He glanced at Mariah. Her lips were dark, her cheeks red, her breasts heaving, and she was leaning against the wall as though she would be unable to stand without it as a gentleman with his own umbrella walked by them.
She grinned, and he returned her smile. The rain was still pouring down, but it was nothing. What harm could water be to them?
Mariah raised the umbrella over their heads and reached for his arm. “You know, I can barely remember what we had been talking about.”
Patrick grinned as they started walking back to the center of the city. How would he ever live without this wild, passionate, bluestocking?
Chapter Thirteen
This is not one of the most important moments in your life, Mariah tried to tell herself, fingers shaking, heart beating so rapidly she could barely hear anything else in the bustling corridor. Well. It probably is, but you are not going to help yourself by thinking about it.
She swallowed, tasting fear in her throat. The corridor was filled with light and noise as students rushed by, shouting, laughing, all shooting her confused and intrigued looks.
“Whose sister is that?”
“Not mine, thank God, look at her gown!”
“Anyone wish to claim a wandering woman?”
Mariah knew her cheeks were red. She would need all her control for the next few hours, and the words were not as offensive as they could be.
“Dear Lord, a woman in here? Is she lost?”
Mariah smoothed down her gown and moved her reticule to her other arm, attempting to keep her eyes low and her back close to the wall. Bells outside were chiming the hour, and Mr. Lawrence had told her to be prompt. Where was he?
A gentleman, probably a few years younger than herself, was striding down the corridor imperiously. As he met the horde of gentlemen pouring from another room, he was forced to step to the side, and in doing so, brushed up against Mariah.
“Have a care, woman,” he said irritably. “You are in my way.”
Her temper rose swiftly, her nerves already frayed that morning. “I have not moved, sir. ’Tis you who has stepped into my path!”
But her words were completely ignored. The imperious gentleman had already moved on, leaving nothing but a heated Mariah behind him.
She took a steadying breath and pressed her palms against the cooling wall. She needed to keep that passion controlled and parceled up for later. The debate would need all of her attention.
The debate. The very thought had been pushed out of her mind for the last two days, but now that she came to face it, she could hardly believe it was happening. A debate in the students’ union of Oxford, with the motion before the house, one she never thought would ever be discussed in the corridors, let alone in that hallowed chamber.
“This house believes women of good repute should attend lectures in Wessex College.”
A smile started to creep over her face, but it was slow. This was it. This was the moment she had been fighting for, could have barely considered possible a few years ago.
No one had believed she could do it. But she had. A few others had tried a similar effort in Cambridge but had not managed to gain the support of those in power, but she had.
This was going to change everything. This was going to be the turning point not just for her, but for hundreds of women like her. Would every other Oxford college follow suit? Would Cambridge, perhaps, sit up and take notice? Would it finally be time for women to be viewed and judged on their own merit, rather than the prettiness of their gowns?
Mariah swallowed and folded her hands. It would not do to lose her head. Getting ahead of herself, assuming success, was dangerous. She still had to make her speech, win around gentlemen who had only viewed their sisters or wives as pretty ornaments placed to please them and provide heirs, but nothing else.
The door to her left opened, and Mr. Lawrence stepped out. A roar of noise rushed into the corridor, and Mariah flinched, startled at the sudden intrusion into her thoughts.
“It is time, Miss Wynn,” the provost said quietly. “Are you prepared for how you will be treated in there?”
Mariah nodded firmly. “More than ready, sir. I have been prepared for this moment for my entire life. Let us go in.”
Her voice remained steady for which she was thankful, and their conversation was brief, for which she was also thankful. As she followed Mr. Lawrence through the door and into the Oxford student union debating hall, she gasped.
There were hundreds of them. Black robes filled the room in every direction. The noise rapidly grew as she stepped in, faces turning in her direction, and the muttering grew angry and curious.
It was enough to make one feel dizzy. Mariah was relieved there were only a few more steps to take before she reached a chair at the front of the room.
“That chit of a thing?”
“God’s teeth, I thought it was a joke!”
“Will this take long? I have a slip of a thing waiting in my room…”
“Damned bluestocking.”
Was it not enough that she had forced herself to come here? Never desirous of spectacle, never enjoying the limelight, it seemed she had little choice now but to represent the countless ladies who wished they could have been here.
Her face remained calm until the booing started. At first, there was a hiss, and then it was taken up by others, with boos coming from all quarters until the murmuring chatter was completely drowned out by the vitriolic shouts.
None were welcoming, save one.
Patrick O’Leary was seated behind her, and his face shone out in the crowd, a smile on his face that instantly calmed her frantically beating heart.
He did not need to speak to tell her exactly what she needed to know. He was on her side, and no matter what the rest of the room shouted, he was supporting her.
Pride rushed through her, pride that she knew him, that he had chosen her—though what sort of future they may have together, it was impossible to tell. It was enough that they had this moment, this understanding across a shouting room.
