Her Scandalous Pursuit

by Candace Camp

  “Kyria will hate it,” Thisbe agreed. “I’m sure Grandmother will carp at everything she does.”

  “Of course she will. That is her intent. With the added advantage of making my life more difficult,” Emmeline added darkly. “I am able to deal with her, but your poor father... She never fails to upset Henry. If it’s not complaining about his shirking his duties as duke to ‘play with his pots,’ it’s comparing him to his ‘sainted’ father—of whom she is a good deal more fond now that he’s dead than she ever was when he was alive. She always finds some opportunity to point out to him that he married beneath him. That never fails to put your father in a temper, and you know how he dislikes being angry.”

  “Uncle Bellard will bolt as soon as she arrives.”

  “Yes. He’ll probably hide the entire time in his rooms. Poor man, he’s dreadfully scared of that woman. I don’t know what he thinks she can do to him—she is only his sister-in-law.”

  “I think it was her saying Uncle Bellard was mad as a hatter and ought to be locked away in the attic.”

  “Yes. It was most unkind of her, but Uncle Bellard must know that Henry would never allow that. Even the old duke would have balked at it, no matter how much Cornelia complained. Henry is convinced that his father was always flitting off chasing this cure or that because it was the only way to get away from her.” The duchess heaved a sigh. “I am sorry, dear. I should not criticize your grandmother to you. She loves all of you. In her own way.”

  “I know. Especially Theo. He and Reed can keep her out of Papa’s hair a good bit. And the twins will be happy to see her again.”

  Emmeline chuckled. “True. She doesn’t intimidate them.”

  “Little does. They love the multitude of shiny things she wears. It’s Olivia she frightens, with all her talk of Olivia inheriting Grandmother’s ‘gift.’”

  “Yes, Olivia will probably join Uncle Bellard in his books-and-battles room. But you know Livvy—she’ll be happy doing that. And she can make sure that Uncle Bellard doesn’t skip his meals.”

  Thisbe went up the stairs, pausing when she reached her twin brother’s door. Theo was seated at the small writing desk in the corner, a book open before him as he scribbled on a piece of paper. She watched him for a moment.

  All her life, Theo had been the person closest to her; it wasn’t that she loved him more than the rest of her siblings, for each of them was essential to her life. But there was an additional bond with Theo, a certain unspoken awareness and understanding. However different Theo’s interests were from hers, she was able to share what she felt and the other way around. She hadn’t any desire to travel to Egypt, but last year when Theo went, she had understood and felt his excitement. And if an experiment failed, she could tell Theo and know that he would take some of that disappointment on himself.

  But now, here was this new man edging into her life, and for the first time, she was keeping something important from her twin. It was disquieting, and she could not help but feel somewhat guilty. But she knew her brother; however much enlightenment their mother had instilled in her sons, the normally friendly and easygoing Theo was very protective of his sisters. Kyria had finally refused to go to any party if Theo would be there, glowering at her suitors and asking them pointed questions. Thisbe suspected that Theo might be even more suspicious about any man’s intentions toward his twin sister. He would doubtless want to meet Desmond, and the last thing she wanted was for Theo to interrogate the poor man.

  Theo glanced over and saw her. Looking not at all displeased to be interrupted at his task, he tossed down his pencil and stood up. “Hallo, Thiz. How was the lecture?”

  “Wonderful.” She walked over to him.

  “What did he talk about?”

  “The properties of carbon.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Wonderful, indeed.” He made a wry face.

  “I have other, less than happy news. Grandmother is coming to visit.”

  “Soon?” he asked warily. “Perhaps I’ll already be gone.”

  “You aren’t that lucky. She sounded as if she intended to come soon.”

  Theo groaned. “Now I’ll have to escort her to the opera. Plays. Everything.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Ha! If I don’t, she’ll go on and on at me about my duties as the heir.”

  “That’s your punishment for her liking you best,” Thisbe retorted.

