Lady Westbrook's Discovery (2 page)

“Yes, two. Robert is serving as an officer in The Queen's Royal Regiment and Jasper is reading English at Cambridge.”

“You didn’t object to
either of them being beaten at school?”

“No. As long as it’s administered fairly and justly, I think it builds a young man’s character and teaches him respect.”

“And the girls? They don’t deserve the opportunity to have their characters built? They shouldn’t also learn the importance of respect?” Mr Oliver asked.

“So I take it you approve of the idea of schools administering corporal punishment to girls?”

“Of course. Many do already but it isn’t given the same importance as it is with boys. Completely the opposite of how it should be, in my opinion.”

“How so?”

“Women respond to physical discipline so much better than men. Boys should only be beaten until they reach adulthood, but women can benefit from physical chastisement their whole lives.”

“How can you suggest such a thing?” Margaret was shocked. “I thought you were an advocate of equal rights for women?”

“Being equal doesn’t mean being the same,” replied Mr Oliver smiling. “And the two sexes are certainly not the same. I think most women would benefit from the occasional spanking. I haven’t conducted a full scientific study into the matter, though. Perhaps I should devote some time to practical research.”

He was smiling throughout this extraordinary conversation. Margaret found it difficult to judge whether
or not he was joking.

“Practical research? So you would subject your wife to physical discipline?”

“Why not? I dare say if you were my wife, you would benefit very well indeed from being taken over my knee and soundly spanked from time to time.”

It was not often that Margaret found herself lost for words. But at that moment
, she was completely and utterly flabbergasted. She couldn’t believe that her guest could stand in her own drawing room and make such a shocking statement.

She knew she should throw him out on his ear. She could walk out of the room and have a
quiet word with her butler, asking him to have Mr Oliver removed from the premises.

And yet she didn’t. Despite her better
judgment, she wanted to retaliate. She felt as though Mr Oliver’s words had lit a fire in her belly that made her want to forget the rules of polite society.

She stood in front of Mr Oliver, tilting her head upwards to look him straight in the eye. “That seems an unlikely scenario, Mr Oliver. You are, after all, young enough to be my son. Surely it should be me
administering the well-deserved spanking to your backside?”

Mr Oliver’s deep blue eyes flashed with – what? Anger? Mirth?

He placed his hand at the back of Margaret’s head and tilted her face upwards to him farther still. He gently traced the outline of her cheek with his other hand. She was suddenly aware of his muscular body, far closer to her than could in any way be deemed proper.

“Why don’t you try to do that?” he said softly, issuing a challenge. “I promise that it won’t end at all well for you.”

They were too close. This was too intimate. Margaret realised that she needed to put a stop to it.  She stepped backwards away from Mr Oliver’s slight embrace.

“If you will excuse me,” she said
, “I have some matters I need to attend to. I shall see you in the dining room at 8 o’clock.”

“I look forward to it.”

There was nothing special that she needed to attend to other than giving herself some space from Mr Oliver and the piercing gaze of his dark blue eyes. Her heart fluttered when she thought of the way he had touched her face and she mentally chastised herself for it. She was no debutante and he certainly wasn’t a suitor looking to sweep her off her feet. Did he even know the effect his outrageous behaviour could have on a woman?

Dinner
must surely be an impossible affair after such a scene. Margaret half-wondered if she should plead a headache and leave Mr Oliver to dine alone. But she didn’t want to. She was rather enjoying his company and found herself wondering what the outrageously outspoken young man would say next.

Felix paced the floor of the drawing room. Dear
God, what had he been thinking, speaking to his hostess in such a way? Twenty-six years of good breeding had all vanished in an instant. He couldn’t explain it other than when the conversation had turned to the topic of physical chastisement, he found himself reluctant to leave it. It was clear that beneath Lady Westbrook’s somewhat stern exterior, there was a more playful side as evidenced by her threat to turn the tables on him. Had she been amused? He hoped so. Otherwise she must think him some sort of monster.

