She looked a bit unsettled by his statement, but he couldn’t understand why when all he offered were reassurances. “Confidants implies we both have something to hide, and I don’t know very much about you.”
“I suppose that’s true. And as you’ve often reminded me, we’ll most likely never see each other again, so I suggest we end this evening with a few traded secrets.”
“Secrets?”
Her expression sobered. Clearly, he’d touched a nerve.
“Nothing you don’t wish to share, of course.” He took a healthy sip of his port and watched her do the same. Red wine would never transform him into a liberal speaker, but he had a feeling her tolerance would be affected in an altogether different manner.
“I can’t imagine I have anything worth knowing.” She set her glass down on a side table with care. “I live a practical and simplistic life here in Oxfordshire and I wouldn’t have it otherwise.”
“Really?” He too replaced his drink. “Forging research and claiming it as your own seems the stuff of espionage for the Crown.”
She laughed, although he wondered if it was amusement or tension that evoked the reaction. The sound overrode the chime of the bracket clock striking midnight.
“I propose three questions each.” He canted his head in her direction and grinned.
“Two and no more,” she countered, a shrewd look in her eye.
“Done.” He sat up straighter in the chair as he collected his thoughts.
“Ask away then.” She shook her head in the negative, as if doubtful he’d accomplish a query of worth. “You’re bound to be disappointed.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He tapped his pointer finger against his chin and skewered her with a stare. “What is the fondest memory of your life thus far?” He really did wish to know more about her, and up to this point she’d been anything but forthcoming. By asking this in particular, he expected her to expound upon a mathematical theory or remind him of one of her accomplishments in her botanical science experiments. Instead her face took on a series of conflicted emotions.
“That’s truly two questions within one. My fondest memories are also my saddest, and both include my parents.”
Silence followed in which he cursed himself for the fool that he was, wishing to bring levity to their discussion and in turn causing the opposite.
“How did you hurt your leg?”
Apparently, he was more affected by remorse than she.
“Aah, you’ve selected a very good secret to question.” He took a long swallow from his glass. “Over a decade ago I was involved in an incident that risked the life of my closest friend. We were young and reckless, too cocky to believe we could ever get hurt, but we both learned a lesson we shall never forget. In the midst of our adventure, we angered the wrong person and he blindly fired a pistol at us. My friend, the Duke of Scarsdale, managed to escape unharmed, but the bullet caught me in the side of my knee.” He leaned down and indicated the spot where he’d been shot. “I deserved it, I suppose, for poking into business that wasn’t my concern. Though I’d never anticipated a deadly outcome. That night was hell, but recovery was worse. Sequestered at my family’s countryside estate, I thought I’d go mad from boredom.”
“You’re lucky to have escaped with your life.”
“How true.”
“No wonder you despise Oxfordshire and the country simplicity it represents. You must have been anxious to return to the busy calendar you’ve embraced, while a rural setting reminds you of the pain and recovery you suffered. Your offer to come to London gains clarity now.”
“I was serious in my invitation.” He drained his glass and dismissed the maudlin memories never far from recall.
“I believe you.”
She looked so deeply into his eyes, he dared not look away. Her gaze, silver gray and absolutely entrancing, held him powerless. He forced himself to conversation. “The city can’t be all that bad a place for the upper ten thousand to call it home.”
“London will never be a place I call home.”
The finality of that statement held the room in silence for several minutes. He watched her finish her wine, and while he knew he shouldn’t ask it, their previous exchange provided the ideal conduit. Besides, he still had a remaining question in their bargain.
“Why?” It was a small word, only three letters, but he knew it challenged her to reveal something life changing and meaningful.
She didn’t start readily and toyed with her glass, turning the stem between her fingertips while the fire popped and cracked with impatience. He kept quiet and wondered if she knew how lovely she appeared or how her intelligence was an admirable and wonderful gift. How being void of all societal expectation and pretentious insincerity was the very beauty that made her the cherished exception to the rule. Her silvery-gray eyes were hardly a comparison to the innate and wondrous traits she possessed. In science such an anomaly of rare perfection was labeled a miracle, for lack of a sufficient term, and he could see no reason not to categorize Theodosia as one.
When she finally spoke, he startled, unaware he’d become lost in admiration.
“I was fourteen at the time. Grandfather had raised me for eight years already, and my education was extremely thorough. Aside from a clever governess and several tutors, I learned an abundance by observing my grandfather at work. He was always reading, writing, or researching.” She paused in the retelling, a reminiscent smile on her face. “But he got it into his head upon my fourteenth birthday that I needed to attend finishing school. Despite a vast knowledge of scientific theory, he knew little of finer feminine pursuits, and while he might have invited additional tutors to instruct me in subjects of dance and etiquette, there wouldn’t be the necessary social interaction to hone and test those same skills.”
She looked toward her empty glass and he retrieved the wine to refill it. Nothing but the hiss of the flaming logs in the box could be heard in the interim.
