the office, even while your father is still working. Which would make it difficult, if not impossible, for us to maintain a friendship.’

  Once she married, remaining friends with a man who was neither a relation nor a member of her own society would probably prove impossible in any event, she thought with a trace of sadness. But then, she wasn’t married yet and didn’t intend to be for some time.

  Which gave Austin time to realise she’d grown up enough to become his wife, and herself a chance to continue her friendship with Dellamont.

  She’d not think about how bereft she might feel when she had to bid the Viscount a final goodbye.

  ‘Well, I shall not yet consider the dispiriting possibility that my spouse might bar me from working with Papa. Which is why, while I’m eager to get Mr Gilling thinking of me as a woman grown, I don’t really want him to make me a declaration any time soon.’

  Dellamont shook his head. ‘You might not be able to have it both ways, you know. Once your engineer realises he wants the woman you’ve become, he may not want to delay wedding you.’

  ‘I’ll worry about that later. For now, I need to gird myself to suffer through a bit more of the Season.’

  ‘How much longer do you intend to keep at it?’

  ‘Lady Arlsley has already accepted invitations for entertainments for the next two weeks, so that long at least. Perhaps not much longer than that. Would that be long enough for your purposes?’

  ‘My mother has already assured me I can abandon society whenever I want. Not that she isn’t thoroughly enjoying this rare chance to stay in London, but she doesn’t want me to hang on just for her.’ He looked over at her. ‘She also doesn’t want me to continue my attentions to you long enough for your reputation—or your heart—to be damaged when they cease. I didn’t tell her about our bargain, of course, but I did tell her we understood each other well enough that there was no possibility of that happening. We...do have that understanding, don’t we?’

  If Dellamont had developed any warmer feelings for her, he would have confessed them just now, Marcella thought. Illogically unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed that he hadn’t, she said stoutly, ‘Of course. We entered this bargain both knowing what we wanted, and an attachment beyond friendship was never part of that. Nothing has happened to change that agreement—except, perhaps, my gratitude for your protection from Lord Hoddleston. And my growing appreciation for your talent as a musician and a horseman.’

  He smiled—in relief at knowing she wasn’t developing a tendre for him? ‘As my appreciation for your talents increases. So, when do we meet next?’

  ‘We should probably allow a few days to pass before you seek me out at another ball or rout, where all of society can watch and speculate about your attentions.’

  He nodded. ‘Maintain that “discreet interval”.’

  ‘Yes. That said, if you wish to call tomorrow afternoon and walk in the garden, I think that would be good strategy. Lady Arlsley is already pushing for an attachment, so it will not cause any more speculation on her part, and there will be at most a handful of her friends present. Enough to spread gossip that will encourage your father, but not enough to lead to widespread expectations that you are close to a declaration.’

  ‘You are getting a rather deft feel for all this,’ he said wryly.

  ‘It’s like a well-choreographed dance,’ Marcella said. ‘Advance, retreat, attract notice, discreetly withdraw, so as to slowly progress only as far and as fast as one wishes.’

  By now, they’d arrived at the bookstore in Piccadilly. ‘Thank you for escorting me,’ Marcella said. ‘It was helpful to be able to plan strategy, something we can’t do when surrounded by a bevy of interested listeners.’

  ‘Yes. So we continue. For another two weeks, at least.’

  She nodded. ‘Two weeks more. Then we’ll see where we are. Shall we go in?’

  After Dellamont helped her dismount, she turned to the groom with a smile. ‘You’ll walk the horses, won’t you, Thompson? He’s very patient,’ she told Dellamont, ‘having accompanied me on this errand several times before.’

  ‘Of course, miss. I can manage three horses, no problems.’

  ‘There will be an extra coin for a tankard of ale tonight,’ she promised. ‘Very well, my lord. Are you ready to be instructed?’

  He offered his arm, and she took it. ‘Miss Cranmore, I’m ready to have you instruct me...in whatever you most enjoy,’ he murmured as he walked her through the door.

  A shiver rippling over her skin at the double entendre, Marcella swallowed hard. She could just imagine some of the pleasures in which he could instruct her... Jerking her thoughts back from imagining his kiss, she said, ‘We’ll confine your education today to learning more about female savants.’

  Smiling, he said, ‘Lead on.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Still smiling faintly, Crispin followed Miss Cranmore into the bookstore. So they were to search out tomes on mathematics and astronomy written by females. He’d been as surprised as his sister to learn such women existed, and genuinely curious to know more about them.

  If the son of land-owning aristocracy could involve himself in new, radically different pursuits from most of his class, why shouldn’t females have more options?

  With Miss Cranmore’s enthusiasm for engineering design, he could appreciate how such learned women would be her heroines. Not one whose aspirations were limited to catching a suitable husband and raising a family, his Miss Cranmore.