The thought of bending Lady Westbrook over his knee fo
r a spanking had leapt unbidden to his mind and now refused to shift. He had to admit to himself that the idea appealed to him hugely. Was it just the thought of breaking down her formidable exterior? He might be somewhat younger than her – closer in age to her sons than to her, as she pointed out – but he would be a fool not to acknowledge how incredibly attractive she was.

And
yet, he had behaved like some drunken libertine. Speaking out of turn and embracing her in a way that was entirely uncalled for. It would serve him right if she refused to come down for dinner entirely and left him to eat alone.

At 8
p.m. exactly, Felix headed for the dining room and felt a jolt of delight at seeing Lady Westbrook approaching from the other end of the corridor.

“Lady Westbrook,” he said, proffering
his arm so that they might walk into the dining room together.

“Mr Oliver,” she acknowledged, taking his arm lightly.

As they took their seats, Felix worried that conversation would be difficult. To his relief, Lady Westbrook showed no signs of discomfort following their earlier encounter. Clearly it would take more than a threatened spanking to shake her.

“So, Mr Oliver, have you always been interested in the sciences?”

“Oh yes, always. My father used to take my brothers and sisters and me to see the Christmas lectures at the Royal Institution every year. I ascribe my love of sciences almost entirely to Michael Faraday who inspired me beyond measure. The first lecture I saw was when I was nine. It was on voltaic electricity. I am not exaggerating when I say that my life was changed profoundly that day.”

Lady Westbrook nodded. “He was a great man. We took the boys to several of his Christmas lectures
as well. I remember Faraday’s last one, on the chemistry of candles. I was spellbound. More so than my husband or children, in fact.”

“You have studied science?”

“Oh no. Never formally. But so much of it interests me profoundly. I am currently reading Isaac Newton’s Principia.”

Felix was impressed. “Then you are learning from the greatest,” he said.

“Well, I’m trying to. I am not sure I understand everything. It is difficult to accept, for example, that gravity pulls in both directions. That I am exerting a gravitational pull on the earth as it is exerting its pull on me.”

“Well yes, in theory. But of course your mass is so very, very tiny in comparison with the massive bulk of the earth.  Were you to grow to, say, a quarter of the size of the planet
, your effect might be more noticeable.”

Lady Westbrook cocked her head to one side. “Do you think me likely to grow to that size?”

Felix looked appraisingly at Lady Westbrook’s trim body. “Oh I don’t know. A few substantial meals and some muscle-building exercises. It might be possible.”

She
laughed.

“Of course the really interesting
business with gravity happens when you look at two heavenly bodies exerting gravitational pull on one another.” Felix could not pass up the opportunity to give a lecture, however tiny his audience. He grabbed an apple from a bowl in the centre of the table and stood up. “You see, if you have a small object orbiting a much larger one, the centre of gravity ends up being entirely within the mass of the larger object. Were the second object half the size of the first, however... could you pass me that plum?” Margaret picked up the plum and threw it in his direction. He caught it neatly like a cricket ball. “Thank you. Then gravitational centre would be at a point between them. Of course if you were to add a third object...”

“Would you like me to throw more fruit at you?”

“If you would be so kind.”

Margaret picked
up another apple and tossed it at Felix.

He attempted to catch the apple in the hand that was already holding the plum. Unfortunately he misjudged it
, and as he closed his hand around the apple, he inadvertently reduced the plum to a pulpy mess, which fell to the table. “Damn it, my moon!” he cried as he tried to retrieve it.

He saw Lady Westbrook attempt to ignore
the absurd situation for a moment before her composure broke down and she gave in entirely to laughter.

The servants were bringing in the first course by this time
, so Felix quickly resumed his seat, returned the apples to the fruit bowl and attempted to clear up the remains of plum with his napkin. The serving staff showed no reaction to the misplaced fruit or the sight of their mistress laughing uncontrollably, of course. No good servant would.

