Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“I told you that we would pass the stage,” Algernon crowed, nudging her arm so she would lift her head from her book.
Maggie sighed loudly and turned the page. “Yes, you did. As always, the Duke of Ravenswood is correct.”
Algernon frowned at her. He did not like this new habit of Maggie’s—calling him by his title.
But he couldn’t seem to insist that she should not do it.
Of course, she argued that a family member would only call him by his title, and that such a respectful manner of address was no less than he deserved.
And yet, this was Maggie.
Maggie, who had bested him in mathematics more times than he could count.
Maggie, whose knowledge of history at ten had been something terrifying to behold.
Maggie, who had challenged him and refused to pretend she wasn’t smarter.
And likely, she still was, though she was much better at hiding it now.
They had spent much of the day taking turns to read the book out loud, but eventually he had tired of it.
Maggie had read in silence after that and looked to be near the end, thank God.
Although whenever she stopped reading, she would, of course, question his insistence that she travel in the comfort of his carriage beyond the next town they’d agreed upon.
Insisting she ought to take the mail coach, as she had originally intended to do.
But if she were on the mail coach, and he remained in his carriage alone, he would not be able to talk with her. And he was enjoying that—renewing their acquaintance, catching up on the events of her life, and telling her about the antics of his younger brothers and wider family.
From the little Maggie had revealed about her own life, he was concerned about her father’s disappearance, too, as it did not seem rational.
His correspondence to his daughter had always been a constant factor during their estrangement.
His old tutor took up a new position every other year, moving from student to student as they outgrew his tutelage.
Algernon had outgrown Mr. Black’s teaching quite quickly, long before the year was up.
However, he had not outgrown Maggie’s. Their conversations outside of the classroom, between lessons, had challenged him to expand his education in ways he hadn’t considered possible—nor the way her father had ever suggested, either.
Maggie closed the book and glanced out the window with a sigh. “How much farther?”
“I saw a one-mile marker for a town a few minutes ago,” he promised.
“Good. I need to stretch my legs. And I wonder if this place might happen to have that bookseller your valet mentioned.”
“We will have to wait and see,” he said, glad that he’d decided to stop earlier than planned that day.
“Yes,” she said slowly.
He pointed to the book she’d not been reading. One of her own that was sitting on the top of her well-worn travel case. “May I see that?”
She handed it over, and he studied the front. “I don’t think I’ve read this one.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s yours now, a small repayment for all your help. Read it at your leisure.”
They were still some distance away from London due to the slow speed they were traveling, so he gladly accepted the volume, but not as a repayment or with a mind toward keeping it forever. Maggie seemed to have very little with her. She’d worn the same dress for three days in a row.
“I have other books that I can share from my trunk when we stop next—if you would enjoy reading about farming practices and the husbandry of sheep, that is.”
She laughed. “Well, that would be a change for me. My last subject was just a bit dry.”
“Yes. The temples of faraway countries, as told by an avid explorer,” he read from the spine. “Written by a pretentious gentleman of means, I assume?”
“Yes. I long for the day when I find a book written by a woman traveling with limited funds,” she said. “So many tellings of travels are dry and without essential details a woman needs. Details of life on the road. Costs. Have you traveled?” she asked, glancing his way.
“Unfortunately, my travels have amounted to trips to London and various estates dotted about the English countryside. If I’ve gone anywhere, it has only been through the pages of books like this,” he admitted.
He tucked it beside him to read later, then resumed his study of Maggie.
“And you? You always talked of going off to explore the world.”
“The dreams of a na?ve child. I am well satisfied with my life so far and accept the limitations of it,” she claimed.
Algernon did not quite believe her. “And what limitations would those be?”
“Well, the usual—I’m a woman. Women do not set off on many grand adventures, do they? They stay home and tend a house.”
“So you have a house to manage,” he said, carefully. Maggie had been slow in offering up many personal details of her life so far, especially where she had come from.
