Mary was all too glad to enter the dark assembly hall and escape Kitty’s company. The whole ride there, Kitty had been repeating her husband’s denunciations of Lydia’s conduct, and though Mary had tried to mollify her by agreeing, the rant had continued. It was a relief to slip into the mass of ladies and know Kitty could not speak of such things therein. Did my preaching ever sound like that? Mary supposed it must have. She must have alienated the very people she intended to persuade, again and again, all because of her self-righteousness and insulting tone.
Mary hoped that after evading her sister, she would find Mr Cole at once so that she could help him with his lecture preparations, but Mrs Appleton found her first. “Miss Bennet, I am sure you will not mind scrubbing the hallway floor.” For most people, Mrs Appleton was a nonentity. She barely spoke, was inattentive at lectures, and wore the demure sort of matronly clothing that allowed a woman to fade into the background.
“Scrubbing?” Even with such an unimpressive person as Mrs Appleton, Mary hesitated to displease. “I thought there would be servants who did that sort of thing…?” It was true that Mary had been told the ladies would be cleaning and restoring the building, but as a gentleman’s daughter, she had supposed they would be supervising a horde of maids, not taking an active part. And since she had hoped herself to slip away with Mr Cole, she had worn her best afternoon frock to allure him.
“You must come along here.” Mrs Appleton led her into the hallway, pointed out the relevant parts of the floor, and provided Mary with a scrubbing brush and a bucket. Mary looked down at her new white muslin and bit her lip.
“Could I dust, like Miss Poppit?”
But Mrs Appleton had already walked away, and Mary lacked the courage to refuse the task altogether. She bent down, tucking up her skirts as best she could, and attempted to scrub. A few minutes of awkward struggles to preserve her gown and yet remove swirls of grime from the floor soured her mood. I am supposed to be helping Mr Cole. I am supposed to be distracting him from Lydia! Her annoyance with the task grew, but she wiped her face and persisted.
“Miss Bennet, what on earth are you doing?”
Mr Cole’s amused voice startled Mary out of a grim reverie involving Mrs Appleton and a witch’s cauldron in the macabre assembly hall. She pressed her scrubbing brush into the floor with vehemence. “I am cleaning this floor, obviously.” The bitterness in her voice was for Mrs Appleton, not Mr Cole, and he seemed to sense it was not personal.
“It looks like dirty work.”
“Does it?” This time her acid tone bit at him in particular.
“I cannot think you were intended to do that.” Mr Cole squatted next to her. “Who set you to this?”
“Mrs Appleton. She thinks that I ought to scrub, while Miss Poppit waltzes about and preens and dusts.” She stopped scouring long enough to look him in the eye. “Why is that? Why do ladies set people like me to scrubbing floors and set people like Miss Poppit to light dusting?”
His lips pulled into a smile. “The Lord tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, perhaps.”
Mary gave a disgusted look at the bucket, which now bore a thin film of oil over its soapy water. “I do not see why Miss Poppit is a tender lamb, and I am always some great woolly thing.”
A laugh erupted from Mr Cole, and he hauled Mary to her feet. “I do not see why, either. Let us go into the office, and you can help me as you promised. You have not forgotten?”
“Of course not. Only, I should finish this—” She grimaced at the half-cleaned floor.
His grin broadened. “Might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb, hmm? Just come along. Wait a moment—you have a smear of something—”
His thumb rubbed against her cheek, and Mary’s breath caught. The pressure of his thumb warmed her face with an unnatural heat, and her eyes widened and stared into his, rapt into a feeling unknown to her, but dazzling. His dark eyes bore into hers, and some flicker of emotion passed through him as well, something that made him cough and turn away. The spell was broken.
I should have done something to tantalise him just then. But oddly enough, Mary felt sure no deliberate flirting from her would have affected him so much as her gaze rapt in his. The thought caused an upwelling of delight.
