Chapter 19 #2
Andrew smiled at the man’s earnest interest. “It does seem to refer to death, doesn’t it? What little pleasures would you miss, Dunning?”
The impassive scholar appeared to give that serious thought. After a moment he said, “Sunlight of course—”
Andrew raised a brow, giving him a schoolmaster’s best frown as if to say ‘you can do better.’
“—in the morning, on the Cam!” Dunning finished.
“Be honest, Geoff, what would you really miss?”
“Soft sheets, scones and butter, my good leather chair, a delicious beverage I receive at Christmas from a cousin who is a pastor in the glens, deep in the Highlands—but not one of them would be subject for high poetry. Those are domestic things.”
That was it then. Praxilla’s work—and Georgiana’s—dismissed in one blanket statement.
“High?” Andrew’s anger flared. “Who is to say what is high?”
Andrew could not think of any poet who wrote of everyday things. Neither the odes of Keats nor the oddity of Coleridge covered tea and scones. Perhaps they should.
“Love, ladies, nature, mythology–who decides what subjects are fit for poetry?” Andrew demanded.
Dunning didn’t take offense at Andrew’s vehemence. “Good question, old boy. The consensus of the scholarly community one supposes. Interesting question, that.”
“Can you think of one who wrote of scones and jam?”
Dunning looked surprised by the question but gave it serious thought.
“Not any of the respected poets. There’s that Scots fellow, Burns.
He writes of domestic things. No scholars, certainly.
” Dunning furrowed his brow. “Must be others. ‘Pon thought, can’t think of any reason why one can’t make a verse of homely things.
Praxilla did, didn’t she?” He smiled at Andrew. “Translating them, are you?”
“My partner is.”
Dunning raised his eyebrows as if to ask about the partner but didn’t voice it. “How is the work progressing?” he asked instead.
“Well enough. Some questions have arisen though. What do we know of Greek eating habits?” That is Georgiana’s question. She had asked what was known about the foods and other simple pleasures of ancient Greece.
“You mean, if they had no scones for comfort, what would they turn to?” The thought amused Dunning.
Andrew grinned back at him.
“Might be interesting to find out,” Dunning said. “Somewhere in this temple of knowledge we should be able to find that between us, old boy. Shall we have a go? What do you have so far? Old Featheringham the librarian will let us up in the stacks if I ask him.”
Georgiana would love this. It was a pity Old Featheringham would never have the pleasure of her curiosity and intelligence.
Hours passed before Andrew finally packed away his notes.
Dunning was long gone. Andrew picked up the papers and made his way through the reading room to the gated entrance, passing under brilliantly painted glass of the arched transom, burnished to a dark gold in the setting sun.
The students who passed with him ignored its message: Honi soit qui mal y pense.
In English, it meant “shamed be the person who thinks ill of another.” They don’t often practice it either.
Old Featheringham scowled when he passed, reminding Andrew how lonely he felt. Dunning’s company had cheered him, but Dunning wasn’t Georgiana.
God how I miss her! He ached to have her by his side. His dialogs with Georgiana delved layer by layer down into the ideas of the poets, prodded on by her persistent questioning. Together they produced far better work than either of them could have managed alone.
Andrew turned toward the Cam, grateful his improved gait let him walk across the commons to the river.
Georgiana’s voice, its throaty undertones pitched exactly right to recite the women’s works, aroused him even in memory.
Memories of her lilac scent were still his nemesis; now they carried the added burden of remembered love-making.
He worried that she might never come back.
He tried to push the thought from his mind, but fear lurked in the shadows of darkening Cambridge.
She had been gone barely a week, but each day felt to him like a thousand years.
The first set of questions arrived yesterday; he would have to be content with them.
For tonight, he would compose his response.
He would give as generously of his mind as he longed to give generously of his very self.
* * *
“Ardmore, must you overfill my plate?” Ardmore’s countess, the former Eloise Hayden stretched out her nasal drawl but skillfully avoided slipping into a whine that guests nearby might perceive as low-class.
“You know my appetite is dainty.” She rolled her eyes in disgust and tucked into the plate of delicacies from the Duchess of Murnane’s overflowing wedding breakfast.
Georgiana tore her eyes from the bride and groom and smiled up at her brother-in-law. Weak of chin, dim of mind, and plump of pocket, the Earl of Ardmore was perfect for her sister Eloise and harmless enough.
Eloise downed the lobster patties and cheese pastries from the Murnane House chef with more energy than she had exhibited for any other activity.
Georgiana let her eyes drift back to the couple making their graceful way among their guests.
Chadbourn leaned possessively over his bride, one hand at her back, guiding her.
He stooped to whisper in her ear before each encounter to explain every distant cousin and interesting acquaintance.
The new countess glowed with a calm joy that clutched at Georgiana’s heart.
“How can you stand to watch that performance and still eat, Georgiana?” Eloise demanded. “All that billing and cooing positively turns one’s stomach.” She popped another pastry into her mouth and licked her fat little fingers.
Marianna, youngest of the Hayden children tittered musically, a carefully modulated titter designed to strike a balance between appreciation of her sister’s wit and unseemly laughter. “They are overflowing with nauseating sentiment, are they not?” she said.
