The Bluestocking's Dilemma Page 3

  Suspicious of Lavvy’s motives though she might be, Caro could not repay the many kindnesses of the beauty’s family by forsaking their eldest daughter. Nor could she ignore the real note of pleading in Lavvy’s letter. Cocking a rueful eyebrow at her friend, she apologized, “Helena, I fear that her objections are unanswerable. They did offer me a home for so many years and she truly is desperate. I feel that we must go.”

  “Of course you must, but are you certain you wish me to accompany you? After all, I could remain here and carry out your wishes.”

  “What, and leave me to face the ton alone without any hope of intelligent conversation for the entire Season? Never, Helena. If I go, you must definitely accompany me,” Caro responded firmly.

  ‘“Very well then, I shall be delighted to go with you and shall take it as my duty to ensure you attend as many museums, concerts, and exhibitions as you do balls and ridottos.”

  Caro smiled gratefully at her. “Thank you, Helena. You truly are the best of friends.” She sighed. “I hate to leave just at this particular moment, but William can carry out all my instructions and I feel certain that he would be far more amused running things in my absence than he would be as an extraneous servant in a fully staffed household. I shall, however, take Dimmock to look after the coach and horses. No doubt Lavvy remains as indifferent and unenthusiastic a rider as ever, but I do not intend to allow her dislike of strenuous exercise to curtail ours. Perhaps Tim can come to help Dimmock.” And with this last remark, Caro jumped up to go apprise the household of her plans, leaving Helena to thank Providence once again for having brought Lady Caroline Waverly into her life.

  Helena, the only daughter of a clergyman who had rejected the fat livings that his illustrious family and connections could have procured him in favor of providing true spiritual guidance to a poverty-stricken parish in Yorkshire, had been left nearly destitute when her well-intentioned but improvident parent had died. Her grand relations, who had cut off all contact with such an undutiful son who had felt he must serve the church instead of allowing it to advance him, were obviously not going to be forthcoming with any offers of assistance. Aside from a very fine library of classics and an education that would have put many an Oxonian’s to shame, she had no means of support. In desperation, Helena had written to her father’s most constant correspondent, the Reverend Titus Chillingford. Knowing him to be as immersed in works of the early church fathers as her own father had been, Helena had not held out much hope from that corner and was therefore most surprised and pleased to learn that the Reverend Chillingford’s sister was proprietress of a school in Bath and dreadfully in need of someone to replace a wayward instructress who had run off with the dancing master.

  Having consigned her precious books to the care of Titus, Helena arrived in Bath exhausted after the long journey and demoralized by the loss of both her family and her home. Miss Chillingford had been all that was kind, but to Helena, accustomed as she was to intimate conversations with a first-rate scholar, the task of teaching geography and French to a bevy of silly schoolgirls was dull in the extreme. That was until Lady Caroline had appeared on the scene.

  Helena had immediately recognized a spirit as independent and intellectually curious as her own and the more she came to know of the serious girl with the intelligent gray eyes, the more she came to care for her. After Lord Waverly’s death, Helena, aching for the distress she had read in her favorite student’s face and knowing full well the feelings that must accompany such a loss, had been the only one able to offer some degree of solace to the girl.

  Her appreciation of Caro had only increased since that young lady had set herself up as mistress of Waverly. Helena admired her former pupil’s grasp of the theories of modem agriculture and applauded her resolve to run an estate that would be a model of productivity. As a companion, she thoroughly enjoyed the impish humor, the energy, and the genuine care and concern that Caro lavished on those she allowed close to her. Quiet and reserved with strangers, Caro was vivacious, warm, and loving with her intimates— a delightful friend for those with the wit to understand and appreciate her. Helena did sometimes wish for a wider social circle for Caro, but she was the first to admit that the society of such a hamlet as Berkhamstead had little to offer as far as peers for Lady Caroline.