  “Because I’m the heir. I wish you could be the heir. You were four minutes older than I.”

  “Me? No, thank you. That is one area where I am glad they don’t allow women to participate. I would be terrible at it, anyway.”

  “What do you think I’ll be?” He frowned, seemingly thinking about his fate. “Reed would be excellent at it. He should be the one who inherits.”

  “I suspect he will be the one who does all the work,” Thisbe teased, which brought a sheepish chuckle from her twin. She glanced toward his desk. “What were you doing? Don’t tell me you’re writing a letter.”

  “God, no.” Theo’s dislike of letter writing was well-known. “I was making notes on what I should take on the expedition. We’ve set a date.”

  “Is that why you went to meet that man at the Cavendish Museum today?”

  He nodded, excitement in his eyes. “Yes. He’s found a fellow to lead it. He’s had a devil of a time finding someone who knew anything about the Amazon. We’re to leave in another month.”

  “So soon?” Thisbe felt a little clutch at her heart. “You’re leaving in winter?”

  “Well, you know, it’s the opposite down there.”

  “Yes, of course. I wasn’t thinking. Oh, Theo!” Impulsively, she threw her arms around him. “I will miss you.”

  “Aw, Thiz—” He hugged her, patting her back. “It’ll be all right. I’m not going away forever.”

  “I know.” She stepped back and gave him a smile, albeit a rather watery one.

  “I’ve gone on jaunts before. That one last year to Egypt.”

  Thisbe nodded. “I know. And the time you went down the Danube. Your tour of the Continent.”

  “There, you see? It’ll be like that.”

  “This one is so very far away. And it seems so—so mysterious and strange. The jungle.”

  “Yes.” His eyes shone, as they did whenever he talked about an adventure. “I can’t wait to see it. They say there are parrots of all colors. Monkeys. And vines as big around as my arm.”

  “Snakes as big as your arm, too,” she pointed out. “Don’t they have fish that can eat people?”

  “Yes,” he replied cheerfully. “It’s going to be grand.”

  Thisbe shook her head in mock exasperation. “I swear, Theo, I don’t know how you can be so excited at the prospect of danger.”

  “Well, you know, Aunt Hermione always said I hadn’t any more sense than a goose.”

  “Just remember that I love you, and I shall be extremely angry with you if you get yourself killed.”

  “I won’t—I promise. And I’ll be back before you know it.” He reached out and drew her into the circle of his arm. “I’ll miss you, too.”

  Thisbe sighed, leaning into him. “It’s a little hard, isn’t it? Growing up? Moving on.”

  “Yes, but nothing can really separate us. And think of what’s ahead. I can’t wait to find out. Can you?”

  “No.” She pulled away and smiled up at him. “It’s going to be a grand adventure.”

  * * *

  OVER THE COURSE of the next week and a half, Thisbe continued to meet Desmond at the Christmas lectures. There were three more talks, and each time, they arrived early, then walked together afterward, talking. They strolled aimlessly up and down streets or went to a park, eating hot roasted chestnuts from a bag. And they talked.

  They talked about all sorts of things—the ethics of scientific research, the
problems of funding, the failure of equipment, the possibilities opening up all around them in the world of science.

  “I was interested in photography at first,” Desmond told her.

  “Spirit photography?”

  “No, the regular kind. I thought I might like to become a photographer. That was why the vicar recommended me to Professor Gordon. He knew of Gordon’s interest in the subject—and I think he hoped I’d go to the university and be attracted to something more intellectual.”

  “I take it you were.”

  “Not the sort of thing the vicar was thinking of, philosophy or theology.”

  “You were interested in entering the clergy?”

  “No. The vicar just wanted me to be.” He gave her a rueful smile.

  “Why did you decide against photography?”

