Miss Grimsleys Oxford Career (33 page)

Ellen did not expect to see James Gatewood the next day, not if he had truly been cadged into escorting Ralph home to plead his case for Winchester with her father. She steeled herself against the knowledge that the days would seem infinitely long until she heard from Gatewood again.
I shall take the Speeds as my example and learn to wait and hope with a little dignity
, she resolved.

But it was not enough. Her studies in Shakespeare and mathematics that only the day before had meant the earth to her, she merely endured now. She waited to see Gatewood's familiar figure striding down the street toward St. Hilda's, straightening his neck-cloth as he came, pausing to look in a shop window to see if there was any use in running his fingers through his hair again.

My dear James Gatewood, you are a true Genuine Article
, she thought.
We will spend our days together here at Oxford, and I will hope to keep you tidier than you are at present, and you will be free to devote yourself entirely to Shakespeare. And I shall run an evening school for girls like Becky.

Her impatience grew as the week crawled by and Gatewood did not appear. When the flowers he sent every Wednesday arrived, she hurried downstairs, looking among the hot house roses for the note he always sent each Wednesday that read simply, “Marry me.”

There was no note this time. Perhaps it fell off, she told herself, as she carried the flowers to her room and searched through the roses again. No note. And no word on Ralph's success.

And then on Friday, when classes were over and she was harrowing up a furrow in the carpet, pacing back and forth in front of the window, she saw James Gatewood strolling down the street toward St. Hilda's.

Only the greatest force of will prevented her from throwing open the window and shouting a greeting to him. Instead, she took a long look at herself in the mirror, wishing that her color were not so high.

Her heart beating at twice its normal speed and threatening to leap out of her throat, Ellen answered the maid's knock and walked slowly down the stairs.

He waited for her at the bottom, extending his arm to her.

“Come, my dear Miss Grimsley,” he said. “At the cost of a wall of books, and probably a new wing on this fine, old hall, I have extracted permission from Miss Medford to take you walking in the Physic Garden.” He smiled at her, that slow, lazy smile, and her heart slid down into her shoes. “Ostensibly, it is in pursuit of knowledge. We are to admire and exclaim over the gateway, which was designed by Mr. Inigo Jones himself.”

She tucked her arm in his. “And so we shall, my lord, Jim.”

“Much better.” He was silent as they walked toward the garden. They had traveled a block when Ellen stopped. “You must tell me about Ralph. I cannot wait for the Physic Garden!”

“Postponement of gratification is a sign of maturity, Ellen,” he said mildly. “It is high time we all grew up.”

She ignored him. “What about Ralph?”

He stopped and faced her, his hands on her shoulders, unmindful of the tradesmen and students who passed and looked back, smiling.

“He is to go to Uncle Breezly's counting house.”

She stared at him, her mouth open.

“A good thing it is still winter, else there would be a fly down your throat.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “He had his heart so set on Winchester,” she managed and then hurried to keep up with Jim as he lengthened his stride.

“So he did. It won't do Ralph any harm to be incarcerated in a counting house for this spring and summer.” He gave her a little nudge with his shoulder. “Your father—Ellen, he does improve upon further acquaintance—your father and I both agree that he should have ample time to think about his future while totting up Uncle B's columns.”

He paused before the entrance to the Physic Garden and pointed to the gate. “Magnificent example of Inigo Jones's art. Memorize it for Miss Medford, and follow me, my dear.”

“But I don't understand,” she said, out of breath, as she hurried after him.

“Oh, beg pardon,” he said, slowing down and taking her by the hand this time. “Neither did Ralph. He cut up a bit ugly, in fact. Your father and I agree, especially after that display of temper, that a counting house right now is just the thing for Ralph. If he is still of the opinion that it must be Shakespeare and nothing else, he will be granted admission to Winchester this fall.”

“Oh, my,” was all Ellen could say.

“The two papers he wrote were excellent,” the marquess continued. “With that, and the fact that I am a trustee of that fine old institution, I foresee no difficulties for your brother.”

She squeezed his hand, and he smiled but said nothing more as they strolled about the garden, which contained nothing of interest in early March beyond a few bare stalks of one mysterious plant or another and the ragged remnants of apothecary herbs.

She waited for him to protest his love again and declare himself as he had done on a regular basis any number of times these past few weeks. When he did not, the flutter of anticipation in Ellen's stomach turned into a gnawing pain.

He led her finally to a bench and sat her down. He did not sit but paced the ground in front of her. “We discussed you too, my dear. Squire Grimsley enumerated your numerous virtues and undeniably beautiful parts.” He chuckled and sat down beside her. “I had to remind him that you are stubborn and willful and tenacious, when it comes to scholarship.”

She turned her face away from the quizzical look in his eyes.

“Then you don't love me after all,” she said slowly, wishing that the bench were closer to the gate and she could leap up and disappear in a crowd of shoppers on the street.

“I didn't say that, Ellen,” he exclaimed, his hand on her arm. “And don't bolt, please. I'm not done by half.”

She winced at his words but sat where she was.

“I merely state that I am well-acquainted with your faults, as well as your virtues.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, looking straight ahead. “And it happens that I share some of them.” He glanced at her. “Don't look so stricken! What do you think love is?”

“I have been asking myself that for some time now,” she replied finally, when the silence threatened to overwhelm her. She turned to face him. “Horry is Edwin's lapdog, and Mama is so afraid of Papa's bad humor that she does not give him sound advice when he needs it. They are my only examples, and it is not too satisfactory.”

The tears spilled onto her cheeks, and the marquess made no comment about them as he handed her his handkerchief. “No, it is not too satisfactory, if this is your glimpse of married love.”