Her remark drew a sharp look from her mother. “Young ladies do not remark on the behavior of their hosts,” the Duchess pronounced. She shared a knowing look with Eloise and went on archly, “Even if the remarks are true.”
Marianna sunk back into her habitual pout. “One can become quite weary of being reminded of all the things young ladies cannot do,” she fussed.
“Catch a husband, Marianna,” Eloise said with a smirk in Georgiana’s direction, “and then you may do as you please.”
Georgiana squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and tried to let the barb fall away.
Her armor wore thin after time in her mother and sisters’ company.
She glanced up at her brother and pondered his remote look.
The clockwork efficiency of his mind at work almost shown forth behind ice blue eyes.
She wondered if he was busy maintaining the Sudbury estate on his father’s behalf, seeing to the welfare of the entire country, or managing the lives of all his friends to suit his own notions of rectitude.
All of the above at once, she suspected, while delicately partaking of the wedding breakfast and never once leaving so much as a crumb on his pristine neck cloth.
Glenaire’s sudden movement caused her to straighten. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion and bowed over the bride’s hand before Georgiana realized the couple had reached their table.
“Lady Chadbourn, my congratulations,” Glenaire said, giving her a look that held more approval than warmth, a look that seemed to say he had inspected her and found nothing lacking. He probably had. He and the Earl exchanged an enigmatic look. Chadbourn nodded before turning to the ladies.
The Earl formally introduced his wife to the Duchess as “My Countess.” Georgiana’s formidable mother gave the woman a perfectly correct nod of acknowledgement, confident that her superior rank demanded no more. The Earl frowned slightly but didn’t look surprised.
“Lady Georgiana, what a pleasure to see you,” he exclaimed with warmth and (Georgiana suspected) some relief. “It has been too long. Let me make known to you my wife.” The word “wife” echoed with pride.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Chadbourn,” Georgiana said.
The lady smiled back. “Call me Catherine, please. Will has told me how much your friendship and your brother’s meant to him growing up.” She tossed a teasing glance at Glenaire who stunned Georgiana by smiling back.
The Earl chuckled. “I suspect we’re long past the need for titles, Georgiana. Can you bear it?”
Georgiana laughed back. “At least you didn’t call me Lady Georgie, like Jamie Heyworth did the last time I saw him,” she said.
“Where is he, by the way? Hiding from matchmaking mamas?” A faint vibration to the table, the sure sign of her mother’s sharply stiffening posture, should have been a warning.
The Earl grinned. “Probably, but I actually believe he and some of my rapscallion cousins have gotten up a match in the billiard room where there is more freedom.”
“And drinks other than tea or lemonade.” The new countess said. More vibrations.
“I see you know our Jamie, already,” Georgiana replied. She bit back a grin. Let my mother be shocked, she thought.
Catherine smiled at Glenaire. “Not all of Will’s friends are quite so wild.”
Glenaire bowed in acknowledgement. “Nor so thoughtless. This is your day.”
“I’m just pleased Will’s friends are here to share his happiness,” Catherine said. “Even the less sober ones.”
“You haven’t met Andrew yet,” Georgiana blurted out helplessly. Chadbourn shot Glenaire a speaking glance; Glenaire merely raised one eyebrow. The table quivered ominously. The Duchess must be ready to explode.
“The major?” Catherine asked. “No, I have not. Will had hoped to invite him, but Glenaire told Will he still suffered from his wounds and assured us it was kinder not to invite him. I understand he was the scholar of the group, and I am anxious to meet this soldier-scholar. I think I will like him very much.”
Georgiana thought she heard an unladylike snort from her mother’s direction?
Surely not. Perhaps an outraged puff of air?
Looking at Catherine’s intelligent brown eyes, Georgiana found it easy to ignore the Duchess.
“You would like him very much, I think,” she said.
Her voice came out a deep and breathless murmur.
“I have no doubt of it. If we can’t get him here, we’ll have to come round to Cambridge and invade his solitude.”
A few more polite words, then they moved on. Georgiana felt a sense of loss come over her like a cloak. One didn’t need to be the only one in a room, she knew, to know loneliness. It was possible to sit among many people and be entirely alone.
As if from a distance, she heard her mother’s hiss.
“Really, Georgiana. First names with that woman? The title at least gives her the facade of respectability. One must keep climbers like that firmly in their place. And Mallet! Did you have to mention that jumped-up schoolmaster’s son?
” Outrage shook her jowls and pinched her mouth.
Georgiana watched Catherine smile up at Chadbourn as they floated to another table. The love she saw there pulled at her heart. “She whom Aphrodite loved.” Georgiana could see with absolute clarity that Catherine knew “what sort of roses the flowers are.”
She felt a firm pinch and turned back to the outraged face of her mother.
“You’re becoming common, Georgiana. It will not do.
You’ve been left on your own too long. You shall come back with us to Mountview for a good long while, long enough to pound some sense of your family’s consequence back into you.
I shall insist on it.” With a flounce, she turned one sturdy shoulder to Georgiana and her face to her other daughters.
“A good long while.” Georgiana groaned helplessly. She thought she should warn Andrew. Will he care.