  “Once I’d learned the process—how to coat the glass with collodion and bathe it in silver, how to take the picture and develop it, and so on—I saw that that was exactly what it would continue to be. Always. I could perfect my skill, perhaps, or create a useful device, but mostly I would be doing the same thing. And I realized that what I had wanted wasn’t taking daguerreotypes—it was learning how to do it.”

  “You want to discover things, find new knowledge,” Thisbe said.

  “Exactly. While I was at the university, I found work at Barrow and Sons, and that led to prisms and the properties of light. The possibilities for discovery and exploration—are there more bands of the spectrum invisible to the human eye?”

  Thisbe loved to watch him when he talked this way—his enthusiasm for the subject lighting up his face. He moved his hands to illustrate his points, and his eyes fairly glittered—his whole wiry body was intense and focused.

  Or perhaps it was simply that she loved to watch him talk about anything. She enjoyed just as much their quieter, more ordinary conversations, when they talked about themselves or their families, their favorite books, the silly extravagance of someone’s hat or even mistakes they had made.

  Thisbe related an experiment she’s conducted a few years ago that exploded. “I expected a reaction, but I’d no idea it would be so enormous. It blew out the whole tank of water. Ruined all my notes. Of course, that was better than the time one of my experiments caught fire. It was only the draperies, but my mother was rather upset.”

  Desmond laughed and responded with a tale of one of his many mishaps when he had first moved to London. His laugh captivated her almost as much as his enthusiasm. His face would shift and his eyes danced with amusement and perhaps a bit of surprise. She had the impression that he was not accustomed to laughing. It made Thisbe want to say something else that would bring the sound from him. It also made her want to kiss him.

  But there was little chance of that. They were in public the entire time, first in the lecture hall, then on the street. There was no chance of even holding Desmond’s hand, let alone repeating their kiss. But once or twice, out of sight of others in the park, Desmond did pull her to him for a quick, hard kiss, their lips cold, but sparking a fire deep within.

  She wanted to be alone with him. It would be nice, too, to be someplace warm. Most of all, the lectures would be over soon, and then how were they to meet? The obvious thing was for Desmond to call on her at Broughton House.

  They couldn’t be alone at Broughton House, either. Her mother was not the most constant or watchful chaperone, and there were simply too many people in the house, any of them likely to pop in at any moment. Now that Kyria was out, there was never an afternoon without at least one young man paying a call on her. Still, it would be more private than a park or public street or a lecture hall.

  The problem was that once Desmond saw Broughton House, he would realize that she was an aristocrat, a fact that she had managed to conceal. She would have to tell him that her father was a duke. Desmond must know that she was a lady—her speech, her demeanor, her education on the Continent, the things her family did, would give that much away. But he was not aware that she was a Lady with a capital L. An upper-class scholar’s daughter was a far cry from the daughter of a duke.

  Of course, she ought to tell him who her family was. Indeed, she ought to have told him long before now. She hadn’t lied to him, but she had certainly withheld the truth. Everything she said about herself or her family had carefully excised any detail that would give away the Morelands’ position in society. Her original intention had been to put him more at ease, but the longer it went on, the more deceptive it seemed.

  But she continued to put off telling him, fearing that the revelation might ruin everything. What if it changed how he acted around her? How he felt about her? Would he still see her as she was, the Thisbe who walked with him? Or would everything suddenly be awkward between them? Would he decide Thisbe wasn’t really a scientist, just an aristocratic woman, like Lady Burdett-Coutts, who liked to dabble in science? Desmond was one of the few men she had met who spoke to her as an equal. She couldn’t bear it if her social status changed that. But, no, surely not. After all, Desmond had come to know her. Surely, he wouldn’t view her through a different lens just because she had a title in front of her name. The problem was that the risk if she was wrong was too devastating.

  With each passing day, she felt guiltier keeping silent. She had to tell him. She promised herself she would do so the day of the final Christmas lecture. If she did not, she wouldn’t see him again until the next Covington meeting, and that was over a fortnight away. Yet as they strolled through the park after the last Christmas lecture, ignoring the flakes of snow drifting down around them, she could not bring herself to say the words.