She blushed. “I suppose we should not be having this discussion, Jim,” she said quietly.

“On the contrary, I contend that more couples should have this conversation before they do something rash and irrevocable.”

His words chilled her to the bone. She could not look at him.

He has changed his mind
, she thought, and the idea filled her head almost to bursting. She forced herself to listen to him.

“Do you know what my example has been, Ellen? A father who married for convenience and thought nothing of keeping his light skirts on the family premises.” He stood up then, and walked to the edge of the garden path. “By all the saints, how humiliating it was for my mother!”

“I … I had no idea,” Ellen said.

He shrugged. “She is a silly, vain woman, with no ideas beyond the latest fashions and the arrangements of furniture. But I contend that no one, no matter how frivolous, deserves to be hurt like that. I vowed I would never do it, and I shall not.”

He sat down again. “So here we are, with your silly notions, and mine.” He took her hand. “How cold your fingers are! Where are your gloves?”

She shook her head, unable to speak. He kissed her fingers. “And we must add another ingredient to this witch's brew, Ellen. I can't tell you how I have been hounded and chased by delicate females of impeccable background who would love to partake of the Gatewood monetary benevolence. And all their family members.”

Ellen closed her eyes. “Go ahead, Jim, add Ralph and Gordon to your list. Gordon has probably petitioned you, has he not?” she said, her voice scarcely a whisper.

Gatewood smiled. “Oh, my, yes. But since that first time a couple of weeks ago, we have enjoyed several illuminating conversations. Do you know, my dear, he wears well with repeated conversations.”

“Gordon?” she asked, her eyes wide with amazement. “My brother Gordon?”

“Yes, Gordon,” he said. “Possibly you have not given him his due. Ah, well. I even heard from Horatia this week, who expects me to make Edwin a peer of the realm or something. Oh. Ellen, come back!”

She had bolted from the bench, her whole goal in life to reach Inigo Jones's gateway. Propriety would keep them from continuing this conversation, once they were in the street.
And I thought to petition him for myself
, she said to herself as she hurried along the path.
Love has made me a fool.

He had her by the arm then, pulling her around to face him.

“I'm not finished, Ellen,” he said, his voice low, pleading, nothing in it of disgust. “Ellen! People are always going to be asking me for things! It is my lot in life.” He gave her a little shake. “When this term is over, I am finished at All Souls.”

“What?” she asked, hardly believing her ears.

“There won't be another year here, or two more years, or a lifetime of sweet scholarship. I am the head of a large, silly, demanding family. I am the Gatewood freak of nature because I do not enjoy their idle pastimes.”

He watched her closely to make sure she would not run and then pulled her down onto a bench near the gate. “You're going to hear all of this, my dear Ellen.”

She only nodded.

“Now, lean against me like a good girl,” he said. “That's much better. My relatives all laugh at me and wring their hands over me, and wonder when I will have the good sense to become like them. They are distraught because I do not gamble and race horses, and dip snuff to perfection, and moon about because my tailor doesn't put enough buckram wadding in my coats.”

“It's hard to believe,” she murmured.

“Believe it,” he said, his arm tight around her shoulders. “If you were to marry me, you would be marrying into a sillier family than the one you belong to. They would wear you out with their demands and petitions. You might even extend that disgust to me. That is what I greatly fear.”

She leaned away from him just to straighten her skirt, and he quickly took his arm from around her shoulders. “I thought I had hoped too much,” he said, his voice low. He got to his feet. “My dear, let me walk you back to St. Hilda's.” He kissed her hand and held it for a lingering moment. “And now the term is almost up. My property manager has done yeoman's duty this year, overseeing the estates, but he has assured me in numerous correspondences that he is retiring in June. I have to go back to Hertfordshire and learn how to manage land, crops, tenants, sheep, and cattle.”

“Country life is not so onerous,” Ellen said. She tried to take his arm again, but he had moved away.

He looked back at her and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You see, there wouldn't be any trips to explore and map the world, Ellen. There won't be much leisure to study, either.” He chuckled without any mirth. “I am destined to become a gentleman farmer who falls asleep over his soup at dinner because he is so tired. And when I am in London, I will be expected to spend my time in frivolity, or endure the constant remarks of my stupid relatives.”

“Sticks and stones, my lord …”

He nodded. “I know. I know. But, you know, El, the constant niggling and wrangling wears away at me, until it becomes easier to forget I ever had any dreams of my own.”

Ellen joined him then and walked along in silence beside him.

How stupid I have been about men
, she thought. She hesitated and then linked her arm through his. He looked at her in surprise.

“Forgive me,” she said suddenly.

“For what?” Gatewood asked.

“For feeling sorry for myself because I am a woman. Forgive me for thinking you were so lucky and independent and could do whatever you wanted because you are a man.”

He was silent for the length of the block. “Forgiven,” he said finally, his voice unsure. “Forgiven time and time again, my dear.”

The streets were almost empty of shoppers now as people hurried home to dinner. She slowed her steps, willing him to propose to her again.

He walked with her in silence up the shallow steps of St. Hilda's, worn smooth by centuries of scholars. He took her hand at the top, and she held her breath.

“Ellen, thank you for hearing me out.” He kissed her hand and pressed it briefly against his chest. “And thank you for being such a welcome addition to my life this year at Oxford.”

He cleared his throat, and she slowly let out her breath.
Oh, please
, she thought.

“Well, let us part as friends, my very dear Ellen Grimsley, who has such plans to take the world apart and reassemble it. I wish I could help you, but my time will never be my own.”

He turned to go, stepping down until his face was hidden by the lengthening shadows of early evening. “April will be a busy month at All Souls. Let us do meet again in May before the term ends.”

“But …”

“Good-bye.”