Marriage of Inconvenience Read Free Page B

Review were stored, grabbed a stack and strode to his desk where he proceeded to read them. Not all of them. Only the essays written by P. Corpus. There was one on compulsory education, another opposing slavery and one lambasting rotten boroughs.
    Surely she could not have written the essay opposing slavery. He knew for a fact her father’s Virginia plantation had used slaves. Would she dare to criticize her departed parent?
    He spent the rest of the afternoon rereading P. Corpus’s essays, which dated back some two years. If his memory served him correctly, Miss Peabody and her beautiful sister had arrived in England two or three years previously. Could it be mere coincidence that P. Corpus’s essays did not commence until Miss Peabody arrived in England?
    For the next several days he could not dispel thoughts of Miss Peabody from his mind. After much thought—and hours studying P. Corpus’s essays—he convinced himself that Miss Peabody and P. Corpus were the same person.
    Through her writings, Miss Peabody’s true character, her considerable intellect and her unexpected maturity were revealed to him. The more he reread the essays, the more connected he felt to her. It was the deucest thing, but he had never before felt so close to a woman, not even to Dorothy. Of course, he wasn’t really
close to Miss Peabody, but the discovery that there existed a person whose thoughts so closely paralleled his own had taken hold of him like tentacles that could not be dislodged.
    Whatever he did, wherever he went, he thought about Miss Peabody. For months now he’d been fired by a thirst to meet Mr. Corpus and engage the man in a conversation where two like minds could have free rein. Now that he knew P. Corpus’s identity, Aynsley’s desire to converse with Miss Peabody consumed him even more greedily.
    So many social reformers were one-trick ponies. One would criticize slavery, while another objected to the lack of parliamentary representation for the large industrialized cities. Only P. Corpus understood that to achieve a perfect society there must be a successive eradication of each and every social ill.
    His country, with its workhouses and factories and bulging prisons, was much like a sofa with torn coverings, sagging cushions and protruding springs. One did not fix the sofa by throwing a length of silk upon it. It could only be repaired by attacking and correcting each underlying problem. Miss Peabody—or P. Corpus—understood that.
    The more he thought of her, the more he wanted to speak with her. He found himself wondering what it would be like to have a conversation with a woman possessed of Miss Peabody’s uncommon intelligence.
    He needed to talk with Warwick. He wasn’t sure why he sought to speak to Warwick. He certainly had no intention of asking for Miss Peabody’s hand. Even if she was the brilliant, articulate, passionate P. Corpus. While Aynsley did not want her for a wife, he did want her for a friend. That is, if she were the brilliant essayist.
    He decided to go to Warwick House early in the day, before Warwick went to Whitehall to perform his important duties. By coming early, he would avoid coming face-to-face with Miss Peabody. Women were sure to be still abed in the morning and certainly not be primped to be presentable. He’d rather not see her just yet, not after he had treated the poor woman so shabbily.
    At Warwick House, the butler showed him into the light-flooded, emerald-green morning room, then took himself off to announce the caller to Lord Warwick. As soon as the servant turned to leave the morning room, Aynsley saw her.
    She had been sitting at a game table perusing the Morning Chronicle, a mobcap smashed upon her uncombed tresses, her spectacles propped on her perfect nose. At the sound of disturbance, she looked up. And saw him.
    Her face transformed. Had a snake charmer summoned a viper into the chamber, her expression could not have held more alarm.
    That he evoked such an