The Baron and the Bluestocking (13 page)

His temper shot sky high. The little ninny. “You have absolutely no idea what you are speaking of. Consider Miss Woolstonecraft for a moment, then! What is her history, apart from her expressed opinions? When she lived with Imlay in France, she had a child. He sent her to Sweden when he had no more use for her. Upon her return to England, she called herself
Mrs.
Imlay. Her situation proved insupportable. If you will recall, she attempted suicide! Intimate acts mean different things to men than they do to women. Especially when they yield children! Is that plain enough for you?”

Hélène’s mouth had dropped open and her cheeks were cherry-red. “I detest you, Christian Elliott, Baron Shrewsbury! You are not my guardian in any sense of the word.” She began to sputter, “What I do is my own business. You have absolutely no right to speak to me thus. I do have a brain in my head. And I know very well just how to take care of myself should any gentleman attempt to take advantage in a way I do not approve.”

Christian was unutterably chagrined. Their conversation had taken place in hisses and could not be overheard; nevertheless. he felt many people watching them. Taking her arm gently, he said, “Do not resist. People are watching. In your position you cannot afford to cause gossip.”

Leading her out onto the dance floor, he was surprised to find the dance was a waltz. One of Delacroix’s bespoken dances, as a matter of fact. Christian took her almost unyielding frame into his arms and began spinning her about the room. He fixed his eyes on her angry ones. To his relief, she soon relaxed and her eyes lost their heat.

Feeling the music running through her frame, he realized a softness in her that he had not know existed. Did she even realize it? Did she know she was enjoying this dance with him? That they were surprisingly perfect partners? It slowly dawned upon him as he held her, gazing into those now soft and smoky eyes that no woman had ever felt as light and as right in his arms as she.

How could that be when they were of such diametrically opposed temperaments? She yielded to the subtle signals his body sent as they moved about the floor, proving that their bodies, at least, were in tune. It was a heady thing to feel her following his lead for once, as though he had somehow tamed her. Her beautiful face was radiant and wide-eyed with wonder. Neither of them had expected to be taken off guard like this.

It was soon evident that he was on fire for her, and from the flush in her cheeks, he thought she might feel the same for him.

{ 12 }

HÉLÈNE SPARED A BRIEF THOUGHT for the fact that she had not felt anything like this when she had danced with Lord Delacroix. She felt freed, catapulting headlong into something that was wondrous and bright, but she knew not what it was—only that Lord Shrewsbury was taking her there.

Her anger melted away like ice in a tropical climate. Hélène knew herself to be absolutely defenseless. But she felt no danger, only a desire for the dance to go on and on.

When the waltz ended at last, they stood still in each other’s arms as the crowd left the floor. She bit her bottom lip, unable to take her eyes from her partner’s.

At last, she said, “If I am not careful, I will start to forget that this is just a time out of time. My real life is not to be spent waltzing in ballrooms.”

He released her, his green eyes turning darker. “I would not trade that dance for anything, but you are right. We must remember that you are a schoolteacher and I am your patron.”

The words cut right through her and she dropped her arms. “Yes. It is best that I remember I am a poor vicar’s daughter forced to earn her living, thus far beneath your touch.” Her heart ached at the reminder. “It was a mistake to bring me here where I have forgotten my place.” Hélène read confusion on the baron’s face. She knew he had forgotten his place just as surely as she had forgotten hers. His lips compressed into a firm line, and he looked as though he would say something. Before he could do so, she turned her back on him and moved off the dance floor. He followed her, but her next partner was waiting, eager for his dance.

She spent the remainder of the evening in a daze, dancing with unknown gentlemen. When Lord Delacroix approached her to claim his waltz, she said, “You will have to excuse me, my lord. I have the headache.”

She and Shrewsbury were both silent when they made their way home in the carriage. They left the conversation to Lady Virginia and Lady Clarice, who chattered about people she did not know and things she did not care about. All she knew was that Lord Shrewsbury’s eyes were fixed on her and she felt as though she was burning.

