The Beast's Bluestocking (The Bluestocking War)

by Eva Devon

  “Yes,” Merrill agreed, folding his arms over his chest. “But stairs are good for you to navigate. You must get yourself back up to full strength so we can take on Adams and the rest of them.”

  Grey sighed, hating that none of his excuses were coming up to snuff.

  It was true.

  He did need to get himself back up to full strength, and he was close. But the pain—it was never going to go away.

  He knew that.

  But the grueling walks he took himself on every day were getting him into the shape that he needed to be in. He’d physically capable again and in a pain. It was a balance he had to embrace.

  He thought of Philippa, of her standing in this small cottage, how it had felt so right to be in her presence. He shook his head. He couldn't think of that.

  It wasn't a possibility. Not anymore. He'd changed far too much from the man who'd written her letters. He wasn't that hopeful young soul who wished to settle down with her and make a life.

  No, he had a mission now, a goal, and he'd become hard. He wouldn't wish that on anyone. Pain made him hard. He snapped. His temper was short.

  And Joe's death. . .

  The growing cynicism he'd felt for the Navy and the way that men of power could so abuse those beneath them had taken root in his heart, and he had no room for love.

  But as if thinking of her could manifest her, there was a light knock upon the door and a voice called, “Excuse me. Hello?”

  He flinched.

  “No,” Merrill mouthed as his eyes danced. “Say it isn't so. Am I going to get to meet Lady Philippa?”

  “I'm keeping the damn door shut,” Grey declared.

  There was another pounding on the door.

  “There's a horse tethered outside,” she called. “I do believe someone is in there.”

  Grey threw Merrill a ball-crushing stare. “This is all your fault,” he said. “I'm going to have to see her because of you.”

  Merrill's lips twitched. “Perhaps, but I, for one, am eager meet her.”

  If he could have, Grey would have told Merrill to hide underneath the table. And he would have sat in complete silence until Philippa gave up.

  But this time Philippa pounded on the door a little bit more forcefully. Quite forcefully, for a lady.

  And he found himself realizing that Philippa was not going to give up easily, especially since there was evidence of people inside. He should have known she wouldn’t be put off easily.

  Her tenacity had been one of the qualities he’d admired.

  What was he going to have to do to make her see sense?

  At long last, he pushed away from his desk, walked to the door, and yelled, “Come in then!”

  He wasn't going to go open the door.

  He didn't want to give her that sort of satisfaction.

  He wanted to make it plain that she was not welcome.

  He was only allowing her in because he wasn't a complete cad, and because Merrill would never let him see the end of it if he didn't.

  The door swung open, its hinges creaking slightly.

  And she crossed over the threshold, her slippers padding lightly on the slate beneath her feet.

  She gave him a smile, a full beaming smile.

  It went straight to his heart and pierced it like a knife. God, he could scarce draw breath. Her sunny blonde locks bounced about her face. And she carried a basket upon her arm which was quite large. And she maneuvered it and herself through the doorway.

  He scowled at her.

  “Join us,” he said grudgingly, waving her in.

  She said nothing, apparently unwilling to make comment on his dour mood and poor manners. In answer, she thumped the big basket down upon the table before the fire, pulled the string on her cloak, whipped it off, and threw it down on the settee.

  She turned to face them triumphantly.

  Phillipa tucked a lock of her sunny hair behind her ear. “You have a guest.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I have two guests. One of them is welcome.”

  For one single moment she blinked, and it looked as if she was going to say something quite terse, but then she swallowed, planted her hands on her hips, and took a step forward. “That’s enough from you, Grey,” she said before turning to Merrill. “How'd you do? I'm Lady Philippa and you are...”

  Had she just dismissed him? Had she truly just ignored him turning his comment into what he could now only call the precursor to a tantrum?

  She had. God, she was magnificent.

  “First Lieutenant Merrill,” his friend said with a sweeping bow.

  “How do you do, First Lieutenant Merrill?” she said.

  “Very well. Thank you,” Merrill replied, his lips twitching. “I have heard so much about you. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  She swung her gaze to himself, and Grey wished that he could throttle Merrill in that moment. He did not wish Philippa to know that she was much in his thoughts or that he had talked so very much about her.

  “Is this true?” she asked, her eyes widening.

  Grey let out a huff of a noise.

  “Indeed,” Merrill continued, delighted to share. “There wasn't a single dinner that he did not bring up your name. He carried your letters about with him everywhere and—”

  “Cease!” Grey barked. “It's true. I had a boyish fancy, and it was very enjoyable having Philippa's company aboard the ships through her letters. It was very vital to my happiness at that time.”

  “You weren't happy,” Merrill stated, his voice abruptly factual.

  Grey rolled his eyes. “Better and better, Merrill, you keep sticking your foot in it.”

  “I thought he wasn’t,” she said gently. “And yet he was so successful aboard the ship.”

  “Oh yes,” Merrill agreed. “He was an excellent officer, but none of us were happy. It was a terrible circumstance. You must understand. It's not usual to speak ill of the British line, but Captain Adams, well, he made our lives hell.”

  She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Captain Adams?” Merrill repeated. “Have you not heard of Captain Adams?”