  Squire Althorpe and Sir George Belham were the kindest of men—upright, responsible landlords who kept a protective eye on their newest neighbor—but they were bluff country gentlemen whose interests extended no farther than hunting. Even Caro’s grasp of land management exceeded theirs and they had never encountered a copy of Black-wood’s Edinburgh Magazine or The Edinburgh Review in their lives, much less read one. Both of these hearty landowners had been all that was helpful in aiding Caro to establish herself, and while they were genuinely supportive of their unusual neighbor, they were slightly baffled by her. Nevertheless, she so excelled at all those skills they could appreciate—superb horsemanship, command of her tenants—that they were ready to give her the benefit of the doubt in areas where they were less knowledgeable. In fact, their wives and daughters who shared no common interest with Berkhamstead’s newest inhabitant were more inclined to be critical. But they followed the men’s lead and included Caro in all their invitations, most of which she gracefully declined on the pretext of still being in mourning. To Helena, however, she confided, “Frankly I do not know what I shall do when I can no longer use that as a reasonable excuse. They are so very dull and their conversation, even if it rises above fashion to the more enlightening topic of the condition of the local poor, is decidedly flat.’’

  Thus Helena, as well as Susan, rejoiced in the invitation to London. While she sympathized with her friend’s distaste for the empty rounds of the ton, she nevertheless was dismayed by the prospect of such a warm and vital creature spending the rest of her days as a country recluse. Though it would put an end to her idyllic situation, Helena hoped as desperately as did Susan that Caro would find someone in town who could appreciate her, challenge her, love her, and give her the opportunity to grow and blossom in a way that Helena, despite her skill as a teacher, could not.

  Helena was well enough acquainted with the world to realize that she expected a great deal of society in this regard and she was sanguine enough to admit that, though Caro did not have a loving helpmeet to share her life, she did have a richer existence and exerted far more control over it than did most women. Still, Helena sighed as she closed her review and returned it to the pile on the table, she did wish Caro could find someone worthy of her. And the sooner they got to London, the more likely Caro was to encounter such a person.

  Chapter 4

  Always organized and efficient and blessed with a staff who shared these capabilities, Caro, once fixed upon the project of removing to London, made her preparations with dispatch. Within a week the household was set to function smoothly without their mistress’s immediate guidance and support and there was little for Caro to do except pack her few possessions and be off. It was to this end that Caro was in the library one morning deciding which volumes of her father’s well-stocked library were essential to her existence and which were not. She had just regretfully returned Plutarch’s Lives to the shelf when she was interrupted by William announcing, “There be a Marquess of Everleigh to see you, my lady.”

  “Drat!” she exclaimed, climbing down from the ladder and picking her way through the pile of volumes on the floor. “I suppose I must see him,” she sighed, knowing that William, who remained entirely unimpressed by such worldly accoutrements as titles, must consider the visitor to be someone of importance if he so audibly addressed Caro as “my lady.” It also meant that whoever it was, was within earshot. Frantically she tried to straighten her hair which had escaped its pins during her exertions and she just had time to wipe the smudge of dust off her cheek as her caller entered.

  William had been entirely correct. The Marquess of Everleigh was an impressive figure of a man. Over six feet, he looked forbidding in
the extreme as he entered, riding crop in hand. The severe lines of the dark green riding coat emphasized the thick dark hair, high cheekbones, and brilliant blue eyes set deep under dark brows, while the exquisite tailoring revealed powerful shoulders and a narrow waist. The set of his jaw and the compressed line of finely shaped lips betrayed that this was not a social call and Caro, coming forward to greet this oddly familiar visitor, approached him warily as she cast madly about in her mind for some clue as to their connection.

  “My name cannot be unknown to you, ma’am, as you responded with the curtest of refusals to my exceedingly generous offer to purchase several acres of virtually useless farmland.” There was more than a hint of annoyance in the deep voice.

  Now she remembered—the letter! And yet, the letter on heavy paper embossed with the marquess’s coat of arms lying on her desk, where she had tossed it in fury on reading the proposal, could not fully account for the strange feeling that she had encountered him somewhere before. However, Lady Caroline Waverly was not one to resist a challenge from the Marquess of Everleigh or anyone else. “It is not ‘useless farmland,’ or at least it won’t be when I am through with it.” Chin up, she stared so directly in her visitor’s eye that he, too, experienced the sudden sensation that he had met this spirited lady somewhere before.