*~*~*

That night, she would have welcomed sleep, but it did not come. In her anger, she tried unsuccessfully to ban the memory of her waltz with Shrewsbury. Mentally she chastised herself. From his words about Delacroix it was clear that Shrewsbury thought her only fit for a liaison. And, of course, he was oh-so-noble that he would not descend to that any more than he would descend to marry someone in her position. Though the attraction between them was real and palpable, she must ignore it. It felt as though a giant were squeezing her chest, and tears burned behind her eyelids.

He was only a man. A man who quite wrongly thought himself superior to her. Tears fell onto her pillow. He would fight his attraction to her with everything in him. He was a slave to his class. To his self-importance.

But for a time tonight, he had forgotten everything but her and she him. Those green eyes had been warm when he looked at her. They had seen a desirable woman. Not a schoolteacher. Not a penniless vicar’s daughter. And when she looked into those eyes, her protective shield had lifted for a moment. She had let herself be admired as a woman. It had felt wonderful beyond anything she had ever felt. Her brittle heart had warmed. Her militant stance had softened in his arms.

And then, they had remembered. It was probably the only time in her whole life she would experience that sort of exchange. Something wise inside her told her she needed to mourn it. Then, label it, docket it, and put it safely away.

After her weeping had diminished, she forced herself to think of Delacroix. Was Shrewsbury right about him? Did he have only dalliance in mind? Or was Shrewsbury convinced that no one from his class could have any different feelings for her than he did?

It was hard to believe Delacroix had any attraction for her, for she certainly felt none for him. That was a mystery. He was certainly the handsomer of the two men, and certainly more careful of her feelings—flattering her and giving her to understand that he had plans for her in his life. But she could not picture herself as his wife, even were she to convince him to take up her political agenda.

Maybe she just needed to get to know him better. Perhaps he realized this, and that was the reason behind his desire to follow her to Chipping Norton. She had thought the idea ludicrous, but perhaps it had merit after all.

Marriage to such a man, who was interested in learning of and possibly implementing her ideas in Parliament would not mean giving up her principles. In fact, it would be the very opposite. Had she not thought of marrying Samuel for the very same reasons? But Delacroix would have more influence than a junior member of the Commons. One might almost say the idea was heaven sent. Not the least because it would keep her away from the dangerous attraction she felt for Baron Shrewsbury. Marrying
him
was not an option.

Nevertheless, when she slept, it was with her evening gloves against her cheeks. The evening gloves that had covered her hands when Christian Elliott, Baron Shrewsbury had held them. And had kissed when he left her at the door to Blossom House.

*~*~*

The following morning, she felt herself unequal to seeing either of the barons, or even Ginny. She had heard all of her life about Hatchard’s Book Shop and convinced Lady Clarice to take her there. Spending her morning browsing among the books, she almost forgot her concerns.

She wrote down the titles of a number of books she would like to order when she was in funds. Remembering Shrewsbury’s words about Bentham and Locke, she decided she must become familiar with these philosophers of the Enlightenment. She also intended to order three of the duchess’s novels.

Afterward, Lady Clarice took her to Gunter’s. Dressed in pomegranate-colored muslin, Hélène felt very unlike herself sitting among the
ton
in the fashionable confectionery, eating a lemon ice.

“Now dear,” Lady Clarice said, “What would you like to do with the rest of your day?”

“What plans have you, my lady?”

“Nothing that cannot be put off. Would you like to go to the British Museum to see the Elgin marbles?”

Hélène deliberated. “Papa said it was a crime that they were taken from Greece, but I must confess that as long as they are here, I would like to see them. I shall never have the opportunity to come close to anything of Classical antiquity again.”

“Then we shall go!” Lady Clarice bounded up and they went to fetch a hackney.

The British Museum, of which she had heard so much from Papa, consisted of large, cold rooms lit only by windows. The marbles were very popular. Many couples were strolling between the large antiquities carried from legendary locales such as the Parthenon. Hélène paused before the caryatid that had formerly acted as a pillar of a temple on the Acropolis.