  Many men disdained women of intelligence. Society disparaged them as ‘bluestockings’. But from the first, he’d found that Marcella Cranmore’s lively intellect and mathematical abilities made her more, rather than less attractive to him. That the lithe, curvaceous body with its speaking eyes and tempting lips also housed a keen mind piqued both his interest and his desire.

  He was delighted at the opportunity to accompany her to the bookstore—to extend his time in her enchanting presence and learn more about what fascinated her.

  He assumed she would make enquiries of the store clerk who greeted them, but telling the man she knew where the material she sought would be shelved, she waved him away and set off down the aisle, not halting until they reached an obscure corner.

  ‘Priding themselves on stocking most everything that can be obtained in print, Hatchard’s does carry these ladies’ writings. But believing interest in them to be minimal, the shop doesn’t display them in a promi
nent place,’ she explained as she gestured towards the out-of-the-way shelf.

  ‘They can’t expect to sell any to casual browsers if they place them here,’ he observed.

  ‘As long as they are at least available, I’m content. The majority of the writers are botanists, which is understandable. Females may be barred from studying at university, but no one can keep a curious girl from examining, classifying and drawing the plants that grow in the fields and gardens around her. Maria Jacson published several works, from Botanical Lectures by a Lady to several volumes about Linnaean botany and plant physiology to this Florist’s Manual,’ she said, tapping the spine of the book.

  ‘And several volumes of it, I see,’ Crispin noted.

  ‘Elizabeth Andrew Warren works with the Royal Horticultural Society of Cornwall,’ she continued, ‘organising their yearly plant collections and along the way, discovering a number of new, rare specimens. Anna Worsley studies plants in the Bristol area and has contributed her lists to H. C. Watson’s New Botanist’s Guide, which the staff here tell me will be available next year. Sarah Drake does the illustrations for this horticultural magazine, Edwards’s Botanical Register,’ she said, handing him a copy.

  Dellamont took the magazine and flipped through. ‘I’m no botanist, but these are beautiful.’

  ‘And of much more value to the world than painting violets on china plates,’ Miss Cranmore said with a disgust that made him laugh.

  ‘Were you ever tasked with painting flowers on china plates?’ he asked. ‘No—let me guess. It was the subject of an entire course at Miss Axminster’s School.’

  ‘So it was. Embroidering flowers on chair covers was also much studied,’ she replied drily. ‘Whereas I preferred studying the work of Caroline Herschel, who actually earned a salary for assisting her brother, the royal astronomer at Windsor, and won a Gold Medal from the Royal Astronomical Society in 1828 for her discovery of comets and nebulae. But my true heroine is this lady,’ she said, reverently drawing out a slim volume.

  ‘The Mechanism of the Heavens by Mary Somerville,’ Crispin read. ‘What is this about?’

  ‘It’s an explanation in algebraic terms of the workings of the solar system, a clear, understandable rendition of celestial mechanics so excellently written it made Mrs Somerville famous when it was published in 1831. She’d already had reports about her experiments on the relationship of light and magnetism printed in the journals of the Royal Society. She never studied at university, of course, but she acquired the best books available and taught herself algebra, geometry and Euclidian principals. Later she was able to work in laboratories to expand her knowledge to chemistry, electricity and magnetism. John Murray is to publish her second book, On the Connection of the Physical Sciences, some time soon. Indeed, I was hoping Hatchard’s might have it today, but I see it isn’t in stock yet. I can’t wait to read it!’

  She couldn’t wait to read a volume about chemistry and mathematics, he thought, marvelling. A book that someone with his limited grasp of advanced scientific principles would probably find incomprehensible. He already appreciated how intelligent she was, but the depth of her intellectual curiosity struck him anew.

  She was like one of those comets her heroines studied—blazing with life and enthusiasm, a bright star. How he was drawn to that fierce light!

  And how important he remember the risk of being drawn in too closely, he thought, deliberately reining back his admiration.

  Focusing instead on the writings, he said, ‘I expect the content of the next volume will be about as far as one can get from the histrionic villains and fainting heroines that so delight my sister.’

  She chuckled. ‘Probably.’

  ‘I’ve always thought of myself as rather liberal when it came to my estimation of a woman’s abilities. But I had no idea they might be capable of something like this.’

  She smiled wryly. ‘Mrs Somerville said that from her youngest days, she resented that the privileges of education so lavishly bestowed on men were denied to women. Even her first husband—who fortunately passed away before he could curtail her intellectual growth—doubted a female was capable of profiting from academic study.’

  Crispin looked down at the book in his hand. ‘She certainly proved him wrong.’

  ‘If you are truly a forward-looking gentleman, you might want to read Maria Jacson’s Botanical Lectures. Besides the erudite description and lovely illustrations, she expresses quite eloquently her frustration that, and I paraphrase, a female must refrain from “obtruding” her knowledge on a world that condemns a woman to working with her hands, rather than her head.’