Patrick was here to support her, and his encouragement was everything to her. Now all she needed was a few more hundred like him to realize that ladies’ education did naught to detract from their own…
Mariah turned back in her chair and felt her stomach swoop. She would have to be careful when it was her turn to speak, or she would undoubtedly fall, her feet unable to support her weight.
Mr. Lawrence had been in deep discussions with a couple of older gentlemen, both in the robes of the college with their mortarboards firmly on their heads, and after catching her eye, he walked over and sat down heavily beside her.
“I did warn you that you would not receive a warm welcome,” he said kindly in a low voice.
Mariah swallowed. “I had expected nothing less, Mr. Lawrence, but your warning was appreciated. I have prepared myself, and I am quite the mistress of my own emotions. I am sure when I start speaking and can explain, we will have a much calmer debate.”
Her fingers interlocked as she folded her hands in her lap. Saying the words aloud did not make her feel any calmer. She would have to rely on her wits and strength. What would her mother have said about all this?
But Mr. Lawrence was frowning. “Speak?”
“Yes, when the debate begins,” Mariah said in a low voice. “Do you think the podium will be a little high for me? I have never stood behind one before, ’tis all new to me.”
The frown had not left Mr. Lawrence’s face. “Miss Wynn, I believe we are misunderstanding each other. Speak, here?”
This was getting a little irritating. “Yes, speak here,” Mariah said shortly. “I see no other way to conduct the debate unless I was expected to submit my arguments in writing beforehand?”
Even saying the words aloud grew concern in the pit of her stomach. Was she supposed to do that? There were so many intricacies in this Oxford world, many which no one seemed willing to explain, but everyone was expected to follow. How was she to know the
proper etiquette for such a thing?
“Submit your arguments—my dear child, you did not think that you were debating today?” Mr. Lawrence’s voice was even lower, and Mariah had to lean forward to hear him properly.
“Well, yes,” she replied blankly. “That is what we discussed, after all. A debate about whether ladies would be able to—”
“Yes, yes, the debate assuredly we did agree,” interrupted Mr. Lawrence with a wave of his hand. “But, my dear Miss Wynn, I must not have explained properly. You cannot be the one to speak for the motion! That would be quite irregular. No woman has ever spoken in a debate at the Oxford Union.”
Mariah’s mouth was dry, and all the noise of the room faded into the background. “Not…not speak?”
Mr. Lawrence shook his head. “Absolutely out of the question, my dear. I said it would be debated, to be sure, but not that you yourself would be a part of that debate.”
His words seemed to travel a long distance before they reached Mariah’s ears, and her heart would still not believe them.
Not speak? The hours of preparation, the practice with Miss Herschel and Miss Barlow, the emotional effort it had taken to step into this room against the angry horde…that had all been for nothing?
It was outrageous. It was despicable. It was wrong.
But as Mariah sat, fuming, she tried to think back and remember the exact agreement she had formed with Mr. Lawrence in his Oxford study. With a sinking feeling, despite her desperate attempts to remember any specific promise, she realized he was right.
The provost had never actually promised that she would be an intrinsic part of the debate, only that the idea of ladies entering the college to attend lectures would be debated.
“B-But, that is not fair!” Mariah wished her splutters were more coherent, but it was all she could do to speak, her fury and indignation were so strong.
Mr. Lawrence smiled sadly. “Did you ever hear that the process here at Oxford was fair? Recall, Miss Wynn, that this world of privilege is not only barred to those of the fairer sex. I can name in this moment at least ten gentlemen of my acquaintance who would dearly love to send their sons to our hallowed halls. Alas, they lack the funds.”
Mariah stared.
“Do you think you are the only person who would like to be here but is barred entry?” he continued quietly. “Half of the country would like to be here, but there are only so many places, and we must retain standards. We must stop somewhere, and for many, the line is already drawn. Was drawn hundreds of years ago.”
“But that–that is,” began Mariah.
“Think, Miss Wynn,” Mr. Lawrence said urgently. “You have many advantages that others do not. You are from a noble family, with an independent fortune and good connections. To many in the world, you are the privileged one.”
She fell into silence. How had she never considered this before? So enwrapped had she been in her own challenges, her own struggles, her own desires, she had entirely forgotten her position.
She was wealthy, in a way. She did not work for a living, her hands were not calloused or exhausted, and she had family and friends who would, should her financial situation change, offer her a home.
The mere fact she could be seated here, demanding her right to an education, instead of working on a farm or in a noble house…
Mariah swallowed. “You speak challenging words, sir.”
“I hope I do,” Mr. Lawrence said with a wry smile. “I repeat, the line is drawn, but today is your opportunity to challenge this line. You have done the hard work, you have made this day happen. It simply cannot be your words that challenge it.”
In that moment, she had only one instinct. “What do you think about all this?” she said, turning to face Patrick.
It was clear that despite their low voices, he had followed every word of their conversation. He shrugged.
“Is that all?” Mariah hissed, her fury finally pouring out of her like a river bursting through a dam. “You do not think it is unfair?”
