Miss Grimsleys Oxford Career Page 17

  “How could you, Papa?” she whispered.

  “Because it is my right!” he raged.

  He left the room, but she lay where she was, contemplating the ruin of her life, and all because she had written a few paltry papers.

  A moment's reflection convinced her that the papers had nothing to do with it. While she had been away at Oxford, Papa had schemed and meddled with the Cornwells until all she had to do was return home and in a few weeks slide into Horatia's wedding gown, still warm from the Bland wedding. Papa would likely exchange a few acres of his own for those acres of the Cornwell's he had been coveting, and the deed would be done.

  It had nothing to do with Oxford, except that her sojourn there, if only for a few weeks, had let Papa wheel and deal to his heart's content.

  She thought of the papers, particularly the unread paper on Romeo and Juliet, wondering again if Gordon still kept it, or if Lord Chesney has appropriated it in all the excitement yesterday in University College Hall, or if Lord Chesney had even been there. She closed her eyes against the humiliation still so fresh in her mind. Pray that Lord Chesney was not there.

  “I did so want you to see that paper, Jim Gatewood,” she said softly as she pulled on her clothes and checked the room one last time to see if she had forgotten anything. “I wish I could have said good-bye, and thank you.”

  The books lay on the desk. She picked up the Hakluyt book, turning its old and mellow pages, breathing deep of the fragrance of worn leather, ink, and rag paper from an earlier century or two. She wrote a hasty note to the footman, asking him to see that this was returned to its owner, and then crammed the complete words of Shakespeare into her little trunk, along with Chesney's Commentary and Notes on A Midsummer Night's Dream. She could give Gatewood's gifts to Ralph. Better he should have them than she should see them mock her from her bookshelf.

  If Cornwell's house even had a bookshelf.

  She was dressed and downstairs in a matter of minutes. No one was in the halls and she tiptoed along them, but she heard doors open as she passed and knew that the other inmates of the academy were staring at her. The knowledge burned, but she did not turn around to confront their rudeness.

  The door to Miss Dignam's office was closed. She regarded it for a moment, then sat in the straight-backed chair against the wall. She gazed across the hall at the art Miss Dignam chose to hang where students awaiting reprimand could see it. The print was an old one of Hogarth's illustrating the course of life open to young ladies who choose to be disobedient, fractious, and disagreeable.

  Hogarth had limned his topic well, but as Ellen stared at it, she couldn't help suspecting that A Fate Worse Than Death might be more tolerable than waking up each morning for the rest of her life and seeing Thomas Cornwell snoring beside her.

  She listened to the low murmur of voices inside Miss Dignam's sanctum sanctorum and was startled to hear the sound of laughter.

  “Sadists,” she muttered under her breath and then sighed with weariness. She had slept only after a night of tossing about. All she wanted now was to endure one final scold from Miss Dignam, pull her cloak up about her ears, and go home to her own bed. It couldn't come soon enough.

  The door opened. She jumped in spite of herself as Miss Dignam stepped into the hall, her face wreathed in smiles. Ellen blinked in surprise and slowly rose to her feet.

  “Good morning, my dear,” Miss Dignam said, her smile at its toothiest as she closed the door behind her. “I trust you slept well.”

  “Quite badly, actually,” Ellen said, her eyes wide with wonder at the spectacle before her.

  “Very good, my dear, very good. Come along inside, if you will.”

  This is worse and worse, Ellen thought. Only a case-hardened veteran of the French Revolution could smile that way as the blade dropped. She put up her hand as Miss Dignam started to open the door again. “Miss Dignam, were you in France during the Revolution?”

  It was Miss Dignam's turn to stare and then laugh indulgently. “Ellen, what won't you say?”

  Ellen shook her head to clear it and followed Miss Dignam into her office. Her father, all rage and animosity vanished, looked back at her. Her jaw dropped in amazement as she glanced at the occupant in the easy chair by the window, who sat so carelessly with his legs crossed.

  “Jim!” she exclaimed. “How did you get dragged into this?”