She could not speak as she allowed him to lead her into the office, but the palpable heartbeats that usually disturbed her now felt friendly and exciting. I did not think a heart pounding could ever feel so…nice. She suddenly realised she had spent several minutes in anger—downright anger—at Mrs Appleton, where usually she would have made excuses for anyone who put her in an awkward position. Have I changed? I never used to get angry so easily. Nor feel this other feeling…
The other feeling was jolted away when Mr Cole threw himself into a chair and said, “I cannot believe you obeyed Mrs Appleton. What nonsense! I would have told her to stick her head in the bucket.” Hercules was sprawled in the same spot as on their previous visit, and the hound gave a cheerful bark as if to applaud the suggestion. He nosed Mary’s hand as she sat down. “You are so obedient to Mrs Wickham, as well.”
“The meek shall inherit the earth.” Mary did not like defending herself, yet she could not let disapproval on Mr Cole’s part rest.
“Yes, after the bold have roamed all over it and picked up all the choice bits. The meek will get the scraps left over.” Mr Cole’s joking might have amused him, judging by the sparkle in his eye, but Mary’s brows drew down.
“Whatever you say, Mr Cole, the world could not function without quiet, well-behaved followers.”
“No doubt, no doubt.” The agreement sounded more polite than sincere.
“And so much disputation is on trivial matters. It wastes time.”
“I suppose that means you thought it would waste time to tell Mrs Appleton you are a lady, not a scullery maid.” He winked, and as Mary bristled, he shoved forward a box of parchment sheets, each annotated. “Well, we shall not waste our time, shall we, Miss Bennet? Here are my notes for the lecture. If you really can work some magic on them, now is your chance to turn straw into gold.”
Part of her wanted to continue to argue, but she could hardly press the merits of meekness by doing that. Biting her lip, Mary sifted through the pages, skimming the words. Some of the topics were unfathomable, but most she could connect with the reading she had done, and she began sorting them. Then she took up the pen and began drawing out a rough plan. Mr Cole watched with a sceptical arch to his brows.
As she worked, Mary soothed herself into a state of bemused calm. The sound of voices discussing candelabras and lamps drifted down the hallway, and the skritch of the pen on the parchment added a restful quality to the ambiance.
I was angry, really angry, with Mrs Appleton. And with Kitty, she realised, though she had not dared to think such a thought before. Why can they not be friendly and quiet, like Lady Lucy? Or Mr Cole. Though Mr Cole was not always respectfully quiet, he was now. He took a moment now and then to lean over her and read her work, but for the most part, he rummaged through notes of his own. He might be sceptical of her skill, but he was willing to give it a chance. It is pointless for Kitty to tell me how awful Lydia’s behaviour is. We all already know that. I should tell Kitty and Lieutenant Stubbs to stop preaching at me. The thought shocked her. Standing up to the lieutenant, even in such a small way, felt dangerous, and Mary’s heart began to pound again. I would be terrified, but perhaps it would be worth it…
Mr Cole, sensing she was finished, seized the page she had been writing on. “I do not see how this is supposed to work.” His gaze danced over the page, and his nose wrinkled with distaste. “Why do you wish me to begin with talking about the Blarney stone? And the old Roman ruins? You are as bad as Lady Crestwood asking what the pyramids are made of.”
“People have heard of those things and can picture them. It helps to begin with something less abstract. Begin with what is familiar and concrete, and then move into your theories.”
He skimmed further
down. “And here, where I begin my theory on igneous rocks, you have me discussing Pompeii! An old city engulfed by ash from a volcano has nothing to do with my theory.”
“But people find Pompeii fascinating.” Mary struggled to keep her patient tone. “By including a small discussion of the matter, you attract their interest again—”
“Again? That assumes I lost it with my theory.”
Mary’s voice hardened. “Not an assumption. A conclusion based upon evidence from previous lectures. Pompeii is a little aside from your main topic, I agree, but it will pay dividends in generating engagement in your audience.” She gave him a wry smile. “No one doubts that in an ideal world, everyone would be fascinated by your rocks with no help.”
“You are teasing me.”
Mary blinked. I am! The idea displeased her. She hated being teased, herself; it felt so aggressive. Was that what she was becoming—an aggressive young woman, rather than a modest young lady? Or was it simply Mr Cole that brought out the fire in her? “I am sorry.”