She heard Ginny’s voice behind her, “Hélène! How lovely to see you, dear. Is that not an exquisite carving? Just think how old it is.”

Hélène turned to greet her friend and then paused when she saw her on Lord Shrewsbury’s arm.

He raised his hat to her. “Good afternoon, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge. Lady Virginia seems to have had the same idea as you today. What do you think of Lord Elgin’s playthings?”

Her heart was thrumming at such a pace, she was certain her face was red. “I think it a terrible pity that they were ever removed from their proper sites.”

Lady Clarice spoke up, “I agree, dear.”

“This caryatid, for instance.” Redirecting her emotion into outrage, Hélène indicated the female figure that appeared to be holding something overhead. “When she was removed, what happened to the temple? Did it fall to bits?”

Lord Shrewsbury said, “I believe it to have been replaced by an identical terra cotta figurine.” His eyes twinkled at her. He was not taking her seriously.

“What a travesty,” she said. “How could anyone think introducing something so inferior could take the place of something that was meant to be part of the whole?”

Lord Shrewsbury looked startled. Then he leveled a gaze into her eyes, his own soft and dark. What had she said to make him look at her like that? She played back her words in her mind, and realized they could mean something else entirely.

Ginny broke into the conversation. “I thought William said he was to call on you. He was to have met us here.”

“If he did call,” Hélène said, “He would have found us from home. Lady Clarice was kind enough to take me to explore Hatchard’s.”

“
Would you care to join us for luncheon?” Lord Shrewsbury asked. “We are going to Grillon’s.”

Hélène gave Lady Clarice a barely discernible shake of the head, and that lady said, “Thank you, no. We have barely begun our tour here, and Sukey expects us home for luncheon.”

“Well, tally ho, then!” The baron raised his walking stick cheerfully and they walked off toward the exit.

Hélène was embarrassed to feel that her palms were damp inside her gloves. She was disappointed in herself. Clearly, Lady Virginia was his choice. There was only one thing to be done. She must leave London.

Lord Delacroix, at least, did not find her unworthy. Or was Shrewsbury right and all the baron wanted was a mistress?

*~*~*

Whatever his aim where she was concerned, Lord Delacroix called at Blossom House at five o’clock, hoping to take her for a drive in the park.

Hélène asked him, “To what end, my lord?”

“So that we can come to a better understanding of one another,” he said with a small smile. “I mean to convince you of what I said: that I want you to educate me.”

“Very well, Lord Delacroix. But you must leave off flirting with me.”

“It will be difficult, but I will endeavor to contain myself.”

She had spent the whole of the afternoon since luncheon convincing Lady Clarice that she had seen enough of London and longed to go back to Chipping Norton and her pupils the very next day. Lady Clarice had been unable to go on the morrow, as she had business still to attend in London. However, Sukey had expressed a wish to see the school and had offered to escort her. Hélène had been packing one of Sukey’s spare portmanteaux with the duchess’s cast-off gowns when Lord Delacroix appeared.

As soon as they were abroad in his curricle, the baron said, “I have not had a chance to apologize for my behavior last night. I do not have an excuse for wanting to kiss you again, except to say that you are irresistible to me.”

“I do not how to reply, my lord. It was not my intention to lead you into temptation. I know very little about such things.”

“It is hard to believe no one has ever kissed you before.” Taking his eyes from the road, he looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

“No, my lord. You are the first. You must remember, I have lived very retired from society. As a matter of fact, I leave again for Chipping Norton in the morning.”

“Ah, yes. Chipping Norton. You can expect me there within the week.”

“I hope you realize that I have little time away from my duties.”

“Surely you have your evenings free?”

“After my charges are abed.”

They settled that they should have supper together in the evenings at the White Hart, where he would be staying. She would commence her “enlightenment” of the Baron Delacroix at that time.

“But what shall you do during the days?” she asked.

“Is there fishing to be had?”

“Very good fishing, as a matter of fact. And now that I think of it, I can introduce you to my friend, Samuel Blakeley. He is a good Whig who is standing for the Commons in an upcoming by-election. He can ride with you and show you the countryside.”