  Miss Dignam tittered behind her hand. “It appears you two have already met. My lord, you are a naughty, naughty boy! Ellen, let me introduce James Gatewood, Lord Chesney, of Chesney, Hertfordshire, and Chesney Hall, London.”

  Ellen could only stare in stupefied silence.

  Gatewood stirred himself. “I think I am a bit of a surprise to her,” he commented to the squire, who nodded and laughed in appreciation, goodwill written all over his florid face.

  “Ah, that you are, your worship!” Squire Grimsley said. “One hardly ever finds Ellen at a loss for words.” He paused, and then stumbled into the conversation again as Gatewood opened his mouth to speak. “Not that she is a chatterbox, or a gossip monger, my lord. Oh, no! She's the soul of circumspection and the delight of her mother and me.”

  Ellen stared at her father. Less than fifteen minutes ago he had given her the scold of her life, and so much as sentenced her to endless matrimony with the worst bore in the county. Now he was all smiles and good cheer.

  Miss Dignam was no better. She nodded and bobbed her head until Ellen grew almost dizzy with watching. “My best pupil ever,” she declared, even as she dabbed at her eyes. “I will miss her more than I can say, my lord.”

  “You … you never told me,” she began and stopped, plopping into the chair by the door because her legs would not hold her up.

  “No, I didn't, did I?” Gatewood began. He blushed and stared down at his hands. “I really owe you an explanation but would prefer to reserve it for some more private moment.”

  “Oh, la, my lord, we can arrange that in a moment,” simpered Miss Dignam.

  She cleared her throat and then poked the squire, who scrambled to his feet, giving Ellen a broad wink. “Miss Dignam, we can easily retreat to the sitting room and you can tell me again your theories on education.”

  Ellen stared at her father, who had never once, in all the years of their acquaintance, come within a ten-foot pole of theories of any kind. Here he was, bowing and scraping and making a perfect cake of himself, where only minutes before he had been hard as nails.

  And then she understood and was filled with the greatest humiliation she had ever known. The misery she had inflicted upon herself yesterday in University College's lecture hall held no candle to this new agony that washed over her and left her drained. It was the humiliation of being ashamed of her family.

  As they watched her, Gatewood's eyes hopeful, Miss Dignam and her father eager to please, Ellen felt the bile rise in her throat. All her life she had known the security of being the daughter of a prosperous squire from a prosperous county. There was comfort in knowing that no matter how she personally regarded each family member's silliness and vanities, they were unknown to others. The Grimsley's name in Oxfordshire was enough.

  And now, here was this new squire she had never seen before, twittering about Lord Chesney like a moth to a flame. In one introduction to Lord Chesney, Papa had gone from respected man in his own little sphere to a very small frog in a very large pond. The knowledge caused her unspeakable embarrassment.

  She looked at Lord Chesney, who was on his feet by now, running his fingers through his tousled hair. His face was agitated; unlike the others, Gatewood had seen the look in her eyes and understood what it meant.

  “See here, Ellen, I am sorry,” he began, only to be interrupted by the squire.

  “No, lad, no! I mean, your worship. It was only a high-spirited prank on your part!” The squire laughed, showing all his teeth. “Ellen doesn't mind, do you, my dear?”

  “I mind greatly,” she said, her voice low. “Why didn't you tell me who yo
u were? Why did you lead me on down a path that you must have known would end as it did yesterday?”

  “I …”

  The squire could see that the tide was not turning in Lord Chesney's favor. He chucked his daughter under the chin, choosing not to notice when she drew back from him and made herself smaller in the chair. “Ellen! It's all right and tight! Lord Chesney has explained that you wrote those silly papers that Gordon read! Miss Dignam and I would never tell a soul, so your secret is safe.”

  Ellen noted that, to his credit, Lord Chesney winced at her father's artless confession.

  “You are wrong, Papa,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “Gordon should be expelled from university for what he did, and there is no censure great enough for my part in it. We did a disservice to this great university.” She turned her fine eyes on James Gatewood, who by now was at the window again and chewing on his fingernails. “I do not know why you took such an interest in my scholarship, sir …”

  “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.