Mr Cole leaned back in his chair, throwing his arms wide over the desk. “Why should you be? You are rather appealing when you are vexed and vexing.” When she flushed, he grinned. “You are still trying to distract me, are you not? So that I do not bother your sister?” He folded his arms behind his head. “You know, I think you are the most—distracting—when you forget what you are supposed to be doing. When you forget about Mrs Wickham entirely.”
She realised she had forgotten Lydia. She had not even noticed that Mr Cole had not asked where Mrs Wickham was. “You distracted me yourself.” It was hard to admit, but there was something freeing in the confession. She sighed, but it was an exhalation of relief. “All week, there has been such tension. I admit I was looking forward to your banter.” She blotted the sheet in front of her, avoiding his gaze. “All your silly talk makes me feel like things are not as serious as they seem.” As if life is something I can handle, weak as I am. “It is not logical, but somehow I feel better when you are facetious and unruly. I cannot rebel myself, but I can cheer for a rebel.” She gave him a lopsided smile, finally daring to meet his eyes.
“And before, you wanted me to be nice. Really you were just repressing my natural exuberance.” The light in his eyes danced with hers.
“Miss Bennet!” Mrs Appleton appeared in the open doorway, her thick eyebrows lifting with surprise and disdain. “I thought you were cleaning the floor, not sitting alone with…” Her lips pressed together.
“I needed Miss Bennet’s help with my lecture.” Mr Cole stood up and gave Mrs Appleton a courtly bow. “I quite forgot she was a young lady who might need a chaperon. You could join us, Mrs Appleton. Miss Bennet was just working on distinguishing the kinds of sedimentary rocks formed by light pressures. As a regular attendee of my lectures, I am sure you can explain to her which kinds to focus on. Shall you give us your assistance?”
Mrs Appleton’s eyebrows drew up and down in consternation. The vigour of the movement made Mary stifle a giggle. They look like wriggling caterpillars.
“Well, Mrs Appleton?”
“I fear other matters require my attention.” The woman drooped, resigned to her usual status as a nonentity, and Mary felt a stab of guilt for removing one of the lady’s few chances to exert power.
But she ought not to have abused it. Mary watched her go. Mr Cole sat down again, tapping his fingers on the desk. “We shall not be bothered again, I think,” he said.
Does he really want to be alone with me? Of course, even if he did, it might mean only that he valued her help with his lectures, however much he disputed her ideas. But if he did have any feeling of friendship…Mary’s mind wandered to peaceful, cosy talks, laughter and fun, before remembering she still had duties weighing on her. I have not even brought up Hannah. Another stab of guilt drove into her, and she cleared her throat.
“Mr Cole, I wonder if you could help me with a delicate matter.” She outlined Hannah’s situation as briefly as she could, hoping the gentleman would understand the need for discretion. “I thought perhaps you could find a place for her on your father’s estate. That would be far enough from London for her.”
As Mr Cole listened, lines popped up on his brow. “That would not be advisable, Miss Bennet.” At her look of entreaty, he said, “I do not know how to state this for a lady’s ears. If I were to beg a place for this maid on my father’s estate, everyone would assume—you understand—”
“Oh.”
Mr Cole shrugged. “It would hurt both her reputation and mine. Can you imagine how the servants would feel, working for such a squire as me, when they might have had my saintly brother Thomas?”
Mary could not give up hope so easily. “But that would be a long time from now. They will all have forgotten, or realised you had nothing to do with Hannah’s trouble, or gotten used to the idea if they did believe it, by then.”
“It will not be so long as all that.” His brows drew down, and his tone was grim.
“What do you mean?”
His broad chest produced a heftier sigh than Mary’s could. “My father is very ill. It is difficult for him to handle the estate as it is, and we do not know how much time he has left.”
Puzzled, Mary stared at him. “But then surely you will return home at once, and these lectures will not be needed—”
“Not at all.” His tone was cold. “I have no wish to turn up on the estate with Thomas gone only a year. The last time I was there, all I heard from the servants was ‘If your brother were here, such and such would be done’ and ‘We will never have so fine a master as Mr Thomas would have been’. And it was worse with my parents.” His lips compressed into a brief line.