  She swung her gaze from man to man before inquiring, “Do you refer to Captain Cruelty?”

  Merrill locked eyes with him, curious.

  Grey nodded. “That is the appellation which I gave him in my letters. I did not wish to burden Philippa with the knowledge of the man who was behaving in such horrific ways. Besides, I did not know at the time if it would get me into a great deal of trouble if I named him.”

  Her lips tightened. “I'm so sorry it was such a difficult circumstance. For both of you.”

  “War is a difficult circumstance,” Grey drawled. “I don't know why we try to make it any different. So many people try to make it a jolly thing of boys going off to war to have a good time. It's not.”

  Merrill tensed, wary. “It's true, but it is also one of the only professions for a gentleman. So many young men have no opportunity except to join the Navy. Not everyone is born to inherit a title or have wealth, Grey.”

  Grey’s gut twisted. “Forgive me. I meant no offense. You’re correct. But that doesn't make it right. Young boys going off to be officers, barely more than children. It is astounding. And the system itself is just the most barbaric thing in the entire world.”

  “Perhaps you would have enjoyed the Army,” Merrill said, attempting to bring levity to the conversation.

  “I doubt it,” Grey replied. The army was only slightly less brutal than the Navy. “I don't follow orders well.”

  Once again, Philippa looked from man to man. “Who truly enjoys following orders? Certainly not myself. And yet as a woman, I do find myself obliged to follow them almost daily.”

  Grey ground his teeth down. It was true. Women were condemned to follow. And if they stepped out of line, they were often punished or condemned. He remembered her letters, the constant comments about her father, about her sisters, about how they had little life wi
th the Earl of Harrowton at the helm of their future.

  He inclined his head, acknowledging his dislike for her position.

  “It's a fair point, Philippa,” he said softly. “You do not have to worry about the battles that we did, but you have battles of a different kind. Do you not? But now it seems that your father has gone to Italy, and you shall not have to worry about him forcing you into a poor marriage.”

  Merrill drew in a breath. “Had your father arranged an unfortunate marriage for you, Lady Phillipa? Grey certainly never mentioned-”

  “No,” she cut in quickly, “I had no intentions of marrying anyone, though I'm sure my father had ideas. My older sister, Augusta, had to be married first in his estimation and my sister, Felicity. . . Well, that was a very difficult state of affairs. We thought that she was marrying for love, but it did not turn out to be so. Luckily, she escaped the machinations of evil men at the last moment.”

  Grey tensed. “Yes, I heard the story. I'm terribly sorry.”

  “My father is a bounder,” Philippa said truthfully.

  Grey studied her, looking for signs of pain.

  Philippa was such a good, kind soul that he hated the idea that she had suffered so brutally at the hands of her father's machinations and that idiot con man who’d tried to take advantage of Felicity.

  He had not been here to stop it.

  Thank God, Augusta's husband had the power to end it.

  “I am very sorry that you had to go through that, Philippa,” he said with genuine remorse. “Perhaps not marrying is a wise decision.”

  Philippa scowled. “I didn't say I was never going to marry.”

  Grey swallowed. He hated the idea of her marrying anyone at all. Which was exceptionally selfish. But there it was.

  “Perhaps. . . I'll find you a husband,” he said suddenly, saying aloud the mad thought he’d had the day before. But she couldn’t just marry anyone.

  He couldn’t allow herself to put herself at risk, could he?

  Merrill coughed, looking suddenly perplexed.

  “Don't be ridiculous,” she declared. “No one will find me a husband. I'm not interested in letting anyone dictate my future. If I need advice, though, of course I shall ask for it.”

  He nodded, suppressing a smile even as his insides rioted with conflicting emotions.

  He admired her for her determination and the fact that she was not going to hand her future over to him. Considering that he’d cut himself out of her life.

  And now she forced her way into his.

  It was most strange.

  He wondered why she'd done it.

  Had not the absence of his letters caused her enough consternation?

  Why had that not been enough to drive her away? He focused on the pain in his leg, hoping that would distract him from pain of a very different kind.

  He had hoped that the abrupt break in communication would ensure they’d never meet, but here she was standing before him discussing Captain Adams with Merrill.

  It made so little sense.

  The blasted truth was that he wanted to cross to her, take her into his arms, drive his hands into her hair, and kiss her for the rest of his life.

  But he never could.

  “I was just telling Merrill here that I'm going to return up to the castle,” he said with as little exaggeration as he could manage. “There's no point in my staying here if you're going to come and visit me every day for your duration.”

  A pained looked crossed her face. “Forgive me. I don't mean to be such a nuisance, but I brought a few things for you.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, his heart racing at her care, “but that's not necessary.”

  Merrill crossed to her, smiling as if sensing his friend’s tension. “It is very kind of you to look after him. He doesn't allow it, you know, being looked after. I have to literally force him.”

  Merrill winked but then said softly, “You should've seen the condition he was in after he was wounded on ship and what I had to do to help him return and heal. He thought he could do it on his own, don’t you know?”

  Grey growled a warning “Merrill.”