  “And how do you propose, ma’am, to make it more valuable than I can by digging a canal through it?” he challenged.

  “I am sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but the methods I envision for the cultivation of my fields will yield them far more productive than any canal could. Furthermore, the profits from my success will be kept right here in Berkhamstead instead of lining the pocket of some grasping manufacturer who will no doubt waste them indulging himself in the fleshpots of London or expend them in some vulgar display of wealth in the north.”

  If the Marquess had appeared imposing before, he was positively threatening now as he pulled himself to his full height and glowered down at her. “I am that despicable person you so scornfully describe, ma’am. And I will have you know I do it to provide work and to lower the prices of necessary goods for all those soldiers so blithely cast aside by the society they offered their lives to preserve in the miserable campaign in the Peninsula and the slaughter that was Waterloo.”

  Something about the way he pronounced the words “miserable campaign in the Peninsula” struck a chord in Caro’s memory and carried her back to a winter’s night long ago. She could smell the pungent scent of pine boughs as a young soldier described to her the hardships he and his fellow companions-at-arms were enduring in Spain. Of course! The face was a little less bronzed and he had filled out since recovering from his wounds. The crinkly wrinkles at the comers of his eyes were more noticeable and the strong features more pronounced now that the softening effects of youth had disappeared, but it was most definitely the dashing Captain Daventry who stood before her.

  “But . . . but I thought you were only a younger son!” she blurted out, forgetting entirely that her visitor was not privy to the memories recalled by his words.

  “What!” The marquess was nonplussed.

  “I beg your pardon,” Caro apologized. The man was looking at her as if she had run mad, and indeed, it must appear that way. “I mean, I thought that is why Lavvy refused you, because you were a younger son with no expectations.” Really, Caro, you are babbling like an idiot, she scolded herself.

  But comprehension had dawned on the marquess. “And you’re the Christmas Waif.”

  “The Christmas Waif?” It was Caro’s turn to look blank.

  “Yes. You were sitting up there on the top step swathed in that enormous shawl, your eyes as big as saucers and you looked so tiny and forlorn that I was sure you were some poor lost thing the Mandevilles had given shelter.’’

  “I was.” She was amused. “But I am also Lavvy’s cousin, Caro Waverly. My papa and her mama were brother and sister. Papa was in the diplomatic service and ordinarily I lived with him at whatever post he served, but that time he had gone to Russia and did not wish to take a child to such an inhospitable climate. So I was dispatched to school and the Mandevilles gave me a home at holidays.”

  “Don’t tell me your father was Hugo Waverly?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “You knew him?” she asked eagerly.

  “Yes. I had occasion to come across him in Vienna while he was attached to Castlereagh at the Congress. I expect it was that trip to Russia and his knowledge of their political aspirations that made him invaluable to the Foreign Secretary. For my part, I found him a brilliant conversationalist and an original thinker.’’

  “Yes, he was and he always shared his life and thoughts with me for as long as I can remember. I miss him dreadfully. After being with him, society seems quite dull.” Caro gave herself a mental shake lest he think her wallowing in self-pity. “But I keep myself tolerably amused with Waverly Park. It was a relief to leave Miss Chillingford’s and all those silly girls to come here.”

  “And become a ferocious bluestocking,” the marquess continued.

  “I am not a bluestocking!” She was indignant. “I don’t stuff my head with facts merely to parade my erudition. I just prefer books to people. One can pick them up and lay them down whenever one wishes. They give one companionship and stimulation without demanding that one be charming or beautiful or up on the latest on-dit. Besides, I like to learn new things and I like to be useful.”

  “And yet you think that you are being useful in opposing my canal scheme.” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “Yes, I do,” she defended herself stoutly. “Mine is a superior scheme to yours because it will continue to employ people and to produce food cheaply for them, while yours will only be good while the canal is being built. In the end the only people who will benefit from the cheaper prices afforded by water transport will be those in the cities far away from Berkhamstead. At least I shall be able to see whether my efforts are effective.”