“A cottage. Nothing like Ravenswood. My parents had a nice home once, though, and Papa would return there between his teaching engagements for a little while. But then Mama died, and he sold it. I lost count of how many homes I stayed in after that. So when I was twenty, I announced that I would not continue with him anymore.”
“Oh? What led to your decision?”
“The usual problem,” she said.
Algernon frowned, unsure of what that meant, but by the look in her eyes, it was an unpleasant thing and probably involved some scoundrel disappointing her. Was that why she had not married?
“So you made your own life, friends, and neighbors six years ago?” he queried, deciding it prudent not to press her for details of whatever had happened to her just yet.
“I have few acquaintances, although they likely would have disapproved of my search for my father, had I told them of my intentions.”
“They must be worried about your absence?”
“I suppose they could be, in their own way. There’s no one else to read their correspondence for them with me gone. It’s really the only place I know now. Everywhere else I’ve lived is just a vague memory.”
“Even Ravenswood?” he asked.
“I remember some of it. The mahogany staircase and you screaming blue murder are clearest.”
“That’s probably because Stratford kept riding the banister down to the entrance hall.
He was five. I was always running after him, trying to catch him before he broke his neck.
I remember you there very well,” he admitted.
“You had a small chamber of your own in the attic, and you were always sitting at the windows, reading instead of coming out to play.”
“Well, that is what young ladies of tutors are expected to do when there are no other girls to play with. Be quiet. Don’t draw attention to myself.
Don’t forget my father’s position depends on making a good impression with everyone.
My father expected me to behave,” she reminded him.
“You’re a fine one to talk, though. You often sat out in the garden against a tree, your nose stuck in a book, too, ignoring your brothers pushing and shoving each other around. ”
He grinned. “You eventually came out to sit beside me and learned to ignore my brothers as well.”
“I never really understood their games, to be honest. At that age, it all seemed so silly trying to wrestle each other to the ground.”
He laughed. “Yes, well, they had boundless energy. As the eldest, I was responsible for them. I had to invent excuses to make my brothers run around so that when it was time for their lessons or lectures, they would sit still for them.”
“You, however, did not need any urging to sit still for lessons or lectures?”
“I think I did, especially if the tutor was inferior to what I expected. I had one tutor who tried to assure me that it was possible to sail across the ocean and fall off the edge of the world.”
“Good grief,” she said. “Wasn’t that theory disproved long ago?”
“Well, clearly he missed that announcement.” He drew closer. “And what of you? Did you ever try your hand at teaching?”
“Goodness, no. My father would never have permitted me to have an occupation.”
Algernon studied her. “And even in his absence, you have not tried?”
“I have tried to help my neighbors when they get their letters, but that is the extent of my tutoring, if you could call it such.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. You would have made a great teacher, I think, had you been permitted. You were very patient with me.”
“I could have been a lot of great things, had I not been born a woman,” she grumbled. “Ah, here we are. This looks like a good-sized town ahead.”
The village was a thriving little market town. Algernon alighted from the carriage, leaving Maggie inside, and spoke to the valet, who’d been riding the back all afternoon. “Arrange for two rooms—adjoining, if you please, Sims. My cousin is weary.”
The valet, knowing Maggie was no relation of his at all, raised a brow in surprise at the request for adjoining rooms, but rushed off to do his bidding without asking questions.
Algernon probably shouldn’t want an adjoining room, but he’d never enjoyed a conversation more than he had on his journey with Maggie so far.
He sensed that there was a great deal Maggie had been denied in her life.
It pained him to think of such great intelligence going to waste in a small village where her father had left her, forgotten and underappreciated.
The valet returned and assured him that adjoining rooms were possible. He opened the carriage door to help Maggie out.
The innkeeper rushed toward them. “Sir! A pleasure to see you again—and this time with a wife, no less. Congratulations.”
Algernon gaped at the man, while Maggie gasped in obvious shock. “Oh, yes. Um, what did you say?”
“I feared this day would never come,” the innkeeper confided, shaking Algernon’s hand while beaming at Maggie. “Welcome. I hope you and your husband enjoy your stay at our humble establishment.”