Miss Grimsleys Oxford Career (24 page)

“He is a lord, Ellen, not a sir!” her father hissed at her.

“Sir,” she continued, her voice cool even as her face flamed. “Who are you? A duke? an earl? a marquess? a viscount? The chancellor of the exchequer?”

“Ellen!” the squire groaned. He leaped to his feet. “My lord, she does not mean any of this.”

“I am sure she means all of it, sir,” he replied, “and I, for one, do not blame her.” He crossed the room to stand before Ellen, who rose slowly to her feet. “We share a weakness, Ellen. It is scholarship. It has gotten you in trouble, and I was the author of your humiliation.”

“I am sure she can overlook this little fault,” the squire said magnanimously.

Ellen said nothing.
Papa, you are such a toady
, she thought.
I am so ashamed.

But Lord Chesney was speaking. “I am a marquess, Ellen. I am worth a bit more than Edwin Bland's four thousand a year, although I have never had the feeling that such trivia mattered to you. I am also somewhat shy. That was why I created this fiction. I had a feeling that you might not care for a marquess over much. Was I wrong?”

“Nonsense!” the squire brayed. “Ellen knows what's good for her.” He laughed out loud and Miss Dignam joined in.

“Papa, please stop,” Ellen begged. She edged toward the door. She held out her hand to James Gatewood. “Good-bye, sir. I … I … cannot say that I am sorry to have written those papers, but I am embarrassed that you have seen us as we really are.”

He took her hand. “I love you, Ellen.”

She froze, even as her father clapped a meaty hand on the marquess's shoulder.

“Well said, your worship,” he exclaimed. “Do you know, Ellen, he has already talked to me this morning about settlements, and Gordon is even to have a cavalry regiment of Lord Chesney's choosing. I call that magnanimous.”

“I call it foolish,” Ellen said, withdrawing her hand from Gatewood's. “Good day, my lord. I hope you choke on your scholarship.”

“Ellen!” the squire gasped and then turned it aside with a little laugh. “She'll come around, your worship.”

“Possibly,” Lord Chesney replied. “If you'll excuse us, Squire?”

Before she could protest, Gatewood took her by the hand and dragged her into the hall. He pushed her against the wall and grasped her by both shoulders.

“I didn't mean any of this to happen, Ellen. You must believe that,” he said, his voice urgent. Doors were opening all along the hallway. He looked around in annoyance. “I hate this place!” He sighed and released her to run a finger around his shabby collar. “See here, I've never proposed before, and I am sure I have done it all wrong, Ellen. But I love you. Will you marry me?”

She said nothing. He pulled her close and kissed her, his arms tight around her. To her ultimate humiliation, she found herself kissing him back. Her fingers were in his untidy hair, smoothing it, caressing him.

When the buttons on his coat began to dig into her breast, she came back to herself. With a shock, she leaped back, took a deep breath, made a fist, and struck him on the face.

He reeled back in surprise, his hand to his flaming cheek. They stared at each other, breathing hard. Her humiliation complete, Ellen felt the tears starting behind her eyelids. She stamped her foot.

“I hope I never, ever see you again, Jim Gatewood!” she sobbed. He said nothing for the longest moment. She watched his face, waiting for some sign of repugnance, some indication of his disgust of her after her shameless kiss and then that dreadful punch that still seemed to echo in the hall. Instead, he reached in his pocket and gave her his handkerchief.

She blew her nose vigorously. “I'll … I'll have this laundered and returned to All Souls,” she said, her voice stiff.

He smiled then, even as a bruise of impressive proportions began to form on his cheek. “Are your knuckles all right?” he asked, his voice mild. “That was quite a facer from someone of such unsym-metrical proportions.”

She looked down at her hand, with the knuckles cracked and bleeding, and dabbed at it with the handkerchief. She was unable to think of a thing to say, except to stammer again that she would return the handkerchief.

Lord Chesney shook his head and then winced and clapped his hand to his cheek again.

Ellen writhed with inward embarrassment.

“No need, my dear,” he said as he started backing toward the outside door. “I'll be seeing you in a couple of weeks.”

“I doubt that!” she declared and blew her nose again.

“Doubt it not, fair Hermia,” he said as he continued down the hall, backing away from her. “Your father has invited me to Horatia's wedding, and I accepted with great alacrity and greater pleasure.”

“He didn't!” she wailed.

“He did! See you soon, you dreadful wench.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Do you know, I am relieved that you are such a pugilist.”

She sobbed harder, whether in rage or humiliation she could not tell.

“I need never fear that harm will come to me while we are mapping the world, fair Hermia!”

ER KNUCKLES THROBBED ALL THE WAY
home and Ellen welcomed the pain. “Maybe if it hurts bad enough, you will remember not to be so stupid in the future,” she told herself as she sucked on the swollen joints.

She could not imagine what had possessed her to deliver such a wallop to James Gatew … to Lord Chesney. Even if Mama was a flibbertigibbet of the first stare, Ellen had been raised with great circumspection. She knew better than to flirt with young men, or to even sit down in a chair recently vacated by one, because it would still be warm. That she should cut loose so entirely as to assault a marquess was a continuing astonishment to her as she rode in solitary splendor through magnificent scenery turned sour by her mood.