Mary hesitated, sensing he wished to tell more, but she did not know how to encourage him. “I…am not sure what you mean.”
“There is no point competing with a dead man, especially not such a good man as my brother was.” He shifted in his chair. “We all knew where we stood, before. My father was as keen on Thomas being the squire as Thomas himself was. And I was the younger brother, just a scamp crawling over the hills to find interesting rocks, spending my money on enjoyments in London—”
“You never thought you would have to be the responsible one.”
“And I am not suited to it. Not like Thomas was.” His breath gusted out. “I know how I must look to you—shamefully callous to my family. But you do not know how it is.” His chin lifted, as if he had summoned some courage for vulnerability. “When Thomas died, my father was full of rage and grief. He told me he wished it had been me instead, lying there in that grave, and I said something in bitterness—” He broke off. “In the end, he said he never wanted to see me again. My mother writes to ask me to return, but even she says I ought to do it because it is what Thomas would do. Not because it is right, or practical, or in my own character. Only because it was what Thomas would have done. No doubt she, too, wishes I was the one who died.”
Mary’s gaze met his. “You cannot know that. And what your father said, he said in anger. Perhaps he regrets it now.”
“Then all he must do is say so.” Mr Cole shook his head. “No, until they forget Thomas enough to accept me, how can I ever go back?” His tone turned more pleading, as if convincing Mary would convince himself. “If I make a name for myself in London—if my mother hears of my success with the kind of people she values, ladies’ societies and such—if my science is impressive enough to men my father respects, they will see me as a significant person in my own right. I will be more than the poor substitute for Thomas. I will be someone in London, and no one will expect me to leave it all to play squire.”
“But when your father dies, you will have to leave it all the same.”
“Eventually. But perhaps by then it will be tolerable, forever being contrasted with my saintly brother. I will have proven myself in London as a geologist.”
Mary shook her head. “It is not a good plan for the long term. And what if your father needs you now
? He is ill.”
“He can manage for now.” Mary could not tell if the determination in Mr Cole’s face meant that claim was certain, or if he merely wished it were so. “Oh, I know that you despise me. You are Thomas’s sort. You would do your duty, no matter the cost to yourself. But I cannot resign myself to trying to substitute for a man everyone loved and honoured. I never wanted to be squire.” That last was said with a touch of petulance.
Mary could not imagine making Mr Cole’s choice, delaying the inevitable in the hopes of seizing a few moments of acclaim and self-esteem. I would have gone the moment my parents said they needed me—no, they never would have even had to say it. I would have guessed it and sacrificed my desires already. But the realisation did not make her proud. She felt like both Mr Cole and she were twisted trees, grown up in convolutions necessary to the circumstances but unhealthy and degraded nonetheless.
“Well? Shall you refuse to help me now?” Mr Cole brushed back his chestnut hair with an impatient gesture.
“Of course not.” Mary’s voice was meek, but she tried to make it stronger. “We will go on as before. Nothing need change—”
“What does not need to change?” Where Mrs Appleton had appeared in stodgy ire, Lydia now shone forth like an angelic apparition, her silken hair pinned to perfection, yellow satin moulding her curves, and a white bonnet ringed with silk bright enough for a halo.
Oh, heavens, Mary thought.
“I cannot tell you how dreadfully dull it was, staying at home for ages and ages,” Lydia said, stepping into the office and laying her reticule on the desk. “Lord! The tedium was so relentless that I actually wrote my sister Jane a letter! Now that is saying something.”
“Lydia, you are not supposed to be here.” Mary dropped her voice to a throaty hum. She had meant it to be a whisper, but her anger and distress added an intensity to the words she could not suppress. “If Lieutenant Stubbs finds out—”
“Well, I will not tell him.” Her pert assurance annoyed Mary, and Lydia turned in appeal to Mr Cole. “Will you tell, Mr Cole?”
A Learned Romance Page 16
