Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  He assumed she would make enquiries of the store clerk who greeted them, but telling the man she knew where the material she sought would be shelved, she waved him away and set off down the aisle, not halting until they reached an obscure corner.

  ‘Priding themselves on stocking most everything that can be obtained in print, Hatchard’s does carry these ladies’ writings. But believing interest in them to be minimal, the shop doesn’t display them in a prominent place,’ she explained as she gestured towards the out-of-the-way shelf.

  ‘They can’t expect to sell any to casual browsers if they place them here,’ he observed.

  ‘As long as they are at least available, I’m content. The majority of the writers are botanists, which is understandable. Females may be barred from studying at university, but no one can keep a curious girl from examining, classifying and drawing the plants that grow in the fields and gardens around her. Maria Jacson published several works, from Botanical Lectures by a Lady to several volumes about Linnaean botany and plant physiology to this Florist’s Manual,’ she said, tapping the spine of the book.

  ‘And several volumes of it, I see,’ Crispin noted.

  ‘Elizabeth Andrew Warren works with the Royal Horticultural Society of Cornwall,’ she continued, ‘organising their yearly plant collections and along the way, discovering a number of new, rare specimens. Anna Worsley studies plants in the Bristol area and has contributed her lists to H. C. Watson’s New Botanist’s Guide, which the staff here tell me will be available next year. Sarah Drake does the illustrations for this horticultural magazine, Edwards’s Botanical Register,’ she said, handing him a copy.

  Dellamont took the magazine and flipped through. ‘I’m no botanist, but these are beautiful.’

  ‘And of much more value to the world than painting violets on china plates,’ Miss Cranmore said with a disgust that made him laugh.

  ‘Were you ever tasked with painting flowers on china plates?’ he asked. ‘No—let me guess. It was the subject of an entire course at Miss Axminster’s School.’

  ‘So it was. Embroidering flowers on chair covers was also much studied,’ she replied drily. ‘Whereas I preferred studying the work of Caroline Herschel, who actually earned a salary for assisting her brother, the royal astronomer at Windsor, and won a Gold Medal from the Royal Astronomical Society in 1828 for her discovery of comets and nebulae. But my true heroine is this lady,’ she said, reverently drawing out a slim volume.

  ‘The Mechanism of the Heavens by Mary Somerville,’ Crispin read. ‘What is this about?’

  ‘It’s an explanation in algebraic terms of the workings of the solar system, a clear, understandable rendition of celestial mechanics so excellently written it made Mrs Somerville famous when it was published in 1831. She’d already had reports about her experiments on the relationship of light and magnetism printed in the journals of the Royal Society. She never studied at university, of course, but she acquired the best books available and taught herself algebra, geometry and Euclidian principals. Later she was able to work in laboratories to expand her knowledge to chemistry, electricity and magnetism. John Murray is to publish her second book, On the Connection of the Physical Sciences, some time soon. Indeed, I was hoping Hatchard’s might have it today, but I see it isn’t in stock yet. I can’t wait to read it!’

  She couldn’t wait to read a volume about chemistry and mathematics, he thought, marvelling. A book that someone with his limited grasp of advanced scientific principles would probably find incomprehensible. He already appreciated how intelligent she was, but the depth of her intellectual curiosity struck him anew.

  She was like one of those comets her heroines studied—blazing with life and enthusiasm, a bright star. How he was drawn to that fierce light!

  And how important he remember the risk of being drawn in too closely, he thought, deliberately reining back his admiration.

  Focusing instead on the writings, he said, ‘I expect the content of the next volume will be about as far as one can get from the histrionic villains and fainting heroines that so delight my sister.’

  She chuckled. ‘Probably.’

  ‘I’ve always thought of myself as rather liberal when it came to my estimation of a woman’s abilities. But I had no idea they might be capable of something like this.’

