Always the Bluestocking

by Murdoch, Emily E K

  Her companion shook her head. “No, but I do not see what difference that would make. It is heartening to see your brother still seeks to maintain a connection with you. Few brothers do half as much for their true sisters.”

  The last words stung Mariah, but she did not allow the pain to show on her face. That was what the whole world thought; that she was not a true Wynn, and even permitting her the use of the name was something she should be grateful for.

  “I think it is nice your brother and sister-in-law would like you to be there,” Priscilla said. “Although in fairness, it would have been quite scandalous if they had not invited you.”

  And there it was, the truth of the matter, something that even someone like Priscilla, who barely knew her brother and had never met Letitia, had stumbled on.

  “That is precisely the point,” she said heavily. “They had absolutely no choice but to invite me, and that is not an invitation I am eager to accept. Their pity does me no favors.”

  “I do not believe it was pity that prompted their invitation,” Priscilla said softly. “If I remember anything of your brother, and if what you have said about your friendship with Lady Letitia is true, then they want you to be there. Look, ’tis a handwritten invitation, not one engraved and simply signed at the bottom.”

  There was nothing Priscilla could say that would change her mind. The fact remained that if she and Edward had not been raised under the same roof for most of their childhood, this invitation would never have been sent.

  Perhaps Letitia would have invited her. She liked her sister-in-law, truly, as their friendship predated her marriage to Edward.

  But it had not been the same since. She had not expected it to be, naturally. It was simply not possible for most women to maintain friendships in the same way, once they became wives and mothers.

  But Letitia had been noticeably absent in her correspondence, and Mariah had not wished to force the issue. Letitia had a choice, and she had made it.

  “What time does it start?”

  “What?” Mariah jumped, startled at the sudden interruption into her thoughts.

  Priscilla shook her head with a smile. “You had almost forgotten that I was here. I said, what time does it start? Your brother’s card party,” she reminded her.

  “Oh,” she replied, trying to cover her confusion by picking up another book. “Edward usually starts his gatherings at seven o’clock, I think.”

  “What? But–but Mariah!” Priscilla looked so astonished, she actually sat up. “Why, ’tis half past the hour now! Why did you not mention it before?”

  Mariah probably should have mentioned it before. She had certainly been watching the clock on the mantelpiece tick away the minutes, and each movement of the minute hand had twinged her conscience.

  “I have been debating whether to go,” she said defensively.

  But that was not entirely true. Admittedly, the question of whether she should attend had struck her a few times that evening, but of far greater interest—and what had absorbed her thoughts far more entirely—was Patrick.

  Patrick O’Leary, Viscount Donal. Was her mind or heart ever to be totally free from him?

  The evening he had hosted for herself and the other ladies in Oxford was one she would never forget. One which he had given her with no expectations, no assumptions that she owed him a thing.

  Mariah smiled. Patrick was truly a wonderful man. She had still not entirely understood him, despite the hours they had spent together after that evening in walks and in conversation. She had lent him a book, and he had read it.

  There was no one like him, and each time she believed she had finally understood him, he surprised her.

  Instead of seeking to possess her as she had seen with other ladies who had married, becoming almost second selves of their husbands and losing all sense of themselves, Patrick seemed to…well, want to watch her fly.

  He sought to empower her.

  Her smile broadened. Beneath the attraction, and it was impossible to ignore it, there was a connection growing. Friendships had never been something she had understood, and the few friendships she could name had taken years to develop.

  True, she had exchanged details with some of the ladies at Patrick’s dinner, and perhaps some of them could become her friends in time. Any friendship was a challenge.

  Which brought her back to the present.

  “Well, I think you are being ridiculous,” Priscilla said, determinedly, standing up. “Will this gown be suitable for your brother’s party?”

  Mariah stared. “What gown?”

  Priscilla laughed. “Why, my gown of course! I did not bring a change of clothing with me for an evening of reading, but I had not realized I would be attending a card party. Do you have any ribbons I can add to my hair?”

