The Baron and the Bluestocking Read Free

upon it. “Shall you be espousing your ‘enlightened’ ideas to these orphan girls? I am afraid that would be a bit beyond them, you know. They are hungry and ignorant. Until they have been filled, clothed, and educated, such things will be of no interest to them whatsoever.” Christian knew a moment’s satisfaction.
    The goddess’s face fell and she made a delightful moue. “You are most likely correct,” she said. “’Tis a pity.”
    Miss Hilliard spoke up. “Whatever do you want with the vote, Whitcombe? Women have enough to do, what with raising children, running the home, and making ends meet.”
    Miss Jackson and Miss Flynn agreed. This began an uncomfortable argument. Lady Clarice finally spoke up. “Ladies, if you have finished your tea, we shall repair to the school and look over the final preparations.”
    Lord Shrewsbury brought the pink linen napkin to his mouth. She is a feisty one. It could prove interesting to teach a firebrand like Hélène Whitcombe to rejoice in her femininity.

{ 2 }
     
    HÉLÈNE WAS NOT SORRY to be parted from the insolent Lord Shrewsbury as they occupied separate vehicles on their way to the school. With his heroic appearance—golden blond hair, deep green eyes, and face off of a Greek coin—he was more than a shade too sure of himself. She disliked men of the ton excessively. They abused their privilege and preyed on women. Especially penniless women like herself who had no protection. She knew it was his sense of privilege that had brought out the radical in her. Hélène suspected she had been insufferable.
    It was but a short ride, and soon they were reunited.
    “Miss . . . er . . . Hodge.” He inclined his head in greeting and then moved forward to take Miss Hilliard’s elbow as she stepped up the stairs into the school’s entrance. He guided each of the other women until they were through the door. When it was her turn to proceed, he merely followed her, thus making his disapproval of her obvious.
    “Would you have the world populated only by females?” he asked.
    “Of course not. But I see no reason why we should not be equal partners with men.”
    The baron came to a halt. He looked at her with raised eyebrows, a speculative gleam in his eye. “What a very interesting world you have in mind. I shall have to think on your words. You have quite taken my breath away.”
    “Good,” she said, full of satisfaction. “Now, allow me to acquaint you with the school you have built.” She spun around with her arms extended. “This will be our common room. We will meet here in the morning for prayers and breakfast. Lady Clarice insisted on yellow—so cheerful, do you not think so?”
    He agreed.
    “Through here is the reading room.” She led the way. “The younger girls will read here from eight until ten o’clock, the elders from ten until noon. Lady Clarice chose the scarlet for this room. I believe her to be very fond of decorative arts. As you can see, she has fitted us out with framed illustrations from her collection.”
    “I see nursery rhymes and I see . . . surely those must be lithographs from Mrs. Radcliffe’s or Maria Edgeworth’s Gothic tales!”
    “For the elder girls I will be reading them to,” Hélène said. “You disapprove of women authors?” She peered into his face and gave up the battle she had been waging with herself. She had to admit he was very, very handsome, indeed. He probably has at least half a dozen lovers.
    “I have great regard for Miss Austen and my friend, the Duchess of Ruisdell, who writes under a pseudonym,” he said. “However, I must admit that their writings would be of far less interest to your potential pupils.”
    Surprised, she asked, “Have you actually read Miss Austen?”
    “Indeed,” he said.
    “And which of her novels is your favorite?”
    “ Sense and Sensibility, I believe. The satire was very accomplished. Very well done.”
    How strange. That is my favorite as well. And for exactly those