  Merrill gave him an overly innocent stare. “Yes, Grey?”

  Philippa eyes sparked with interest. “I can imagine that he is very stubborn. And now he's a duke, so it is very difficult to gainsay him.”

  “Indeed,” Merrill agreed enthusiastically as though he’d found an ally. “It is only our brotherhood as fellow officers that has made it possible for me to tell him anything at all. He even outranked me aboard ship, you know?” Merrill grinned and said conspiratorially, “So I understand how to maneuver him without upsetting him too much.”

  Grey folded his arms over his chest. “I’m right here, and one wouldn't know you’d managed it by how you're behaving right now.”

  Merrill gave him a cheeky grin.

  “Now what have you brought?” Grey asked, determined to change the subject.

  She drew in a fortifying breath. “Well, I thought a picnic could be nice outside. Fresh air is remarkable for one’s constitution. And I also brought this bottle of a particular oil made from specific plants that improve scarring. I thought it might ease some of the wounds.”

  Her hopeful face nearly crushed him. A picnic and a bit of oil? She was so kind. Even with her father, she’d not been exposed to the true brutality of this life. Did she truly think. . .?

  He shook his thoughts away and said gently, “It is very kind of you, but your help isn’t necessary. I shall be returning to the castle later today, and I’ll see you at dinner. As soon as your visit is done, that will be the end of our encountering each other, Philippa. Do you understand?”

  Her face paled as she studied his resolved appearance. “I understand,” she said. “I should never wish to force my presence on anyone.”

  Grey swallowed back a wave of self-loathing. He hated hurting her. But this couldn’t continue. “Isn't that what you're doing now?”

  Merrill looked like a dog who had witnessed a horrible crime and wished to run away from the room at that.

  Philippa gasped, but then her face grew stern. “I should thank you for your honesty and for the fact that you wish to be so absolutely clear in our relationship. Forgive me for my attempt at kindness. I miscalculated my assistance.”

  With that she gave a sharp curtsy and whirled around, leaving them both stunned by the magnificence of her exit.

  “That was a bit hard done,” Merrill whispered in the wake of her absence.

  “It needs to be hard done,” he ground out, more self-loathing coating him. “I don't want her thinking that she can soften me.”

  “Can't she?” Merrill asked quietly. “It might be good for—”

  “No,” he cut in. “I was soft before and that got me into this mess. There's not a chance in hell that I can allow it. We need to focus. We need to get this done and get Captain Adams sorted.”

  Merrill nodded. “But what about the future? Are you not to allow any sort of happiness in your life then?”

  “Happiness,” Anthony scoffed. “Happiness is for fools. Revenge? Getting things done? That's for me.”

  Chapter 7

  Night fell fast and dark.

  She felt like a fool.

  Perhaps she was a fool.

  Good God.

  Pippa cringed as she stared out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars through the polished glass pane. Cornwall’s nights were crystal clear, allowing for excellent stargazing.

  She was tempted to run outside and to turn her face upwards, drinking in the light from those magical pin pricks.

  Her flight of fancy was not helpful. Melancholy. A sudden, deep dose of it. It was the only explanation for her wild thoughts.

  She folded her arms under her breasts, digging her nails into her arms.

  Why had she done such a silly thing?

  A picnic basket! How had she thought that might help?

  She'd wanted to prove to him tha
t she cared despite his difficulties. It hadn't been because she wanted something in return, but he'd cast her out so abruptly and, well, made her feel like a silly little girl.

  She was not a silly little girl.

  She had combated more difficulties than most young ladies her age. And she had not led a charmed life. Something that he knew full well.

  She had miscalculated though. A bit of fresh air and medicine was not going to aid him. She was beginning to doubt she could.

  And she knew she was walking a fine line. After all, she was not about to allow him to treat her like a whipping post in her attempts to help him.

  She was not someone to beg for scraps of affection or attention. She'd done that almost her entire life from her father. And then finally learned that she would never get it. She would not make the same mistake twice.

  Even though he had evoked such strong feelings in her these many months, she would not punish herself by attempting to reclaim them. If he truly felt nothing for her, they couldn’t be.

  And, from the way he had looked at her today, he did not. It did not matter what had occurred before between them.

  Almost certainly, she was going to have go. She couldn't possibly stay when she was so entirely unwanted by her host. She'd have to tell Clara that she could no longer be her guest. She'd go and stay with Augusta.

  It was the only thing she could do under such circumstances.

  Though she loathed to part with her friend, and abandon all hopes of Anthony, she would not stay where she was not welcome. This was the duke's house. Not Clara's.

  She turned away from the dark night outside the windows and eyed the glowing fire. She longed to feel some warmth other than its blaze. But the truth was, she’d felt cold for quite some time. She'd been an optimist for everyone, trying to find the best possible routes and ways to happiness. She'd gone to great lengths to secure Augusta's. She'd known that Augusta would be happy with her Blackstone, but now she was unsure what to do for herself.

  She swallowed. Why had it had to go so wrong?

  The idea that Grey would choose someone for her to marry?! It was preposterous. She should've thrust her fist in his face right there on the spot. What was he thinking? Were all men idiots to some degree?