  Mariah frowned and placed her books down. “You are not thinking of attending? You have not been invited.”

  “We are both going,” Priscilla declared, rummaging about in a drawer and exclaiming with delight as she found a ribbon that perfectly matched the green in her gown. “Come on, we are late enough as it is.”

  “Late?” Mariah heard the stupidity in her own voice but did not know what to say to make Priscilla stop.

  “Late,” her friend repeated, moving to the small looking glass in the corner and narrowing her eyes as she concentrated on tying the ribbon in her hair. “Will I be suitably attired once this is complete?”

  Arguing with Priscilla was like debating with the sea. You could try your best arguments, but that would not turn the tide. “’Tis just Edward’s card party. I would not concern yourself with your apparel.”

  She could see Priscilla’s eyes roll from where she sat. “To you, he is just your brother, but to the rest of society, he is Viscount Wynn, and that will mean an impressive guest list. You may have no wish to wed, Mariah, but…well, I do. Who knows who will be there? I would hate to disappoint.”

  Mariah was startled by her words. No wish to wed? True, she had never expected to meet a gentleman who even came close to the estimations she would need for such a commitment, so she had never given it much thought. But since meeting Patrick…

  “You are too much of a lady to really care what people think,” she managed to say, tucking away that particular thought to consider later, at leisure and when alone.

  Finally finished with the ribbon, Priscilla turned around and beamed. “Yes, but it is always pleasant to be admired, do you not think?”

  Mariah smiled despite herself. There was a warmth about Priscilla, a dominant cheerfulness that nothing seemed to dampen.

  It was time to relent. “If we do go, please let us only stay a few hours.”

  Priscilla’s delighted squeal echoed around the room as Mariah rose to collect her bonnet and pelisse from the door. “Oh, thank you, Mariah. I wonder if Charles will be there? He has mentioned Viscount Wynn before, so I assume they are acquainted, but then it may be a very select group.”

  Mariah allowed Priscilla’s chatter to wash over her as she fixed her bonnet carefully. Well, it was almost as good a way to spend an evening as curled up with a book, was it not?

  No. You would much rather stay here with a book by the fire, and it is only society’s expectations of you that is forcing you to leave. Call yourself a bluestocking!

  But there was no time to rethink her decision. Priscilla was almost out of the door already. “As it is so late, should we call a hack?”

  “No,” said Mariah firmly. “I do not have the coin for such an extravagance, and I doubt whether you have brought any money either, have you?”

  Priscilla deflated. “No, I did not think to.”

  “Then that is that,” Mariah said with a smile. “We have legs, ones that work. We will walk.”

  It took them but ten minutes to walk to her brother’s rooms, and there were plenty of people still on the streets, walking to engagements and greeting each other cordially.

  “’Tis almost eight o’clock,” Priscilla
said nervously as they neared the front door. “Do you think we will be permitted entrance?”

  Mariah sighed. She could hear the noise. Whatever her brother and Letitia had intended, this sounded far more rambunctious than a card party. Why, she could hear music, and if that stomping was any indication, dancing, too.

  “I am sure Peters will allow us in,” she said. “If not, we can always go home.”

  But returning to her rooms was evidently not an option. Priscilla pulled her forward with a little squeal of glee, but Mariah dragged her feet. Big gatherings had never attracted her, and in her younger years, when she had just entered Society, she had avoided them.

  She stopped dead.

  “Mariah?” Priscilla stopped in concern. “Are you feeling quite well?”

  Despite the temptation to lie and feign an illness, Mariah said, “I just have no wish to go in there, Priscilla.”

  “But…but everyone who is anyone in Oxford will be in there.”

  Mariah sighed. “What is an attraction to you is a negative for me…”

  Her voice trailed away as the truth of what her friend had just said reached her mind. If that were true, it followed that Patrick would be in there. To be sure, she was not aware that he and her brother were close—but had he not attended their wedding? Surely, he would be in receipt of an invitation.