  ‘Perhaps men have always been drawn to admire the beauty of those heads, rather than the intellect within them.’

  ‘Drawn to outward beauty—which poses no challenge to their sense of superiority?’ she retorted.

  He laughed. ‘There is that.’ He pulled out the Jacson book and stacked it on the Somerville volume. ‘I have to admit—I’m impressed. You’ve given me a lot to think—and read—about.’

  Her eyes widening, she said, ‘You mean—you actually intend to read these?’

  He shook a reproving finger. ‘Haven’t you learned by now that I never say things I don’t mean?’

  Her surprise turned to a smile of such engaging delight, he had to once again suppress the urge to kiss her. ‘Then I, too, am impressed.’

  ‘It’s a mutual admiration society we have,’ he murmured.

  Her gaze locked on his, the desire that always simmered between them intensifying. ‘I suppose it is.’

  He had to look away from those tempting lips before his yearning to taste her, here and now in this shadowy nook of the bookstore, overcame prudence. Dangerous, how the more intelligent and unique he found her, the stronger his passion grew.

  ‘Will you purchase anything?’ he asked after he’d got himself back under control.

  ‘I don’t own the latest copy of the Botanical Register, so I’ll take that. But then I really must get home. Mary will think I’ve been kidnapped and scold that she doesn’t have sufficient time to turn me out looking like a proper young lady before I must appear at Lady Arlsley’s.’

  ‘We should get you home, then.’ Much as he regretted the necessity. Much as he’d prefer to further extend their time together by asking her to take tea at Gunter’s, or make another circuit around the park.

  He walked with her to the sales counter, amused when she not only refused to allow him to pay for her book, but tried to talk him into letting her pay for his selections.

  ‘Which would only have been fair, since I induced you to get them,’ she said, still arguing the point as they walked out to reclaim their horses.

  ‘I may be willing to concede I have much to learn about the female intellect, but as a gentleman, I have some standards—which include forbidding a lady to pay for my purchases.’

  ‘Well, if you enjoy the books, I shall be content.’

  ‘I will certainly find them interesting. Until tomorrow afternoon, then. Enjoy your evening.’

  ‘And you yours.’

  He retrieved his reins from her groom, who then turned to help her remount. Once her attendant vaulted back in the saddle, with a little wave to Crispin, she rode off.

  He watched her go, thoughtful as he remounted his gelding.

  He wasn’t sure whether to be glad or regretful that their bargain would likely end in two weeks. She intrigued, stimulated and amused him, and he looked forward with anticipation to spending time with her.

  Though being near her less often would be a boon to a conscience that was having increasing trouble restraining his physical desire, having their future interactions after they left society limited to occasional meetings in her father’s office was a most unappealing prospect.

  He’d have to give more thought to finding other places he might see her—more often.<
br />
  He’d made the acquaintance of a number of beauties since his university days, but he’d never met a woman who ignited such a strong and immediate physical response. And compared to her blazing intellect and unconventional interests, the other women he’d known seemed commonplace and forgettable.

  How fortunate he didn’t intend to wed any time soon, he thought as he turned his mount towards Jasmin Street. Though Marcella Cranmore seemed adamant about refusing to marry into his class, he might otherwise be tempted to try to change her mind.

  * * *

  The afternoon of the following day, Crispin presented himself at Lady Arlsley’s town house in Upper Brook Street. After having read several chapters in the books he’d bought at Hatchard’s, he looked forward to discussing them with Miss Cranmore...even as he warned himself not to be distracted by the romantic possibilities offered by a stroll down pathways whose trees were now coming into leaf, accompanied by a maid who might trail just far enough behind to afford them some privacy.

  If those circumstances developed, would he be able to resist temptation?

  As before, he walked into the parlour to greet his hostess and subject himself to the speculative looks of the two friends currently visiting her. He returned a bland smile to her enthusiastic acquiescence when he asked permission to escort Miss Cranmore on a walk through the garden.

  Giving him an amused look at her sponsor’s blatant encouragement, the lady in question walked out with him, pausing in the hallway to await the maid who was approaching with her bonnet and pelisse.

  To his surprise, when Mary halted beside them, she directed her scowl not towards the unworthy male offering his arm to her charge—but to her mistress. ‘I put that parcel with your things, miss,’ she said as she helped her Miss Cranmore into her pelisse. ‘But I hope you come to your senses and decide not to use it.’

  After giving him a quick glance, Miss Cranmore frowned at the maid. ‘We’ll talk about that later.’

  ‘I’ve not kept watch over you since you were a wee babe to see you ruin yourself now and spoil all the opportunities given to you—or something worse!’ the maid grumbled as she followed them out—ostensibly to herself, but loud enough that he was able to catch her words.