  She smiled wryly. ‘Mrs Somerville said that from her youngest days, she resented that the privileges of education so lavishly bestowed on men were denied to women. Even her first husband—who fortunately passed away before he could curtail her intellectual growth—doubted a female was capable of profiting from academic study.’

  Crispin looked down at the book in his hand. ‘She certainly proved him wrong.’

  ‘If you are truly a forward-looking gentleman, you might want to read Maria Jacson’s Botanical Lectures. Besides the erudite description and lovely illustrations, she expresses quite eloquently her frustration that, and I paraphrase, a female must refrain from “obtruding” her knowledge on a world that condemns a woman to working with her hands, rather than her head.’

  ‘Perhaps men have always been drawn to admire the beauty of those heads, rather than the intellect within them.’

  ‘Drawn to outward beauty—which poses no challenge to their sense of superiority?’ she retorted.

  He laughed. ‘There is that.’ He pulled out the Jacson book and stacked it on the Somerville volume. ‘I have to admit—I’m impressed. You’ve given me a lot to think—and read—about.’

  Her eyes widening, she said, ‘You mean—you actually intend to read these?’

  He shook a reproving finger. ‘Haven’t you learned by now that I never say things I don’t mean?’

  Her surprise turned to a smile of such engaging delight, he had to once again suppress the urge to kiss her. ‘Then I, too, am impressed.’

  ‘It’s a mutual admiration society we have,’ he murmured.

  Her gaze locked on his, the desire that always simmered between them intensifying. ‘I suppose it is.’

  He had to look away from those tempting lips before his yearning to taste her, here and now in this shadowy nook of the bookstore, overcame prudence. Dangerous, how the more intelligent and unique he found her, the stronger his passion grew.

  ‘Will you purchase anything?’ he asked after he’d got himself back under control.

  ‘I don’t own the latest copy of the Botanical Register, so I’ll take that. But then I really must get home. Mary will think I’ve been kidnapped and scold that she doesn’t have sufficient time to turn me out looking like a proper young lady before I must appear at Lady Arlsley’s.’

  ‘We should get you home, then.’ Much as he regretted the necessity. Much as he’d prefer to further extend their time together by asking her to take tea at Gunter’s, or make another circuit around the park.

  He walked with her to the sales counter, amused when she not only refused to allow him to pay for her book, but tried to talk him into letting her pay for his selections.

  ‘Which would only have been fair, since I induced you to get them,’ she said, still arguing the point as they walked out to reclaim their horses.

  ‘I may be willing to concede I have much to learn about the female intellect, but as a gentleman, I have some standards—which include forbidding a lady to pay for my purchases.’

  ‘Well, if you enjoy the books, I shall be content.’

  ‘I will certainly find them interesting. Until tomorrow afternoon, then. Enjoy your evening.’

  ‘And you yours.’

  He retrieved his reins from her groom, who then turned to help her remount. Once her attendant vaulted back in the saddle, with a little wave to Crispin, she rode off.

  He watched her go, thoughtful as he remounted his gelding.

  He wasn’t sure whether to be glad or regretful that their bargain would likely end in two weeks. She intri
gued, stimulated and amused him, and he looked forward with anticipation to spending time with her.

  Though being near her less often would be a boon to a conscience that was having increasing trouble restraining his physical desire, having their future interactions after they left society limited to occasional meetings in her father’s office was a most unappealing prospect.

  He’d have to give more thought to finding other places he might see her—more often.

  He’d made the acquaintance of a number of beauties since his university days, but he’d never met a woman who ignited such a strong and immediate physical response. And compared to her blazing intellect and unconventional interests, the other women he’d known seemed commonplace and forgettable.

  How fortunate he didn’t intend to wed any time soon, he thought as he turned his mount towards Jasmin Street. Though Marcella Cranmore seemed adamant about refusing to marry into his class, he might otherwise be tempted to try to change her mind.

