Chapter 25 #2
“My, yes. No bookshop in Cambridge could keep it. It has caused a sensation among the undergraduates,” Dunning told her.
“As I said, the same is true in London,” Bailey added. “I came to apologize, yes, but also to beg you to order a second printing.” He looked up at her under furrowed brows, pleading.
She turned back to Andrew who suddenly looked like a proud Papa. He waited for her to speak.
“It’s all too much. It’s being read? Yes, of course it is, you said that. The women’s works are actually being read!”
Jamie finally spoke up. “Even I’m reading it, Lady Georgie. Didn’t care to read the commentary, but the little verses are, well, even I can understand them. The ancient ladies must not have been as protected as ours.”
She slipped quietly back into her seat, ashen.
Dunning looked rueful. “They are a bit scandalous, I fear, my lady. One can only imagine the London on-dits. You were true to their world in your translations. You shed light on lives many haven’t hitherto known about.
I am proud to know the scholar of such a work.
It is, of course, proper that you didn’t wish your name associated with it, but I’m proud to say I know you.
Not, of course, that I would breathe your name if you don’t wish it. There is speculation enough in town.”
“Speculation?”
“Lawrence Watterson is putting it out that Andrew did it alone, when he isn’t telling people the works are spurious.”
“Scoundrel.” Andrew looked as if he had just eaten something rancid. She squeezed his hand.
“No one believes they are spurious. Watterson looks like a fool. You cite the Anthologia Graeca and other sources. The works are there for others to find should they wish.”
“But they don’t know it’s my work?”
“No one seems to remember that Watterson spread your request for assistance about.” Dunning cleared his throat noisily. “It would be a trivial matter to make sure your scholarship was acknowledged, at least privately among those who appreciate it. I could spread the word.”
“I think not, Geoff. Let’s give the lady some time to digest what you’ve told her.” Andrew withdrew his hand from hers. “Tell me, Georgie. What do you wish? If we don’t reprint, the to-do will die in time.”
She couldn’t speak; she was numb with shock.
“I am so sorry you weren’t able to make the initial decision, but you can make this one.”
Georgiana’s head spun. Their work was being read. It had reviewers. That reality overwhelmed all other thought. She couldn’t make out Andrew’s question. Bailey seemed to expect something, but she could only look at Andrew with wonderment.
He took her hand again and drew her to her feet. “I think perhaps she needs to discuss the second printing with her collaborator. In private.”
* * *
“You were thinking of your parents, weren’t you?”
When Jamie described the ancient ladies as less protected than their own, Andrew thought her ashen face might be a prelude to a swoon. He ought to have known better.
She glanced up at him with a deliciously puzzled expression in response to his question. She sat in front of the diamond-paned windows, surrounded by his books, and the vision of her there took his breath away.
“When Jamie raised the more scandalous aspects of the poems, were you thinking about your parents?” he repeated.
“For a moment, yes. I’ve lived far too many years under the interdiction. No scandal must touch my sisters. No scandal must touch the House of Hayden. I forgot for a moment.”
“Forgot what?”
“That I don’t have to fear reproach if I don’t choose to.” The Hayden chin rose. She would battle her own family for this. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he held, weak with relief. She would probably have to stand up to the Haydens, and her courage relieved him.
“Let’s get down to the root issue quickly here. The milk can’t be put back in the bottle. By that I mean, the book is being read, and it is causing talk. I think we are well-served to do a second printing.”
“Of course we are!” she responded without hesitation. “Anyone who wishes to read these works should be able to do so. We owe it to the writers.”
“That’s my girl. More copies won’t necessarily fan the flames of gossip. My only question is whether we wish to print it exactly the same or put the name of the Lady of Scholarship on the title page.”
“Why would we do that?” She looked genuinely confused.
“To put the credit where it rightly belongs, of course. It’s your work. In addition, gossip feeds on speculation. Take away the speculation and—”
“Marry me,” she said.
It was the last thing he expected. The look in her eyes knocked the wind from his chest. He groped for words. She misunderstood the look on his face and turned toward the wall.
Andrew reached over and pulled her back to him. He kissed her so fiercely it was as if he could pour his pride, his admiration, and his love into her that way. When at last he gasped for air and began to feather kisses over her brows and cheek, a moan deep in her throat filled him with yearning.
“Repeat it.” He whispered. “Say it again.” His mouth moved down the column of her throat.
