Free The Baron and the Bluestocking by G. G. Vandagriff Page A

be an object of pity or charity.”
    “It produces a great deal of false pride.”
    “Were you in reduced circumstances, would you wish all society to know?” she asked.
    “Assuredly not. But as you have so skillfully pointed out, as a man, I am more empowered to change my lot.”
    Lady Virginia said, “Most likely by marrying money!” She laughed.
    “A woman also has that option,” Christian said. “However, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge is far too high-minded to put that choice into play.”
    To his surprise, the schoolteacher’s face turned scarlet, and she would not meet his eyes. What was this? Had she changed her mind on that score? Who was she to marry then? Blakeley? He clenched his fists.
    Just then, the dinner gong sounded. Christian offered his arm to Miss Whitcombe-Hodge and proceeded into the dining room. The duchess directed his partner to the seat on the Duke’s right hand, as guest of honor. Shrewsbury was seated at the duchess’s right hand, which pleased him. He was very fond of her. And she was Sophie’s sister.
    Over the soup, he said, “I recently received a note from Trowbridge with a post-script from Sophie. I was disappointed to hear they would stay in Italy for the winter.”
    “Would you not prefer the Italian climate, if you had the chance to winter there?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.
    “They are coming home eventually, are they not? Or have they decided that Buck and Fanny have the right idea about living abroad?”
    The duchess laughed. Leaning toward him she spoke, sotto voce, “I believe Frank is delaying their homecoming until you are safely married.”
    Christian had not blushed since he was a boy, but he felt tell-tale heat moving up into his face. Worse, he could not think of a reply. Giving him a knowing look, the duchess turned to Lord Kent, who was seated on her other side. “How does Melissa down at Oaksey Hall?”
    Just how many people knew of his unrequited love for the Lady Trowbridge? Had he been that transparent? A waiter placed a dish of turbot in front of him. Christian stared at it as if it were a live snake.
    The chubby Marquis of Somerset sat on his right. “Wool-gathering, Shrewsbury?”
    “Uh, yes. Thinking about the school. Do you intend to put up some blunt?”
    “Ruisdell has me thinking about it. Looking forward to the gel’s report. Stunner, ain’t she?”
    Christian looked down the table at Hélène Whitcombe-Hodge. “Your own wife is far more amenable, I assure you. That lady can have a most abrasive manner.”
    “Did I not see her on your arm?”
    “She was. But can you imagine a combination of Mary Woolstonecraft and a vicar’s daughter? Hardly my cup of tea. In either incarnation.”
    Somerset chuckled. “Ain’t I seen you around with the Mowbray chit?”
    “Don’t place any bets yet. It’s early days,” Christian said, wondering how many others were speculating on his future.

{ 8 }
     
    HÉLÈNE COULD NOT HELP but contrast the respectful attentions the duke paid her now with his lordly manner at their last meeting.
    “Lord Shrewsbury tells me you are a student of Mary Woolstonecraft’s works,” he said.
    She drew herself up. “I know she has fallen out of favor these days. She did make rather a mess of her life in the end, but I find some of her early ideas very sound, before she fell prey to her baser emotions.”
    “What is it that you admire about her?”
    “Mostly that she believed a woman’s intellect to be on an equal footing with a man’s. I believe she demonstrated that in her early writings. I think the most important thing she said was that women possess sensibilities that make us more able to ferret out the truth of certain matters. These sensibilities are like another sense, giving us a broader vision.”
    The duke considered this. “I wish my wife were not at the other end of the table. I would like you to become acquainted with her. She is a novelist, and I believe her to be one of the most intelligent people of