  * * *

  The afternoon of the following day, Crispin presented himself at Lady Arlsley’s town house in Upper Brook Street. After having read several chapters in the books he’d bought at Hatchard’s, he looked forward to discussing them with Miss Cranmore...even as he warned himself not to be distracted by the romantic possibilities offered by a stroll down pathways whose trees were now coming into leaf, accompanied by a maid who might trail just far enough behind to afford them some privacy.

  If those circumstances developed, would he be able to resist temptation?

  As before, he walked into the parlour to greet his hostess and subject himself to the speculative looks of the two friends currently visiting her. He returned a bland smile to her enthusiastic acquiescence when he asked permission to escort Miss Cranmore on a walk through the garden.

  Giving him an amused look at her sponsor’s blatant encouragement, the lady in question walked out with him, pausing in the hallway to await the maid who was approaching with her bonnet and pelisse.

  To his surprise, when Mary halted beside them, she directed her scowl not towards the unworthy male offering his arm to her charge—but to her mistress. ‘I put that parcel with your things, miss,’ she said as she helped her Miss Cranmore into her pelisse. ‘But I hope you come to your senses and decide not to use it.’

  After giving him a quick glance, Miss Cranmore frowned at the maid. ‘We’ll talk about that later.’

  ‘I’ve not kept watch over you since you were a wee babe to see you ruin yourself now and spoil all the opportunities given to you—or something worse!’ the maid grumbled as she followed them out—ostensibly to herself, but loud enough that he was able to catch her words.

  ‘That’s quite enough, Mary,’ Miss Cranmore said sharply.

  Amused by the maid’s scolding, his curiosity piqued by what he’d overheard, Crispin was about to interrupt Miss Cranmore’s determined monologue about the early-blooming tulips and enquire what had prompted her maid’s distress when the woman’s next muttering made his levity evaporate. He cast a startled look back at Mary, who replied to his questioning glance with a disapproving nod.

  Gripping the hand Miss Cranmore had laid on his arm, he picked up the pace, walking her away from Mary, who for once seemed content to have her mistress spirited away.

  ‘You had Mary purchase gentleman’s clothing?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Is that true?’

  Not meeting his eyes, she said in an exasperated tone, ‘Mary shouldn’t comment about what is none of her business.’

  ‘Keeping you from harm is her business. You’re not... Please assure me you’re going to try to sneak my sister into Tattersall’s!’ Recalling Lady Margaret’s chatter yesterday about the unfairness of men having exclusive clubs into which they could retreat, he added, ‘Or worse still, try to gain admittance to a gentlemen’s club!’

  ‘Of course not!’ she replied, her surprise too genuine for him to doubt. ‘I’d never do anything to put your sister in harm’s way.’

  Relieved, he retorted, ‘It’s more likely she would try to persuade you into doing something that would put you at risk. Or threaten to do something so outrageous that you felt it necessary to go along to protect her. I know you like her.’

  ‘I do like her. So I would never let her manoeuvre me into letting her do something rash.’

  ‘Thank Heaven. Then what do you intend to do with boy’s garb?’

  ‘What makes you think I shall do anything with it?’

  ‘So you don’t deny you had her procure some?’

  She gave a huff of frustration, knowing he’d just caught her out. ‘It wasn’t good of you to try to trick me. But I assure you, my intentions are perfectly respectable.’

  Crispin gave her a disbelieving look. ‘Having you wear male attire anywhere but hidden away in the country—and probably not even there—could never be respectable. Besides, Mary must be quite worried if she let me overhear her scolding. She’d never have betrayed you otherwise. She must hope I might be able to talk you out of whatever it is you are planning. So—what are you planning?’

  Still silent, she looked at him resentfully, but he just shook his head. ‘I’m not going to leave until you tell me, so you might as well do it straight away. If I sit on the doorstep for too long, Lady Arlsley will be making enquiries as well.’

  ‘Oh, very well. But you must promise not to tell anyone.’

