Page 4 of The Blighter and the Bluestocking

“It’s not luck.”

“You crashed into a duke. He ruined your new pant-dress–is that what we’re calling it? And now you have to revise your damaged Glider machine.”

“Yes, well, that’s alright. Wait, we don’t know he was a duke.”

“Yes, I’m sure he was. In fact, I’m certain he is the Duke of Whitewood. He’s the one with six brothers. All of them quite dashing.” Her mother winked. Bridget choked on some tea. Had her mother actually winked? She didn’t have time to digest the thought or the tea, for her mother continued on.

“Theon dit, and knowing his mother as I do I can confirm it, is that his parents were a love match, and they kept–erm–trying until they had a girl. Not your typical aristocratic family, I’ll say. But they are lovely. In fact, I believe they named their beautiful daughter Hope.” Her mother’s hand rested on her heart with a sigh. “Anyway, your description fits him to a T. Right down to the stick in his…umm…well. You know.”

The Countess of Worthington, Lady Olivia Harrington, allowed her daughter to be a free spirit, but she did not herself subscribe to the nature.

“We shall pay him a call and see that he sets things right.”

“Mother,” the complaint was out before Bridget could stop it. “I don’t want to see him again. Especially if he’s a stuffy duke.”

“Stuffy as he may be, he has his honor.”

Bridget shot up from her seat. “No one even saw us together. You can’t force him to marry me.”

“Sit down dear, I’m not referring to such drastic measures.” She tapped her finger playfully on her chin. “Though now that you mention it…his mother and I are acquaintances. I’m sure she would understand the maternal perspective in this matter…”

Bridget groaned.

“Don’t groan, my dear. Your father and I permit too much leeway with you as it is.”

“Yes, mother.” She lowered herself back into her chair and took a sip of tea. “But you won’t force his hand, will you?” She tilted her head at the question. “Nothing happened.” At least, nothing had happened physically.

It had all happened in her mind though. Perhaps not all of it, seeing as how she was an innocent, she wasn’t entirely sure whatallentailed. But as much as she could surmise from the books she had read and what she knew of animal behavior, that much had all played out in her head.

First, those warm hands on her hips would have traveled northward, to just under her breasts. They would have delicately rubbed over their sides and then one hand would have reached up to her head and drew her in for a long slow kiss.

Even as she sat taking tea, the heat spread to her core and filled her belly with more warmth than any amount of tea could ever do.

However much she resented the haughtiness behind the eyes of the duke, she couldn’t resist being pulled in by their penetrating brownness. Brownth. It should be a word. If she were a writer perhaps she would make up words like that. But she was in the business–however unprofitable–of inventing. She had countless inventions. Why, she had so many plans and ideas for different mechanisms, it was hard to keep them all straight.

She patted the bag on her lap and unlatched it. Sifting through a few papers, she looked for her latest invention to share with her mother.

Sift, sift, sift. Look, look, look. Nothing. Where was it?

She shifted her glasses on her face. This was not good. It had taken her weeks to come up with that device? Could she even remember the source of her inspiration? This could be weeks, months, of lost work. Why oh why had she chosen to carry those papers with her? She had intended to seek out the new soap maker she had heard of. Knowing another female with a mind for science would be a boon to be sure. She had hoped to discuss some of her sketches, and well, now it all felt so foolish. Especially if all the papers were lost.

“Darling, are you listening to me?”

“I’m sorry, mother,” she said sheepishly. “I was distracted.”

“So I gathered. I said, we will make a call and he will set this all to rights.”

“I don’t want to–” she interrupted herself. Her papers. They must have fallen out in the collision and been stuffed into his bag by accident. Perhaps if they went to his house, she could get her papers back. “Alright, we can go.”

“Wonderful, we shall call on them tomorrow. If I recall correctly, that’s their day for callers.” And her mother always did recall correctly, so that was the day they went.

The next day, three women and zero dukes sat for tea. “Your Grace, it’s such a delight to see you again. Even in spite of the circumstances.”

“I’m only sorry my son couldn’t be here, Lady Harrington. He’s away again today at some medical symposium.” She waved her hand in the air, “Always learning, that one. If he’s not with one of his siblings, he can always be found reading a book. Even growing up. When the other children would go off and play, he would often take to reading.”

So he could spend all of his time reading, but she couldn’t? Steam puffed out of Bridget’s ears. How hypocritical to demean her for being a bluestocking, yet be the male equivalent himself?

The steam was entirely puffing out of her ears, not boiling in her other parts. At least, she didn’t take notice of it. She was far too incensed. How dare he call her Blue, so as to mock her for pursuing academia and applying her knowledge. He was good and truly a blighter.

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