“I’m sorry,” Margaret
said, stifling her giggles. “It was most impolite of me to laugh. I am afraid you just looked so bereft at the destruction of your moon that I couldn’t help myself.” She wiped away the last of her tears. “Where were we?”

Felix looked at Margaret’s beautiful brown eyes still
shining with mirth and entirely focused on him. “I believe we were talking about how bodies are attracted to one another,” he said, softly.

Felix left Westbrook Manor the
following day and spent the carriage journey back to London reflecting on how much he had enjoyed Lady Westbrook’s company. He was conscious that if he left the matter to chance, their paths might not cross one another’s again. He wasn’t going to allow that to happen, he decided, and resolved to find a way to see her again soon.

Margaret arrived at the door of the Royal Institution in
Albemarle Street and showed her dinner invitation to the doorman. A member of staff was immediately summoned to escort her upstairs. She felt somewhat awed to be in such an august building and more awed still to have received an invitation to dinner by the Institution’s Professor of Physics, John Tyndall.

She was taken upstairs to one of the
building’s private apartments, which were situated above its lecture theatres and laboratories.

Mr Tyndall greeted her.
“Lady Westbrook”, he said. “I am so delighted that you could attend. I hope you won’t find this evening too dull and dry. We are almost all scientists here this evening and I’m afraid, conversation will tend to reflect that. Mr Felix Oliver suggested that I should invite you. He told me what a staunch supporter of scientific endeavor you are and what an asset you would be to our evening.”

Margaret felt a shock of electricity pass through her at the mention of Mr Oliver’s name.
She was not sure why finding out that Mr Oliver had been instrumental in securing her an invitation should please her so. “Do you know Mr Oliver well?” she asked.

“Quite well, quite well. He is a remarkably talented young man.
Rather exceptional, in fact. I am great friends with his father, the Earl of Rochester.”

“I hadn’t realised that he was the Earl of Rochester’s son
,” said Margaret, surprised. “That was quite remiss of me.”

“I don’t think it makes much odds. Felix
Oliver is the youngest of Lord Rochester’s ten children. It’s not as though he is expected to take any responsibility for the estate. It certainly doesn’t get in the way of his scientific research.”

“Will
Mr Oliver be here tonight?”

“Oh yes. We’re expecting him shortly.”

Tyndall introduced Margaret to the other guests, most of whom were Fellows of the Royal Institution although there were a few students who seemed even more awed to be there than she was. Margaret was relieved to see that some of the guests were accompanied by their wives and that she wouldn’t be the only woman in attendance. Although she
was
the only woman who had been invited there in her own right, she noted with a touch of pride.

She was happy
to find that she was seated next to Mr Oliver at dinner.

“Mr Oliver,” she said. “How lovely to see you again. The members of Waverley Ladies Society still talk
constantly about your fascinating lecture last month. All subsequent Society events have seemed rather flat in comparison, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure you’re flattering me but it is a compliment I’m quite happy to
receive. If there is anything further I can do to keep the ladies of Waverley happy, you must let me know.”

“Anything?”

“Absolutely.”

Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Your dedication to promoting your field of scientific specialism is impressive,” she said.

Mr Oliver was solicitous and attentive to her throughout the dinner, explaining scientific jargon and private jokes so that she wouldn’t feel left out of the general conversation. The dinner conversation ranged wildly from topic to topic encompassing not only scientific advancements and research, but also history and politics. It was a world away from the dull insularity of Waverley society, thought Margaret.

At the end of the evening as Margaret bid goodbye to Mr Tyndall, Mr Oliver approached her. “Lady Westbrook,” he said
, “I wonder if you would permit me to escort you to your carriage.”

“Of course, Mr Oliver. Thank you.”

They walked together down the stairs of the Royal Institute. The building, she knew, was full of historical significance, and Mr Oliver regaled her with some of the impressive discoveries which had been made by its members in its seventy-year history.

