The Battling Bluestocking Read Free Page A

unfair of you, sir,” she added, shaking her head at him, “to threaten poor Georgie like that when what you really wish to do is to come to cuffs with me. Not that you ever win such confrontations, of course. Nonetheless, you know perfectly well that, despite our differences, you look forward to my annual visits simply because your servants are never so efficient or your household so well run as when I am present to see to those things for you. Confess now that you were put out this year when I delayed my arrival in order to devote the time necessary to reorganize Madeleine’s household to accommodate the new heir.”
    It was Jessica’s habit each year to leave her fond parents to care for each other at the family home in Gloucestershire, in order to engage in a tour of certain other relatives’ homes. She was happiest when she felt needed, and her talents for organization and basic housekeeping were generally much admired by those who exploited them. Lord Gordon, however, had a preference for more submissive females, and much as he might enjoy the fruits of her efficiency, he could not approve of Jessica’s forthright manner of speech.
    “Nonsense,” he retorted now as color suffused his jowly cheeks. “I am persuaded that your younger sister appreciated your assistance after suffering through the dreadful ordeal of childbirth, but it is surely coming it a bit strong to suggest that you reorganized the Earl of Porth’s entire household. You overrate your abilities. Furthermore, you’ve not the slightest sense of delicacy, and if you encourage Madeleine to flout Porth’s authority the way you continually encourage Georgeanne to flout mine, I am certain the man was glad to see the back of you.” After that promising start, and pointedly ignoring a weak murmur of protest from his wife, he plunged with renewed vigor into a full-scale diatribe, describing in detail his sister-in-law’s shortcomings and how he’d have dealt with them if he’d been so unfortunate as to have had the raising of her.
    Jessica heard him out meekly, merely donning her pink gloves before inserting her hands once again into the huge chinchilla muff, and regarding Lord Gordon with wide, solemn eyes. When he had finished, she gave that characteristic little shake of her head and favored him with an admiring look.
    “It is the most amazing thing, Cyril,” she said earnestly, “but you never seem to lose yourself in verbiage, no matter how furious you get. When I lose my temper, I always seem to get my tongue tangled just when I want to make my most telling point. Papa does, too. You deliver a far better scold than he does, doesn’t he, Georgie?” She turned to her sister for confirmation of that interesting fact, but poor Lady Gordon, appalled to find herself included in such a discussion, merely shrank back into her corner. Jessica smiled encouragingly, but her gray eyes glittered with suppressed anger.
    “It is quite all right, my dear,” she said. “I understand perfectly why you go in such awe of him. So much sound and fury. You never did react well to blustering. No doubt it is only when you see his little rages directed at me that you can recognize them for the simple expulsions of overheated air that they really are.” An indignant gasp from her brother-in-law drew her attention, and she bit her lower lip ruefully. “I should not have said that, Cyril. It was not at all becoming of me. One day this wretched temper of mine will be my undoing, but you really have no right to scold me in such a fashion. I am of age, you know, and you have no authority over me. However, we shall not quarrel anymore today, so you may be calm. I am persuaded that it cannot be at all good for your health…all that blood rushing to your face like that. Oh, look,” she added as the coach passed between a pair of tall stone-mounted wrought-iron gates, flanked by enormous yew hedges, and past a staring, ruddy-cheeked lodge keeper, “I do believe we