  The marquess shook his head, but the gleam in his eyes was now one of interest rather than anger. He so rarely encountered people who held strong opinions or beliefs that he found her a refreshing change—even though her plans were directly opposed to his, and misguided at that.

  Caro tilted her head, trying to read the expression on the marquess’s face. He was so quiet that she felt certain she had made some sort of an impression, but she was not altogether certain just exactly what sort of an impression it was. “Besides, this land is all I have of my family. It is my family. Surely, now that you are Marquess of Everleigh, you must be rich as the Golden Ball and able to purchase any land you wish.” She raised a speculative eyebrow.

  “One might be pardoned for harboring such a belief, but one would have reckoned without such stiff-rumps as you and Colonel Folliot-Smythe.”

  “Oh, the colonel. He is opposed to any scheme that isn’t of his own devising. Now that he is no longer in the army, he takes out all his combative instincts on his neighbors. I daresay that if I were to complain to him about you and tell him how pleased I am that he did not accept your offer, he would turn around and snap it up in an instant.’’

  A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “While you, of course, are not the least bit combative. As I recall, your reply to my modest proposal fairly bristled with indignation. Why I am amazed that I had the temerity to seek you out after receiving it.”

  “Perhaps I was a bit strong, but I had good reason to oppose you. He is merely being contrary,” Caro defended herself spiritedly.

  “And now you propose machinations by which to deliver him to me all unwitting. You are a devious person. Lady Caroline Waverly, but if it will accomplish my purpose and allow both of us to bring prosperity to those we wish to help, then by all means, do what you must. I shall not give you away.’’ The grin was wider now and there was a distinct twinkle in the blue eyes.

  Caro was not to be mollified. “Very well then. I see him every morning on my ride. I shall do what I can. In the meant
ime, you must give your word to stop pestering me for I warn you, I shan’t give in.”

  “Very well, young stiff-neck, then we are agreed.” The marquess held out a shapely hand.

  Caro hesitated a moment before taking it. “Very well. Thank you. William will see you out.” And with that, Caro rang the bell, hoping that for once in his life, William would answer with dispatch. She was not disappointed, as William, with the confidence of a privileged retainer, had been hovering close to the door from the moment he had closed it behind the marquess.

  “Now, there is a woman who was glad to see the back of me,” Nicholas remarked as he mounted his horse. Caesar’s ears twitched and he rolled an eye at his master. “No, truly, she did not care for my offer in the least, but I believe she liked me better at the end than she did at the outset.’’ Caesar snorted, fretful at his rider’s loquacity and impatient to be gone. “A bluestocking of the worst sort, she won’t rest until she’s worn out the parish with her good deeds. Not that she isn’t something of an original.” A reminiscent gleam lit his eyes as he remembered her indignant rejection at his relegation of her to the ranks of female pedagogy. Yes, decidedly an original, the marquess concluded. He hoped that she wouldn’t immure herself in the country becoming more and more circumscribed in her existence and narrower and narrower in her views. She did have a certain spark and he would hate to see it quenched in the well-meaning but arid existence of an ape-leader.

  For her part, Caro had not dismissed the marquess from her thoughts as quickly as she had from her library. So, that was what had become of the dashing Captain Nicholas Daventry. Instead of covering himself with more glory on the battlefield, he appeared to have inherited the title which had been so noticeably lacking in Cousin Lavinia’s eyes. How ironic. Did he suffer from the unfairness of it all or had he truly retained his perspective on his former love as he seemed to have done that Christmas so long ago? Caro was more curious than she cared to admit, even to herself. Well, he was the Marquess of Everleigh now and undoubtedly the darling of the ton. Even someone as unfamiliar with the world of fashion as Caro Waverly could recognize in Nicholas Daventry a man who would capture the interest and acclaim of the Upper Ten Thousand. Unlike so many of society’s members, he was possessed of a physical presence as imposing as his title.