  Her heart, so recently dampened, suddenly soared. The opportunity to see Patrick was enough to change her mind. “We should go inside.”

  Priscilla stared, evidently confused by her change of heart. “But you just said…you know, I do not know why I am arguing with you.”

  Mariah smiled mischievously. “Are not all young ladies supposed to be flighty and capricious? Let us see whether Peters will allow us in.”

  It came as no surprise to her that the butler, far from refusing to permit them entrance, bowed low to her and murmured, “Miss Wynn.”

  The moment they stepped across the threshold, they were hit with the noise and smells of a card party that had indeed become far rowdier than the hostess may have planned. Cigar smoke was billowing in every direction, and there was a crashing sound from another room that sounded as though someone had knocked over a vase of flowers.

  Cheers and stomps were coming from their right, as was the music. She had been right, dancing had started—and early in the day for any party, let alone a card party.

  “Ah, Mrs. Worsley!” Priscilla waved at a matronly woman who inclined her head in polite response. “Oh, Mariah, this is wonderful, it is absolutely packed!”

  “Yes, it certainly is,” Mariah murmured. This was not her idea of a pleasant evening, and she immediately regretted not bringing a book with her.

  The invitation for a card party promised quiet and concentration, and perhaps light, enjoyable conversation. This was the opposite. Punch and wine had clearly been flowing from the beginning, and more people had arrived that surely Letitia had expected if the numerous people flowing from room to room was any indication.

  “And then I bagged him!” A flushed gentleman was shouting as he stood in the doorway of one room. “Damned fox thought he would get away with it, but I showed the blighter exactly what…”

  “Terrible smell!” Another conversation grew in volume, drowning out the first. This speaker was an elderly lady as she moved from one room to cross the hallway and enter the room where the dancing was. “Every time the bandages come off, and I said to him…”

  “Was that Lady Romeril?” Priscilla’s eyes were wide.

  Mariah nodded. These rowdy conversations were sufficient proof that this was not the place where she could enjoy herself. She bit her lip and tried to calculate how long she would need to stay before she could politely leave and return to her rooms.

  “Do not even think about it.”

  Priscilla’s words made Mariah start. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You are wondering when you can go home, and you should stay,” Priscilla said knowingly. “You may find you enjoy yourself. Besides, you will have to stay here at least two hours, otherwise, it will be a scandal. The sister of Viscount Wynn, leave his own party before ten o’clock?”

  “You do not have to be right all the time, you know,” Mariah sighed. “Fine, let us find my brother or Letitia soon. Perhaps then I can slip out—and you know, as I think about it, Letitia is probably desperate for everyone to leave. She is such a wallflower, and I am sure she is not enjoying this at all.”

  She could not have been more wrong. As they passed the room with the dancing, she spotted Edward and Letitia dancing together, leading the set, laughter and joy evident in their faces.

  “Oh, look!” Priscilla pulled her into the room, and they stood by the wall, watching the dancers.

  It was an English country dance, full of energy and vigor, and Mariah could not help but smile to watch Letitia throw herself into it. There was no use attempting to gain her attention.

  “If we find a seat, we can watch the dancing—and you can complain all you like,” said Priscilla shrewdly.

  They had only taken a few steps before they were accosted by a gentleman.

  “Pris! What are you doing in a crush like this?”

  “Charles!” Priscilla beamed, and Mariah saw red dots appear in her cheeks. “I did not think you were in Oxford!”

  “Came in a few weeks ago for all this Wessex nonsense,” he said cheerfully, “and found I could not leave! Dance with me?”

  Mariah could not help but be amazed at the intimate way they spoke to each other, and something of her surprise was clearly evident on her face.

  “Oh, Mariah, I do apologize,” said Priscilla, the same excited look in her eyes. “Charles Audley, Duke of Orrinshire, may I present to you, Miss Mariah Wynn, sister to our host. Mariah, Charles and I have known each other since time immemorial.”