  ‘I can’t in good conscience promise that until I know what it is. But I do promise to hear you out—and not betray you unless I think what you’re planning will truly put you in danger.’

  Probably realising that was the best bargain he would offer—and that he would indeed refuse to leave until she confessed to him—she said, ‘I so sympathised with your sister when she complained that men have all the freedom, while women are restricted from going so many places, including venues that are useful and quite harmless, like Tattersall’s. Then...an opportunity arose that was so enticing, I just couldn’t bring myself to overlook it.’

  ‘If it were an opportunity you could safely take, you wouldn’t need to disguise yourself in men’s garments,’ he shot back.

  ‘But it would be safe. Entirely safe! There’s a lecture to be held tomorrow at the Institution of Civil Engineers. Unfortunately, as with the Royal Society meetings, only gentlemen are admitted. Papa told me at tea yesterday that George Stephenson himself will be speaking.’

  She sighed, her eyes alight. ‘George Stephenson! Imagine, being able to listen to the man who invented the first workable railway carriages and constructed the first commercially successful railway! Who pioneered the design of iron and masonry bridges, developed standards for the correct degree of slope and turn for railway tracks. Who designed the multi-arched skew bridge at Rainhill! Papa had been given admission tickets, but has a consultation with a potential investor and won’t be able to use them. So, when Mr Gilling called him away to answer a question I... I slipped them out of the drawer and put them in my reticule. And had Mary procure me a suit of clothes.’

  Crispin shook his head. ‘You can’t be seriously contemplating trying to get into the meeting dressed as a boy!’

  ‘Why not? I only need to kit myself out properly, present my admission ticket, find a seat at the back of the room and remain unobtrusive. Even you must admit it will be a perfectly respectable gathering.’

  She was so aglow with enthusiasm, he hated to discourage her, but he could see nothing resulting from such a rash stunt but catastrophe and embarrassment. Trying to let her down gently, he said, ‘You will have to speak to the doorman who admits you, to the person who takes your ticket, and probably extend polite greetings to other members who happen to be nearby when you come in. Don’t you think someone will ask you where you are from, with whom you work? Any one of those could recognise your voice as feminine. Now, walk ahead of me.’

  Looking puzzled, she angled her head
. ‘Walk ahead?’

  ‘Just walk,’ he ordered.

  With an exasperated expression, she turned and proceeded away from him.

  He shook his head. The idea was madness. Heat flashed through his body at the mental image of seeing the swaying hips now sending her skirts fluttering outlined by a tight-fitting coat. He dared not let himself think what her trim derrière and shapely legs would look like in a figure-revealing pair of trousers.

  ‘You can stop now.’ As she turned back to him he said, ‘You’d never get away with it.’

  ‘Why not?’ she demanded.

  ‘You walk like a woman, for one,’ he said shortly. He took a step accompanied by an exaggerated swing of his hips and watched as her face coloured.

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  ‘It’s not just your walk. Only consider. You appearing there, a person unknown to any of the members, a stranger who doesn’t attempt to speak with anyone, would immediately draw attention and excite speculation. Being scientific gentlemen, the members would almost certainly wish to satisfy their natural curiosity, forcing you into conversation, with every word you utter and every half-truth you invent about your background bringing you closer to discovery and disaster. Think of the embarrassment—for your family, if not for you. The humiliation to your father.’

  She stopped beside him, her eager expression fading as his arguments sank in. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said dully after a moment. ‘Ah, but how much I’d like to go! It would be an experience I would remember for ever, the highlight of my life. It’s only a lecture, a few hours of time. But for one who will never be allowed to study at university, never permitted to practise as an engineer herself, could I not have at least those few hours to treasure?’

  As tears formed in the corners of her eyes, Crispin felt terrible. He wouldn’t change her into a man even if he could—what a waste of beauty that would be—but he did wish with all his heart that it wasn’t imperative to prevent her from committing this folly. That there was a way to allow her the treat she longed for.