Page 9 of Tempting the Bluestocking
“Perhaps not contrite about my motives,” she admitted. “But the way I went about springing it on you…I suppose it wasn’t very well done.”
“It certainly was not,” Clare agreed, carefully extracting more seeds from the small ceramic pot she’d stored them in. “Though I question your motives as well as the execution of your littlegift.”
“Is it so wrong of me to want more for you, Clare?”
Slamming her spade down and finally meeting her aunt’s gaze, she shook her head. “More than what? A life I chose and enjoy just the way it is? You’ve always allowed me my independence, and I am grateful for that. At what point did that independence end? When you decided it is time for me to take a lover?”
Helene squared her shoulders, displaying the same stubbornness Clare had learned directly from her. “I have also gone out of my way to open your eyes to the boundless experiences of the world: travel, cuisine, art, intellectual pursuits—”
“I see,” Clare spat. “Now that the others have been accomplished, intercourse must be next on your list of experiences.”
Raising an eyebrow, her aunt gave her a knowing look. “I didn’t have to introduce you to that particular experience, did I? You went out and discovered it on your own. Intercourse isn’t what I was referring to, CeCe. Pleasure…that is the experience I was speaking of.”
Despite not being an ignorant maiden, Clare’s face flushed hot and she broke Helene’s gaze. “That word and its connotation are purely subjective. I derive pleasure from my collections, from working in this greenhouse, from meeting and getting to know scholars and artists and the sorts of people who stimulate my mind.”
“My dear, your mind is merely one part of you. Do you want to die an old, shriveled up woman who’s never known what it’s like to want someone to the point of madness? Trust me, there are enough of those amongst the ranks of theton, and you do not want to be one of them.”
Clare crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that how you see me—as some sort of hopeless case in need of charity?”
Helene sighed, clearly exasperated, and seemed to try to remain calm in the face of Clare’s anger. “Of course not. I just did not want your first experience to make you believe it isn’t worth trying again with someone else. Someone discreet, whose only aim is to please you. Who you can try it with as many times and in as many ways as you wish until you’ve decided what you like and what you don’t like. Why, in truth, it sounds rather a lot like your hybrid experiments!”
Furrowing her brow, she studied her aunt for signs of insanity. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Rising to her feet, Helene grinned. “Hear me out, CeCe. In this greenhouse, you take this white lily.”
“Lilium candidum,” Clare grumbled, unable to let go of her habit of reminding her aunt of the scientific terms for the plants.
“Right,” Helene relented. “You take thisLilium candidum, and mate it with this…this…”
“Lilium superbum.”
“Yes, such a pretty plant, by the way. You mate them several times and in different ways in order to discover the outcome of what they can create together. What these two plants produce will not come out the same as what you make if you were to cross this sameLilium candidumwith this.”
Clare scowled as her aunt pointed toward an entirely different plant. “Lilium henyri,” she offered grudgingly.
Helene nodded her thanks, and pressed on. “At times, you might experiment with plants that produce an undesirable outcome. But, do you give up on the process entirely? Of course not! You simply move forward and find yourLilium candiduma new match…one that will produce the most vibrant flowers you’ve ever seen.”
As her aunt’s words sank in, Clare could not help but admit they had the ring of truth to them. Her one-night affair had been just as Helene described—an experiment to appease her curiosity. Displeased with the results, she had decided it was not worth pursuing again, with the same man or with anyone else.
Now that her initial anger had faded and she’d decided to forgive Helene for the artless presentation of her gift, Clare supposed she could see that her aunt meant well. Her motives had certainly been pure, even if a bit odd. But then, their relationship had never been like that of normal mothers and daughters, even though this woman had raised her. She’d never made Clare feel ashamed of her inquisitive mind, and had answered every question she’d ever posed with blunt honesty. Of course she would think it acceptable for her to introduce Clare to a male courtesan.
With a sigh, she peered at Helene over the rim of her spectacles. “You might have explained it that way before sending me into that room, you know.”
Helene threw her head back and laughed, the boisterous sound echoing through the small space. “As I said, my methods might have been ill-judged but I regret nothing. I simply cannot allow you to quit after only one go. Edward is receiving an exorbitant sum to be at your beck and call. Aside from that, he appeared quite…virile. More so than that Barnaby.”
Clare snickered. “His name was Baldwin.”
Wrinkling her brow, Helene shook her head slowly. “No…I am almost certain his name was Barnaby. Don’t try to make me feel old, my mind is a steel trap—I never forget a name or a face.”
“Are you certain about that?” Clare teased.
“Of course I am,” Helene insisted. “Perhapsyouhave forgotten—your mind’s way of removing such an unpleasant memory. So you’ve forgotten his name as well. It was Barnaby, by the way.”
“God, you might just be right,” Clare murmured. “Baldwin Barnaby was the most forgettable man I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing. He had a weak chin and even weaker hands.”
She cringed at the memory of those hands on her, and swiftly pushed it from her thoughts. If she dwelt on that for too long, she’d find herself retreating from this idea even swifter than before.
“Edward certainly didn’t look as if he had weak hands.”