“I’ll never forget that day. Grandfather acted as though he couldn’t wait to be rid of me, but I know he hated to see me go as much as I regretted leaving. Nevertheless, I’d agreed to start the semester and wished to make him proud. Neither one of us could have anticipated the tragedy that claimed my parents or the years afterward. Raising a five-year-old couldn’t have been an easy task, no matter he hired staff to assist, and I was forever in his shadow despite an excellent governess who saw to my every need. Grandfather was always kind and generous with his time, though in retrospect I’m sure he had dozens of other pursuits he’d have preferred. With that in mind, I refused to disappoint him, since my attending finishing school was a small request by comparison.”
Matthew nodded, though he wouldn’t interrupt.
“Mrs. Barton’s Academy for Girls was reputed to be distinguished among the ton, grandiose and welcoming. Grandfather had it on good recommendation it was the finest academy for young women. I’m sure it cost a small fortune. Unfortunately, neither he nor I considered the other students in attendance, nor whether I would be accepted.”
She blinked several times and took a sip of wine, her eyes downcast as she continued with more emotion in her voice.
“It took less than two weeks for me to become a target of humiliation and embarrassment. It was easy to see I was different from the polished, delicate ladies who’d also enrolled to finish off their otherwise appropriate education. I stood out for a number of reasons. I was too smart. My quick answers and extensive knowledge showed my advanced learning, but also revealed how little the other girls had studied. At first, I didn’t realize it unwittingly cast a shadow on my classmates. It upset them that I completed my assignments before the due date and included detailed additional research. The instructor was quick to hold my work up with praise and comparison, but this unfortunately created animosity among the students. In a survival tactic with which I was unfamiliar, they banded together in conspiracy, eager with petty complaint and mean-spirited compensation.
&n
bsp; “At first there were small, foolish pranks. A spider in my soup or missing stockings later found tied to a chandelier in the assembly room. Holes cut into my best dresses or pockets filled with mud from the garden. Given the opportunity, the other girls of the academy joined in the hurtful antics rather than champion me. A few withdrew and remained silent, too worried they’d draw notice and become the next victim. But with either course, I hadn’t a single friend, and anyone who dared to speak to me and express their remorse at the situation did so in a hushed whisper.”
She exhaled thoroughly and he longed to take her into his arms and offer comfort. Still he remained in his seat and allowed her to continue, damning himself for asking the question in the first place.
“I did my best to remain invisible. I tried to quell my abilities, but it was too little, too late. The instructors knew I withheld my knowledge, and while exhibiting too much intelligence is never becoming in a lady of the ton, they too had grown accustomed to using my work as an example to motivate the others. Besides, the guttersnipes who perpetuated the rumors and created the embarrassing mishaps were in control and enjoyed wielding their power. They isolated me and I became a pariah of sorts. No one was going to rescue me. I couldn’t write to Grandfather and cause him worry. Instead my letters home became a listing of accomplishments that had nothing to do with my relationships with the other girls. I counted my days and planned to at least finish one semester before I returned to Leighton House for Christmas. Then I’d express my desire to remain home.”
“Theodosia.” He said her name softly, his heart aching for the hurtful acts she’d endured. “Why didn’t you seek help from the instructors or leave immediately?”
“And allow those spiteful girls to know they drove me from my purpose?” She shook her head vehemently, her hair shimmering around her white robe. “Anyway, that all became unnecessary. I already knew I was lacking in social grace. I could hardly replicate the demure deportment of the other girls. Still, to be repeatedly shamed and taunted, no matter how strong you believe yourself to be, hurts, and you begin to believe that the perception of others is in fact, true. That the face you see in the mirror is ordinary and plain and the dance steps you attempt are awkward and clumsy . . . made all the more hurtful by the twittering censure of eleven other girls watching. You believe that hair the color of soot is hardly attractive when compared to the gleaming gold or burnished bronze of a cultured English beauty, and the tone of your voice is far from melodic insomuch as it can be heard over the snickers and animal noises made whenever you speak. You stop looking for your chemise and stockings and instead, hide them under your mattress so you have something clean to wear come morning. You learn to always examine your soup bowl before eating, to keep your peripheral vision sharp, and never answer the instructor’s questions, even if no one else knows the correct solution and the information is burning a hole through your tongue. Instead you become adept at hiding your abnormal proclivities.
“You teach yourself not to cry in your sleep, no matter the nightmare or daydream for that matter, and that different is wrong, even though before you attended finishing school you never perceived yourself in that manner.”
“Bookish, stop. Please.” He stood up and paced a hard line on the carpet before her chair. “I want to find Mrs. Barton and throttle her for allowing those vipers to torment you. You should have informed the instructors. Surely they would have come to your aid.”
“Any punishment the girls received would come back to me twofold.” She breathed deeply, her expression less pained now. “I simply counted the days, because numbers made sense and guaranteed predictability, and when the holidays arrived I returned home and never went back.”
Her voice acquired a note of sadness he experienced deep inside his chest.
“It doesn’t matter how many years have passed. I’ll always remember their names, and their faces twisted in critical assessment of my shortcomings. The haughty disdain London’s debutantes accomplished with high marks. All because I didn’t fit into their vision of genteel lady. I despise London and everything it represents, whether that’s a finishing school, the opera, or the people who attend it. I’m perfectly happy here in Oxfordshire, where I daresay I never look in the mirror in my own bedchamber and dislike what I see by comparison, because there is no comparison. I will never be made to feel that way again.”