As they stepped into the cool evening air, Mr Oliver walked with Margaret down
Albermarle Street to where the carriages were waiting.

“Thank you very much for escorting me, Mr Oliver,” said Margaret. “And thank you for suggesting to Mr Tyndall that he invite me in the first place. I had a wonderful evening.”

“You’re entirely welcome, Lady Westbrook. I knew that with your enthusiasm for science, you would fit well into Mr Tyndall’s little group. Although I must confess that I had other, more selfish reasons for wanting him to invite you.”

“Oh?”

“I wanted the chance to see you again. I enjoyed our last meeting very much indeed and was anxious to spend more time with you. This evening has further convinced me that you are quite unlike any woman I have ever met.  You are remarkable and inspiring. I wonder if you will permit me to call on you at your home in the near future.”

“Mr Oliver, really. You almost sound as though you intend
to court me,” Margaret said.

“That’s exactly what I intend to do."

Margaret stopped in her tracks. She felt as though all the wind had gone out of her, and the smile she had been wearing just a moment ago froze on her lips. “You are not serious, Mr Oliver.”

“Lady Westbrook, I assure you...”

She held up her hand. “Enough. I do not understand the purpose of this joke but it is in very poor taste. Kindly do not persist in it.”

Her coach in view
, she walked rapidly towards it without looking at Mr Oliver. She instructed the driver to take her straight back to Waverley and tried to put the ridiculous suggestion from her mind.

London, 18
th
July 1870

Dear Lady Westbrook,

I hope you will not take offence at my writing to you. Please accept my profuse apologies if my recent conduct caused you distress or discomfort.
I assure you that it was never my intention to do so.

Furthermore, I would like to express my wish that any over-familiarity on my part should not extinguish
what regard you hitherto had for me as a gentleman, as a scientist and as, I hope

Your friend,

Felix Oliver

Margaret turned the letter over in her fingers as she stared out of the window at the rolling Surrey hills.

She had attempted to put Mr Oliver’s unexpected interest in her out of her mind since her return from the Royal Institution. Common sense told her that it must have been some kind of practical joke on Mr Oliver’s part. It was the only logical explanation. There was certainly no explicable reason why a young, successful man such as Mr Oliver – who was fifteen years her junior and only five years older than Margaret’s son, Robert – would want to court her. How could he possibly consider a match between them to be to his advantage?

It certainly couldn’t be money. However hard
-up the tenth child of Earl might find himself, if he was fortune-hunting, he could certainly do better than her.  All Westbrook money belonged to the estate. Every penny of it was officially within the ownership of Robert, the current Lord Westbrook. Mr Oliver would surely know that. There would not be any Westbrook money to pass on to the children of a second marriage.

Children! The thought made Margaret despair still further. There was no getting away from the fact that a man of Mr Oliver’s age should be looking to start a family. It was ludicrous to believe that he would want to become involved with an old woman such as herself
, a woman with two grown children already and whose child-producing days were no doubt long behind her.

It
had
to be some kind of joke. Except that Margaret had no idea why he would want to carry out such a cruel trick and what possible benefit there might be in it for him.  It didn’t seem like him at all. Felix Oliver seemed disarmingly open and honest. Sometimes to a shocking degree judging by the conversation they’d had about female discipline the very first day they had met.

Well, thought Margaret, mentally shaking herself, whatever his reasons for suggesting courtship after Mr Tyndall’s dinner, he had not pressed the matter
in his correspondence. His letter merely asked that they remain friends and, really, thought Margaret, how could anyone refuse such a request?

She would reply to Mr Oliver immediately, she resolved, and assure him of her continued friendship.

