Free Miss Grimsleys Oxford Career by Carla Kelly Page B

silence for a long moment.
    That they did resemble one another, she would not deny. Her fingers strayed to her own blond hair, cut almost as short as his, and just as curly. She sighed. Even this similarity would fool no one.
    “It won't work, Gordon,” she began. No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she knew she would do what he asked.
    After a lifetime of careful strategy with his little sister, Gordon knew it too. He sat up, still cradling his head, his eyes alert for the first time.
    “Under ordinary circumstances, I would agree with you,” he said, his tone normal as he watched her closely for adverse reactions. “But we are dealing with my don, who is probably more ancient than the Magna Carta, and nearsighted to boot.”
    Ellen bit her lip, but she listened, wondering why she was listening even as she did so.
Drat all brothers
, she thought to herself.
They should be buried at birth and dug up at twenty-one
.
    “You need merely to swathe yourself in my student's gown,” Gordon said. He took another sip of the refilled teacup that Becky had placed at his elbow, along with a plate of gingersnaps. “Sit away from the window, where the room is lightest, and he will never know.”
    “Gordon, when I walk in, he will observe how short I am!” Ellen insisted.
    Gordon was calm now, in control. “No, he won't, sister. You will be seated long before he arrives. I swear he forgets every week where our assigned meeting place is. All you have to do is take notes now and then, say ‘hmmm’ and ‘ahh,’ in all the right places, and remain seated until he leaves. Nothing could be simpler.”
    “The gown will not be sufficient,” she grumbled, casting about for argument. “You know very well I will be found out the moment I attempt to cross the quadrangle in my dress and your gown.”
    “I already considered that,” he replied and nodded gingerly toward a bundle near the back door. Becky hurried to fetch it. Gordon opened the bundle and pulled out a pair of trousers and a frilled shirt.
    Ellen shook her head. “I couldn't possibly,” she said. “Besides, Gordon, I will not fit into your clothes!”
    He eyed her patiently, fondly. “These belong to the chap I share my quarters with, El. He's a little taller than you, but not by much. And here are his shoes and stockings. Come on, El, what do you say?”
    She snatched the clothes from him and held them to her. “I should leave you to your fate, brother,” she began. “You brought this all upon yourself, you know.”
    “I know,” he agreed, his voice contrite. He got down on one knee and looked up at her.
    Tears started in her eyes, and she touched the top of his head.
    Why should I “wink at your discords,”
she thought.
And here I am, quoting the Bard like Ralph. Why should I be an instrument to hurry you ultimately to Spain?
She straightened her shoulders and turned to Becky.
    “Becky, can you get this bundle to my room? I must beg off from embroidery with Miss Dignam.”
    Becky nodded and dashed away with the bundle. Gordon rose, resting his hands on the table. “Just this once, Ellen,” he said. “Then perhaps you can show me how to write a scholarly essay.”
    “Perhaps I can. Wait for me here.”
    She met Miss Dignam in the hall and made no effort to disguise her agitation. Her heart in her shoes, she hoped her face looked as pale as it felt. She put her hand to her forehead, gratified that her fingers shook.
    “Miss Dignam, I must beg your excuse from embroidery,” she said. It was an easy matter for tears to stand out on her long lashes. It was an art she had learned from Horatia. Her chin quivered and Miss Dignam succumbed.
    “My dear! You must go lie down!” the headmistress exclaimed. “Are you well?”
    Ellen shook her head. She looked about to make sure that no one lingered to listen and stood on her tiptoes. “It is a female matter, Miss Dignam.”
    The headmistress colored and patted Ellen's arm. “Go lie down, my dear,”