Page 57 of Courting Scandal With The Duke
The river reflected the moon as a silver stripe across the sluggish flow. Why not?
She rose from the bench. ‘Indeed, let us look at the stars.’ Each of the boats had been furnished with cushions and he selected one. He held her hand as she stepped aboard. She arranged herself in the bow, resting her back against the pillows. It was surprisingly comfortable.
He unhooked the rope from its fastening and lithely stepped over the gunnel. He made it look easy. Hepicked up the pole and set them in motion moving into the middle of the river.
‘You have done this before,’ she said, trailing a hand over the side. The water was chilly. One would not wish to fall in.
‘I used to row when I was at university.’
‘Oxford or Cambridge?’
‘Oxford.’ For some reason he sounded surprised that she did not know. No doubt all the ladies of his acquaintance studied Debrett’s and knew everything about him. ‘All the Melville men attend Oxford.’
‘What about the women? Where do they go?’
The boat wobbled a fraction. ‘I have no idea. I presume they have a governess.’
Typical male. No interest in the education of the females of his family. ‘I see.’
‘There have only been sons for the past two generations.’ The defensive note in his voice was surprising.
She lay back on her cushion and gazed upwards. ‘I can see the plough perfectly, and Ursa Major.’
‘You know your stars. Are you some sort of bluestocking?’
She chuckled, an intentionally low and throaty noise. ‘Do I seem like a bluestocking?’
‘Pettigrew says bluestockings are women who wear unattractive clothes and spectacles and quote Mary Wollstonecraft every five minutes. He advised me to avoid them like the plague. So no. You do not seem like a bluestocking.’
‘If you think so little of women who have brains, it isno wonder—’ Insulting him was not what she wanted to do.
‘No wonder what?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Come, sit beside me.’ She slid over a few inches. ‘The evening is clear and the stars particularly fine.’
He hesitated. He must have guessed she had been about to say something derogatory. Blast.
She heard him sigh. Then he set down his pole, eased in beside her and lay back.
‘That wasn’t very kind of me, was it?’ he said. ‘To repeat such nonsense about bluestockings.’
Surprised, she pushed up on one elbow and looked down on him. ‘No. Not very kind. And also patently false. While I do not count myself as a bluestocking, I do count myself as reasonably intelligent and well-educated. I cannot see why men only want empty-headed widgeons for wives.’
He reached up and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen forward behind her ear. ‘You are certainly not that, Countess.’
‘But that is what the male half of society wants me to be, so they can decide my future.’ Her father did. Both of her husbands had. How many times had she been told not to worry her pretty little head about something that had concerned her? Something important. Something for which she had a solution. But would they listen to her ideas? Certainly not.
‘What sort of future is it thatyou would like?’ he asked. No one had ever asked her such a question before.
Surprised and pleased, she sank back down into the cushions. ‘Freedom to choose.’
‘To choose what?’
He sounded so puzzled. He simply had no idea.
‘Everything.’
‘No one has freedom in everything.’