In fact, it occurred to her that what with the Waverley Summer Fete next month, she should invite Mr Oliver to stay for a few days. There would be plenty of other guests so it wouldn’t be at all inappropriate to ask him. The Duchess of Waverley, who was hosting the event, would have a houseful of guests as well. It would be quite the social occasion. Mr Oliver might even meet a young lady closer to his age and better suited to his attentions, thought Margaret, stamping down the sharp pain she immediately felt at the thought of Mr Oliver recommending himself to anyone else but her. “Behave yourself, Margaret,” she admonished herself sternly, “you are
not
courting Felix Oliver.”

And yet, when she was alone in her bedroom that evening
, prior to the arrival of her lady’s maid, Margaret found herself looking appraisingly at herself in her full-length bedroom mirror.

Her figure was trim, she noted. She had retained the slight figure she had had when younger – no doubt maintained through her love of
gardening and walking in the Surrey hills. Her face was a little lined, perhaps. Her skin was somewhat wrinkled around her eyes, and the furrows in her forehead were rather more pronounced than they had been twenty years ago. That was only to be expected, of course.

She looked at the dress she was wearing. It was grey and rather severe in its cut
, with a jacket bodice neatly buttoned in front. She had worn full mourning after Lord Westbrook’s death and when the mourning period was over, she retained a similar style of clothing. It occurred to her that fashions had rather changed over the last ten years. She might look at updating her wardrobe.

She looked up sharply as her lady’s maid entered. “Hannah,” she said
, “I think I shall schedule a visit from the dressmaker.”

“Very good, milady. Shall I call Mr Solomon?” Hannah asked
, naming her regular tailor.

“No, I think I need a change. I am tired of all my dresses. I would quite like to try something new. Do you know of any dressmakers who are popular with the ladies of the ton at present?”

Hannah’s eyes lit up. “Oh that’s a wonderful idea, milady. I hear Mr Turnkey is very popular at the moment. He made that lovely blue gown that the Duchess wore to tea last week. And that mauve silk evening dress of Lady Catherine Hockering’s.”

Margaret smiled. Poor Hannah clearly had a keen eye for fashion
, which she’d never had much chance to use in her current role.  Margaret supposed that she would relish the opportunity to dress her mistress like a doll.

“Very good. Please arrange an appointment with Mr Turnkey. I would like
you to attend as well. I would appreciate your opinion on the matter.”

“Of course, milady. It would be my pleasure.”

“And while we’re on the subject,” continued Margaret. “I am bored with wearing my hair the same way day in, day out. I should like to try a new hairstyle. What would you suggest?”

“Oh
milady, I think you would look lovely with a high chignon and some waves down the side of your face like how Princess Louise wears her hair. It would look ever so elegant. Shall I show you now?”

Four
weeks later, when Margaret greeted her numerous guests on the lawns of Westbrook Manor, she looked quite changed. Her hair was styled into an elegant chignon, and she had swapped her stiff grey crinoline for a tea gown in darkest rose pink.

“Mr Felix Oliver,” announced the butler. Margaret saw Mr Oliver scan the little throng of people and
noticed that as soon as he spied her, his eyes lit up.

“How wonderful to see you again,” he said
, striding forward and shaking her hand. “You look exceedingly well. That colour suits you.”

“Why thank you, Mr Oliver,” replied Margaret. “I shall certainly take that as a compliment from a dandy such as yourself.
”

“Well, I try my best,” said Felix
, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off his frock coat.

“I hope you will enjoy the Waverley fete.
I am a little worried it might not be terribly exciting for a young man.”

“Oh I doubt that. I love a country fete. My father hosts an annual one in Rochester
that is tremendous fun.”

“Well I hope Waverley can provide
stout competition to Rochester.”

“Tell me,” said Felix conspiratorially
, “do you have a coconut shy?”

“Oh yes, and bat-a-rat and a stall where you have to throw a hoop around wooden blocks to win a prize.”

“Against almost impossible odds?”

“The odds certainly seem stacked against one, yes.”

"Capital! And are there competitions for jam making and cake decorating and growing the biggest marrow?”