  They reached an empty spot, sheltered from the sight of others, and Desmond took her in his arms and kissed her. It was a most satisfactory kiss, and when he raised his head, both of them were breathing a little shakily. Desmond said, “I want to see you again.”

  “Yes. So do I.” Now was the time to confess the truth. “Perhaps you could, um...” She looked into his eyes. The nerves in her stomach danced, and all she could think of was his face changing, turning uncertain, his drawing back from her. “Perhaps we could meet at the British Museum Reading Room. They allow women. It’s not mandatory that we stay in the ladies’ ‘magazine reading’ room.”

  “When?”

  “Um, let’s see.” Tomorrow would seem too eager, surely. “Perhaps Sunday afternoon?”

  He smiled. “I’ll be there.” He bent to kiss her again.

  It was a most satisfactory ending to their day, but Thisbe berated herself all the way home for not telling him the truth. It was silly to think that he might withdraw from her. Most people would consider it grand that her father was a duke. Just because Desmond had made a few slighting remarks about “wealthy dilettantes” when they were discussing scientific patrons didn’t mean that he would think of her that way. He knew who she was.

  She was underestimating Desmond, thinking he would react like other people. He would look past the grandiose home and see the true picture of her family. Indeed, if a man could not do that, she wouldn’t want to be with him, no matter how much it might hurt to give him up. She would tell him when they met on Sunday. She would write it down and show it to him if her mouth shut down on her again.

  But when she walked into Broughton House and saw the bags and trunks cluttering the entryway, her heart sank. There was something far worse to show Desmond than her home. Her grandmother had arrived.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT SEEMED IMPOSSIBLE that one woman could need so much baggage for a visit. It raised the fear that her grandmother intended to reside with them for the rest of her days. But the dowager duchess always carried an inordinate amount of clothes when she traveled. And she rarely budged without her chest of “treasures.”

  “Thisbe!” Her mother turned to her, relief on her face. “Your grandmother is here.”

  “Yes, I see. Hello, Grandmo
ther.” Thisbe went forward to kiss her grandmother’s cheek.

  The dowager duchess was not especially large, yet somehow she managed to appear so. Her hair was almost entirely silver, her eyes gray, and her face still held the remnants of her onetime beauty. She would have looked the picture of a sweet and doting grandmother had it not been for the ice in her eyes and the determined set of her jaw.

  She wore her usual fashionable dress and the jewelry that so fascinated the twins. A gold necklace circled her throat, with a matching bracelet on one arm and a mourning bracelet set with obsidian on the other. Large rings decorated three of her fingers, and around her waist was a chatelaine. From the chatelaine hung her gold-framed pince-nez and other “necessities”—smelling salts, a mirror, digestive tablets, a small sewing kit and miniature scissors, each of them encased in ornate gold containers. The back of the mirror was monogrammed in diamond chips.

  “Your mother tells me that Theo is not here,” the dowager duchess said, shooting an accusing look at Emmeline.

  “Had we known what day you would arrive, I am sure Theo would have made a point to be here to greet you,” Emmeline responded pointedly.

  “I hope your trip wasn’t stressful,” Thisbe said.

  “Of course it was. Dreadful rackety train—makes one quite ill. I would have preferred to come in the carriage, but I left that for Hermione.”

  “Lady Rochester was in Bath?” Thisbe asked, exchanging a look with her mother. That explained her grandmother’s sudden decision to visit them.

  “Yes. She’s thinks the waters will help her gout. I told her that not eating a plate of roast beef every night would improve her gout more. Of course, she doesn’t listen to me. I felt I had to leave her the coach, given her infirmity, so I traveled by train. I am not one to complain,” the dowager duchess said and proceeded to do exactly that about the people on the train, the incompetence of the porters and the presence of ragtag urchins darting about the station.