Her final words were a statement of empowerment, and he couldn’t be prouder of her resilience.
“So, now I know.” He leaned a shoulder against the mantel, relieved she’d achieved the retelling without an abundance of tears. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked into her eyes just to be sure. He couldn’t bear it if he caused her to cry.
“So, now you know.”
“But aren’t you still allowing those foolish, hateful girls to win if they keep you from visiting London?” He might be playing with fire, but he didn’t want to consider never seeing Theodosia again, and the odds of him returning to Oxfordshire were slim at best.
“I don’t know.” She stood and approached him, her face clear of all earlier sadness. “I don’t think about it. Until you arrived, London was the farthest thing from my mind. I’m worried over my grandfather’s health. For nearly two decades he’s taken care of me, and now it’s my turn. He’s declining. His mind is weakening. What if one day he doesn’t realize who I am? Or where he is? I can’t lose him that way. I know no one lives forever. And people leave before their time. I learned that lesson when I was five years old. But I can’t lose Grandfather. Not like this.”
Now her eyes welled and tears coursed down her cheeks. She didn’t cry for the hurt she’d endured but for the fear of what lay ahead for Lord Talbot. He pulled her forward, tightly held her in his embrace, and allowed her to cry for all the wrongs that composed her life up to this point, all the injustices and worries that were out of one’s control, and her all-too-real fears for the future. Collectively, she had a great many to list. Her parents’ death. The tormenting episodes at finishing school. And now, her grandfather’s health. He wrapped his arms around her tighter. She seemed so slight to have endured so much. His heart ached for the circumstances, and yet he was powerless to resolve any of the hurts that caused her misery.
He wanted to kiss her again. To comfort and console, to allow her to lose herself, if only for a moment, but he wasn’t so selfish to do so. What Theodosia needed most was a friend, and he could be that man. This evening, they’d shared more than secrets. They’d formed a precious bond. One he would always treasure, no matter where life led.
Chapter Fourteen
Matthew didn’t look back at Leighton House as George drove their carriage away. Having decided to leave at first light, he eschewed breakfast for a morning tray in his chambers. An unsettled feeling, one he couldn’t categorize, gnawed at him from the inside out, and he thought it best to start toward London, unsure if his uneasiness was a condition of regret or premonition. They left the gravel drive with the velvet curtain drawn, shutting Oxfordshire out as quickly as one banishes an unpleasant memory, though within the interior Coggs was his usual vociferous self.
“Don’t despair, milord.” Coggs settled into the corner in preparation for the lengthy trip. “No one could have predicted the dismal outcome of this unexpected jaunt.”
Matthew shifted on the padded bench, his expression indifferent, or so he believed. Did Coggs perceive some unnamed emotion? His valet was a shrewd man of many opinions, most obtained through a filter of household gossip. With loyalty, the servant had never shown Matthew a wrong turn and instead garnered facts to share in hope of providing assistance. But at other times, his retelling was drivelous tripe that Matthew preferred to label brain clutter. Thus, the conundrum, one never knew which Coggs would offer at any given moment.
“Is that what you believe?” He should cut his tongue out for instigating further conversation. “I’m satisfied with my visit.”
“All’s well then. Your leg no longer pains
you?”
“Not at the moment, although a headache threatens,” he muttered, and remembered the salve as he touched his coat where he’d pocketed the small container. Clever minx. Ginger salve. He would think of her whenever he used it. It certainly brought his aching knee relief before bed last night. As well as the memory of their interlude in the library. He had no ready reason for his behavior since first meeting Theodosia, up until the last lingering thought of her as he left the property. She was an unusual woman. A very pretty puzzle at that. But she was hardly his concern, and the unexpected protectiveness and desire to bring happiness to her lonely existence could only be chalked up to an innate male predilection to protect those in need.
For a few minutes there was nothing but the sound of the horses and carriage wheels as they rumbled over a stone or dipped into a rut, but as Matthew suspected, Coggs didn’t stay quiet for long.
“Lady Leighton is quite an unconventional female.”
“You think so?” He hoped Coggs would hear the censure in his voice.
“Genteel ladies enjoy embroidery, watercolors, and the art of flirtation.”
“Not all of them.”
“Perhaps, although I haven’t met a one in London who prefers hybrid plants and injured animals to socialites and tea parties.”
“Then perhaps you need to leave London more often.”
Coggs appeared nonplussed. “I’m only considering the obvious.”
God help me. “And that would be?” That there is something about Theodosia so rare, more uncommon than her exquisite gray gaze and inquisitive mind. London would stifle her, crush her spirit and cause her to feel all those unique and wonderful qualities were somehow wrong. Just like those horribly vapid girls at finishing school.
“Lady Chester is of an opposite nature entirely, and with your impending nuptials—”
“Nothing has been agreed upon, Coggs.” He huffed an annoyed breath.
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