“Mr. Lawrence is right,” Patrick said quietly. “It does not matter whether I believe it is a good thing or a bad thing, that is the rule. If you had wanted fair, Mariah, then you should not have come to Oxford in the first place.”
His words were spoken in a soft and calm voice, but they did nothing but incense Mariah more. “I thought you would support me!”
“I am supporting you,” Patrick protested, receiving irritated looks from the two gentlemen on either side of him. “I am here, am I not, speaking with you before all these louts?”
Mariah lifted her eyes beyond him and saw rows upon rows of faces, pouring down their dislike.
She swallowed. “I believed that there would be some here unwilling to hear me—hear what I believe. But none of them do. They are not even going to pretend to be interested.”
Her gaze fell back to Patrick, whose features were frozen, as though concerned he would betray his real thoughts.
Her eyes narrowed. “Patrick?”
Mr. Lawrence coughed. “Well, I believe it is time to start.”
He creaked to a standing position and moved to the podium and cleared his throat. The room immediately fell silent.
“I call this meeting of the Oxford Students’ Union open, as provost of Wessex College,” he said in a booming voice. “There are no minutes to review from the previous meeting, as agreed by…”
His opening remarks echoed around the room, but Mariah was not listening.
She was still staring at Patrick. “I had expected more than this from you,” she whispered.
Patrick’s eyes were wide, and his face blank. “I-I honestly do not know what you were expecting.”
Mariah’s mouth fell open, and her hands gripped the back of her chair. Was he to be so unsupportive that he could not even understand his own lack of encouragement?
“I am not the provost,” Patrick continued in a low whisper. “I can change no rules here. God’s teeth, Mariah, I only came back to the town for a reunion after a decade. The only reason I am here now at all is…is because of you.”
The platitude was entirely ignored. Hot pain was searing through Mariah’s heart as she looked into his dark eyes. After all she had been through to get here, the indignity of being shouted at, booed, called a bluestocking as though that was a crime…
She had expected more of him. Exactly what, she could not put her finger on, not with her blood pounding in her head. But a sense of abandonment filled her just as it had when she had been told that blustery day that she was not going to have new parents because no one wanted her.
“Come now, Miss Mariah, ’tis no cause for tears. Someone will choose you, I dare say, for all your features are plain.”
“Having you here was supposed to make things better,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice level.
Patrick placed his hands over hers on the back of her chair. “I want to make things better—I want to be with you. But I cannot change the world for you, Mariah, even if I want to.”
Her attention was taken by a gentleman seated behind Patrick. He whispered something to his friend beside him, and the two of them laughed, one openly pointing.
Mariah bristled. Pulling her hands from his, she turned to face the podium, but Mr. Lawrence was no longer standing there. Instead, he was ushering up a young gentleman with a priggish look and a heavy brow, who coughed as soon as he placed down his papers and then smirked at his audience.
“Howard Crippley, at your service. Gentlemen,” he said loudly, and then in a softer, simpering voice, “and lady.”
There were laughs, and the back of Mariah’s neck seared as she imagined the glares she was receiving.
“I speak to you now as the supporter of the motion to permit women into the university to learn,” Mr. Crippley said, the smirk never leaving his face. “And you may be thinking to yourself, why? This appears to be a foolish endeavor, supported only by children who do not really understand the ways of the world. And women.”<
br />
There was more laughter. Mariah clenched her hands together in her lap. She would not allow herself to be overwhelmed, either by fear or fury. She would control herself.
“I think the reasoning behind this motion is obvious, gentlemen, and so I will not take up too much of your time on this petty subject,” Mr. Crippley said smoothly. “Let us look at the facts. Ladies are undefeatable in their attempts to own things and have more things. Bonnets, gowns, children, you name it, and I am sure you will find the lady in your life will want more of it. Education is just the same.”
He winked at the crowd and received another round of raucous laughter.
Mariah did not laugh. Was this childish idiot so foolish to believe she could not see through his petty pretense?
“Why should they not be allowed a few more books if it keeps them happy? I think we can all agree, gentlemen, that education is to be sure a wonderful thing, and in moderation, I do not see why the ladies in our lives could not have a smattering more.”
It was impossible not to stare in disbelief. This was the gentleman they had chosen to speak on her behalf? If she had not heard his opening remark, she would have assumed he was speaking against her!
His speech was over before it had begun.
“…which is why, my dear friends, I think it is time to allow the ladies of Oxford another pretty outing opportunity to show off their gowns and bonnets.” Mr. Crippley grinned. “That is why you should vote with the house, to permit women into the university to learn.”
He sat down to applause and chuckles from the room as another gentleman rose from his seat and took his place at the podium.
“Humphrey Gray, at your service. Lady,” he said with a lazy grin, and after allowing silence to fall in the hall, shouted, “and gentlemen!”
There was a roaring cry in response, and Mariah’s shoulders fell. This was a disaster. What had she been doing, thinking she could change the world? She could not even be treated respectfully.
Always the Bluestocking Page 14