It was a relief that her Papa had ridden his horse to Oxford and was therefore compelled to arrange a post chaise for his daughter. Ellen curled up in one corner of the vehicle and tucked her chin into her cloak, grateful that there was no need of conversation, except that mighty scold that she dumped upon her own head like hot coals and ashes.

Oh, how could Papa invite Lord Chesney to the wedding!
She started to twist her hands together, uttering a yelp of pain when she encountered her knuckles. It was too bad, utterly too bad.
He will see us at our worst: Papa chafing and swearing if the weather is too inclement for at least one canter about the countryside each day; Mama even more unmanageable than usual, with her silly spasms over the tiniest slipup in her plans.

And Horry, Horatia would be worse than useless, mooning about the house as soon as Edwin—with many a backward glance and thrown kisses—nudged his horse down the lane. Either that, or some of the reality of marriage will have set in and she will be scared spitless and cowering in her dressing room.

Ellen retreated farther into her cloak.
And then Mama will give her improving lectures on the evils of men in general, and reassure us that all will be well, or at least, as good as can be, considering that it is woman's lot in life to suffer.
Ellen shuddered.
It is a wonder to me
, she thought,
that someone would really want to be mauled about in that way. Horry is stupider than even I suspected.

She reflected on that thought and felt her cheeks grow red.

She hadn't minded a bit when James Gatewood had grabbed her by both shoulders and kissed her so soundly. In fact, she recalled with some personal irritation that the worst part about the whole, regrettable incident was the nagging feeling that she couldn't get close enough to him.
And did I really thrust myself against him? Oh, dear, I hope he did not notice.

There, she had thought the unthinkable.
Goodness, Ellen, you are a worse ninnyhammer than your sister
, she thought. Nice girls didn't reflect on those rather impish thoughts that had raced through her mind as she clung like a barnacle to James Gatewood.

“Lord Chesney, not Jim Gatewood any more,” she said out loud. “It is Lord Chesney, and he has done you a bit of no good.”

So he had. For weeks and weeks he had led her to believe he was someone he was not. He had placed her in several compromising situations that would have sent Mama into terminal spasms, should she ever find out.

Or had he? Ellen drew her knees up and rested her chin on them as the post chaise swayed along. She had been in no danger from Lord Chesney's designs, or so Mama would put it. They had spent an afternoon together in his chambers, and another on the river, discussing Shakespeare and nourishing each other's minds. It was the kind of conversation she envied among the scholars of Oxford, that equal exchange of thoughts and views.

“I wonder if men and women will ever be permitted such freedom of thought,” she asked out loud. “I … I guess I was lucky.”

She smiled at the memory and then sobered as she thought about the rest of her family. Ralph would acquit himself well, this she knew. Lord Chesney—no, Jim Gatewood—would be captivated by her little brother and his serious approach to scholarship. Should he come for the wedding, she would see that Jim and Ralph saw plenty of each other during the days before the wedding. And Martha? It would be her duty to keep Martha out of the chocolates.

She let her mind rest a moment and then laughed out loud. “Ellen, you are a true idiot,” she said. “You will be safely out of this ridiculous infatuation when Jim sees your family as they really are. No need to apologize for them. Just let him see for himself.”

She nodded to her reflection in the window glass. In a short space, he will be so disgusted that he will probably beat a hasty retreat even before Horry's nuptials. End of problem.

The thought did not relieve her as she had imagined it would. For no reason that she could discern, she burst into tears.

Her eyes were long since dry by the time she tapped on the glass and stopped the post chaise before they turned off the main road and traveled down the lane. Papa reined in his horse and leaned toward the carriage as she rolled down the window.

“Papa, I forbid you to mention one word of this affair to anyone,” she ordered, keeping her knees tight together so they would not quake at this unheard-of insistence by daughter to father.

“Oh, you do?” he asked. To her relief, his voice was mellow.

Obviously Squire Grimsley was still basking in the idea of an alliance far beyond his wildest dreams.

It was on the tip of her tongue to assure him that such an event would never come to pass, but she let it go and smiled sweetly up at him instead. “Yes, Papa, I insist! It is Horry's big day, and nothing is settled, and it would be the height of rudeness for us to trumpet these imaginings about the countryside.”

“I suppose so,” he agreed, his voice filled with reluctance. He brightened. “But I shall have to say something to Mama, or she will think only the worst about my sudden trip to Oxford.” He frowned and shook his riding crop at her. “And you are still a scamp, Ellen Grimsley.”

“Yes, Papa,” she said, and there was no subterfuge in her voice. “I was. But I mean to reform.”

“Very well, miss. Now, roll up that window before pneumonia carries you off and I can never tell my comrades that I am closely related to the Marchioness of Chesney!”

She sighed and did as he said.
I hope he will not take it too badly when I continue to refuse Jim's offer of marriage
, she thought as they proceeded down the lane.
I suppose I had better consider Thomas Cornwell more seriously.

Ellen was happier to see them all than she would have thought possible. Horatia was as silly as ever; Mama as nervous. Ralph wanted to discuss Great Ideas, and Martha nosed about for sweets. As she stood in the hallway, still clad in her traveling cloak and hiding her swollen knuckles, Ellen could only regard them with affection.

“I have missed you all,” she said simply and wondered why she felt like tears again.

Mama's chin trembled. “I hope you were not in terrible trouble in Oxford, my dear, else why would Mr. Grimsley rush off in such a hurry?” She rested her hand against her forehead. “I have been imagining the worst.”