  Mariah relaxed and curtseyed. She had been surprised at her own reaction to Priscilla’s behavior. She had never thought of herself as a prude or one who rigidly followed the rules of society, but seeing the way His Grace spoke to her friend…

  “You do not mind, do you?”

  Mariah blinked. “Mind?”

  Priscilla shook her head. “Really, Mariah! You will not mind if Charles and I dance, will you?”

  “No, not at all,” she replied quickly.

  The two disappeared into the throng.

  Finding a chair in the corner of the room, Mariah sat down and sighed. What a boring evening—particularly when she could have been lost in The Theory of the Four Movements.

  With Priscilla’s charm and wide acquaintance, she should have expected this; Mariah would be stuck in a corner while her friend went and enjoyed herself.

  She could not blame her, really. If she was honest, she had hoped for a similar meeting.

  But Patrick was nowhere to be seen. All she needed to do was sit quietly for an hour or so, make sure she spoke with Letitia, and then slip out through the side door. Peters would help her do so discretely.

  “My God, it’s you!”

  Mariah jumped. Lost in her thoughts, she had not noticed the inebriated gentleman who was now standing before her with a glass of wine in one hand and a smoking cigar in the other.

  His red-rimmed eyes were attempting to focus as he repeated, “It’s you! Isn’t it?”

  Mariah swallowed and thanked her stars that she was in her brother’s house. Perhaps she would get a hack home.

  “I think you are looking for someone else,” she said quietly.

  “No, no, it is definitely you, I would recognize you anywhere,” the gentleman slurred, wine dripping onto the floor.

  Mariah tried to smile. “We have not met, sir, nor have we even been introduced. I am sorry I am not the lady you are thinking of.”

  Normally her frosty tone would have prevented any gentleman from continuing a conversation, but his liquor clearly removed all ability to tell when a lady wanted to be left alone.

  “You are the hoyden,” he said slowly, waggling his ciga
r, “who tried to upset Hersh…Herd…Herschel. Astronomist chap. Foreign.”

  Mariah took a deep breath and swallowed down her outrage that Sir William could be reduced to such a basic term. “Sir William Herschel.”

  “That’s the one!” the gentleman said triumphantly. “Yes, the hoyden who upset him.”

  It was impossible not to bristle. “My removal from his lecture may have interrupted it, but I did not upset him. I actually know Sir William personally, and—”

  “Thrown out,” the man said matter-of-factly. “I said to myself, I said Norton, I said, that is me, I said Norton that lady is a hoyden!”

  She would not allow this Norton to upset her.

  “I did not upset Sir William,” she repeated, “not only because I am acquainted with him, but because if anything, it was a great compliment that I wanted to listen to him.”

  But this did not seem to matter to Mr. Norton. “I tell you, you were rude. Aren’t I right, Spedding—I say, Spedding, come listen to this.”

  To Mariah’s horror, Mr. Norton pulled at the sleeve of another gentleman who turned around.

  “God’s teeth, Norton, why are you interrupting me? And who is this?” The carnivore smile he gave Mariah was one she would never forget. “My dear lady.”

  “I am not your dear lady,” Mariah snapped.

  “No, she is no lady,” Mr. Norton slurred. “This is the hoyden, the hoyden I say, who interrupted old Herschel!”

  “Is she, indeed?” The second gentleman smirked. “Dear me, you naughty girl.”

  Both gentlemen were tall and leering over her. Mariah attempted to stand, but they were so close, there was no room.

  “That is not what happened,” she attempted to say, but she was interrupted once more.

  “What is a girl like that doing here?” Mr. Norton grinned and then winked very slowly. “If you are looking for—”

  “Nay, she wants none of your nonsense, do you, missy?” The second gentleman was, if possible, more disgusting than the first.

  Mariah swallowed. She was struggling to find her words, tools that had never escaped her before. But then she had never felt so threatened, so pinned against the wall. There was no way for her to leave their company, and she so desperately wanted to be free.