Page 10 of An Earl by Any Other Name
“I haven’t in the last month. I’ve been busy, but I will be attending the one in town while I’m here for the party,” Ivy replied, and added two sugars to her tea, seemingly completely unconcerned that she was speaking nonsense. So Miss Leighton desired for women to vote? He studied her again. She did not appear to be a wild radical like the women depicted in the papers. Well-bred ladies knew better than to get involved in such nonsense.
Women voting. Ha! He frowned at his mother.
“My son”—his mother directed her comment toward Ivy—“doesn’t believe women should vote.”
He choked on the crumpet and coughed violently. Tea with his mother was fast becoming a danger to his health. With a little shove, he put the crumpets out of reach and fixed his meddlesome mother with a pointed stare.
“It is not a matter of belief, but truth. Women have not the sense, nor the education to vote. They would simply vote as their husbands, fathers, and brothers would demand. It wouldn’t change anything. Any man able to persuade a woman would merely double his own vote, rendering the entire process useless. It is pointless to entertain such a notion.” He sat back in his chair, delighted that he’d set the young lady straight on the matter.
“No great change?” Ivy queried softly. Her full lips slid from a smile into a slight frown. The fire burning her ochre-colored eyes was the only warning that he had made a terrible mistake.
* * *
Ivy settled her hands into her lap, curling her fingers around her napkin to prevent herself from screaming. Would it be so terrible to upend the entire pot of hot tea over his head? Surely not…
No great change? How could I have ever thought I loved him as a young girl? He’s an arrogant fool!
She schooled her features into a polite but icy expression. Very well, if the man meant to go to war, then she was perfectly ready to lay siege to his insipid ideas of a woman’s place and role.
“There is no scientific proof that men are stronger intellectually. If women were treated exactly the same as men, given the same opportunities, the same education…and most importantly, the same expectations, both behaviorally and intellectually, then we would not be relegated to a secondary existence.”
Leo narrowed his eyes, clearly ready to do battle. “No woman of my acquaintance is qualified or even interested in voting. They understand it is up to their husbands, fathers, and brothers to make the decisions because they are better informed. It is what is best for everyone.”
“Is it really what is best for everyone?” Ivy asked, her tone sweet, but he seemed to sense a poisonous layer to her tone because he shifted back in his seat. “Women are more intelligent than you give them credit.”
When he made a little scoffing noise, it took every ounce of her self-control not to reach across the table to grip his necktie and strangle him.
“Do you think a wife, sister, or daughter would confess her true desires to any man when she only expects three outcomes—ridicule, abuse, or simply being ignored? That is our fate. You men are allowed to lose your tempers and declare your opinions with shouting and fists, but the moment a woman raises her voice or persists in stating her opinion, she is declared to be suffering from hysterics and is sent to an asylum where she is then truly driven mad. Do you believe women would own up to their need to be equals if they knew such a fate awaited them? If you do, you, my lord, are a fool.”
She knew firsthand the deprivations her sex suffered at the hands of men trying to repress them. She’d helped more than one of her fellow suffragettes recover from force-feeding and other unspeakable acts they’d been subjected to after being arrested. Men were frightened of women, so frightened that they felt the need to act out in violence. One could not speak to men of fear, nor expect them to behave rationally. They reacted harshly toward anyone who suggested they learn to accept change. But change would come one day, and men would have to catch up to the times.
Ivy managed to keep her voice calm during her entire speech, but afterward she was so furious, she stood and stalked off in the direction of the gardens. This was not at all how she had pictured her first meeting with Leo after so many years. Thank heavens she hadn’t told him of her involvement with the Women’s Social and Political Union. He might have had her removed from the manor house.
Fleeing through the maze of hedges, she found the familiar oak tree by the left edge of the long rectangular pond. She lifted her skirts above her ankles and stepped onto the bed of ivy that had worked its way up the trunk of the tree. Her fingers brushed over the waxen surface of the leaves, and she almost giggled. Who knew a simple afternoon tea would have ended with such fireworks?
Her face was hot and her body flushed with her outburst. Her heart still beat wildly, like the wings of a dragonfly. She had just told the Earl of Hampton off over women’s suffrage. Emmeline Pankhurst would have been proud and likely given her a hearty “Bravo!” A little snort escaped her and she turned around, startled when she came face-to-face with Leo.
He stood only ten feet from her, one hand tucked in his trouser pocket, looking both irritated and on the verge of smiling.
How had she not heard him following her?
“Something amuses you, Miss Leighton?” He arched one golden brow, an imperious look on his face. He was every inch a lion with his puffed up male pride. And he was damnably handsome. It was a pity, she realized, that he would not see reason where women’s issues were concerned. What was it her mother used to say? A handsome man should never go to waste. However, if the man in question was not intelligent enough to give women their due, then she would not be able to stand him for long. This was exactly the reason she could never marry. She’d met only a handful of men who believed women should have the right to vote and most were young men in their early twenties, desperate to please a childhood sweetheart who was loyal to the cause.
“I’m sorry. ’Tis a private joke.” She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
He took one step closer. “I can’t help but think that you are laughing at me. And to think I came after you to offer my apologies.” He folded his arms and glowered but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes that made her want to smile, even though she was still furious that he didn’t see her point of view.
Even if he didn’t agree with her, she knew she had best fix this before she ruined the upcoming house party by being at odds with her host.
“It was not you, my lord, but me. I was simply mortified that I lost my temper in front of you. I tend to laugh at my mistakes. It is better than the alternative.”
He sidled closer and her breath hitched. As a young girl, she’d loved it when he’d been close to her but now…it was different. Everything about him being close to her made her feel alive. Her skin tingled with a heightened awareness.
I shouldn’t feel this way, not for him. I’ve changed, and so has he. We aren’t children anymore and we’re certainly not suited for anything more. No matter what she told herself, it didn’t change how she felt or how she wanted to know how good it would feel to lose herself in a kiss.
“What is the alternative?” he prompted curiously.
Ivy shrugged, still trying to ignore her body’s heated reaction to his closeness. “What makes one laugh can also make one cry.”