“Marry me.” Her voice was husky but sure.
He paused in his progress back up her throat and smiled against the edge of her chin.
“My dear Lady Georgiana, you do me great honor, but I must say that isn’t the proposal of a young man’s dreams.” He went back to kissing and would have taken her mouth again if she hadn’t covered his lips with her fingers.
“Wretch.” She smiled at him.
He grinned into her hand and tried to kiss her again.
This time she pulled away.
“I’m teas—” he began.
“Mr. Mallet,” Georgiana shook him off, pulled a few feet away, and struck a pose of mock seriousness. “You must be aware of the high esteem I hold for you and know, as I know, that we suit one another very well.” He moved toward her, but she eluded him.
“I am all too aware that I have little to offer,” she went on as she avoided his hands. “My fortune is small, but I am compelled to put my suit to the test.”
She slipped the book cart between them and whirled it sideways when he tried to pass. “Therefore, with trepidation, aware of my vast unworthiness, I ask if you—”
He reached across for her. A growl rose deep in his throat. “Georgiana!”
She slipped gracefully to her knees, one hand on her heart and the other extended as though pleading. “—would extend to me the great privilege of your hand in marriage.”
He stopped in his tracks, sobering. Amusement fled. Georgiana remained. Beneath her teasing, he saw fear and expectation.
“Of course I will, foolish woman,” he said while he helped her to rise. He held her at arm’s length and went on, “But I think I need to know what you expect from this marriage.”
She didn’t shirk the question; she stepped away from him and took a steadying breath. That’s my Georgie. Her courage warmed his heart.
“That night, when I told you I wished to stay with you, you said you wanted it too. I remember you said, ‘it’s called marriage.’ I have thought of it many times.
What I wanted was to be here with you, sharing this house, sharing your bed, and spending our days in work. I wanted to have a voice in that work.”
She sighed, and he watched her chew her lower lip, that endearing habit she had when she searched for words. He held his peace and waited for her to go on.
“You said ‘it’s called marriage.’ That closeness, that sharing isn’t what my parents called marriage, but if that is what you mean, I want it.”
“I want it too.” He said in a rush. “It doesn’t have to be here. We could live at Helsington or anywhere you choose as long as we’re together.”
“I like it here. Helsington is no longer mine.” Her breathless admission startled him.
He let her explain. “I sold it. I am, or I was, using the proceeds to support myself without my father’s interference.
We’ll need to manage without it... Father’s money, that is.
I have no staff. My new house is smaller than this one. ”
“I can afford a decent staff. We could buy a different house.”
“There’s more.” He waited expectantly, and she went on. “Yesterday, I think I gave you pleasure. I know it.”
Pleasure? Mind-exploding pleasure. “Foolish woman. You underestimate yourself.”
She held up a graceful hand to silence him. “I didn’t realize how it would feel to give pleasure—in bed, when we work, when we’re together. It is a powerful thing to give pleasure like that.”
He frowned and tried to follow her logic.
“It occurred to me that it is powerful to care for one you love in other ways, the giving part.” She sighed again, deeply, as if groping to be understood. “I never thought of it, Andrew. You have to allow someone to love you. You have to let them so that they can feel powerful, too.”
He took two steps toward her. “You want to let me give you pleasure.” He wanted to say it lightly, but he found he couldn’t. Something profound shifted around them.
“I think you want to do more than that. And, yes, I want to let you care for me.”
He closed the gap between them and pulled her to him, her head nestled on his shoulder. “You trust me with your care?”
“I think.” She paused so long he thought she had lost her train of thought, but she finally spoke. “I think caring for someone isn’t the same as having power over them. At least it isn’t in the abusive sense. If you can take the burden of my love, I can take yours.”
He kissed her then, a gentle touch, once, twice, and then more deeply. Her hands went around his neck to pull him into her embrace. He felt her smile against his mouth. “We’ll need more work.”
He smiled back. “There is plenty to be found. Women poets in Latin perhaps?”
She laughed out loud. It would be well. They could make a life together. Even the sound of Jamie Heyworth at the door didn’t interfere.
“So, am I to wish you happy, or to call Andrew out?”
“Go away, Jamie.” Two voices spoke with one mind. The passion of their embrace didn’t decrease in the slightest.
“Well then, I’ll just take myself down and tell Harley to open that fine bottle of wine he has chilling. Bailey will want his answer. Ten minutes?”