Chapter 14 #2
Despite everything, Eveline found herself almost smiling. "True. If I were going to conduct occult rituals, I'd use cheap gossip papers. No sense in destroying valuable manuscripts for a dark ritual."
"Precisely the sort of practical consideration that marks a true scholar." His expression grew serious again. "Miss Whitcombe, I need to ask you something, and I hope you'll forgive the impertinence. What are your plans? Given the current situation, I mean."
Eveline gestured toward her desk, littered with half-finished letters. "I've been writing to various institutions—libraries, universities, private collectors. Surely someone, somewhere, needs a cataloguer or translator who won't mind a bit of scandal attached."
"And the responses?"
"Silent as the grave, most of them. Though I did receive one reply from a gentleman in Yorkshire who seemed quite eager to hire me, until I realized his interest was less in my cataloguing abilities and more in what other services a ruined woman might provide.
" She tried to sound matter-of-fact about it, but the memory still stung.
"I burned his letter. It seemed the most hygienic response. "
Theodore's face darkened. "The man's name?"
"Why? Are you planning to challenge him to a duel on my behalf?" The question was meant as a jest, but something in his expression suggested he was actually considering it. "Mr. Browne, while I appreciate the sentiment, I hardly think violence would improve my situation."
"No, but it would improve mine immensely. There's something deeply satisfying about the thought of horsewhipping a man who would prey on a woman's misfortune." He seemed to catch himself, color rising slightly in his cheeks. "Forgive me. That was inappropriately bloodthirsty."
"On the contrary, I found it rather charming. It's been some time since anyone wanted to defend my honour. Most people seem to think I haven't any left to defend."
They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their tea.
Eveline found herself studying him over the rim of her cup.
He was not at all what she'd expected from a classical scholar; no dusty, doddering old man lost in ancient texts, but someone vibrantly present, engaged with the world around him.
There was something steady about him, she realized, something that suggested deep waters running still.
"Miss Whitcombe," he said suddenly, setting down his cup with decisive motion. "I'm about to say something that may shock you. I ask only that you hear me out before making any judgments."
"That's an ominous beginning," she said, trying for lightness despite the sudden acceleration of her pulse.
"Perhaps. But I believe in directness, so I'll simply say it: I would like to offer you a position."
"A position?" She blinked, hope rising despite herself. "You have a library that needs cataloguing?"
"In a manner of speaking." He removed his spectacles, cleaning them with his handkerchief—a gesture that seemed more nervous habit than necessity.
"I have a modest estate in Hampshire which is nothing big but it is comfortable.
The library there is considerable, some eight thousand volumes, and in desperate need of proper organisation.
Moreover, I've recently acquired a collection of medieval manuscripts that require expert attention. "
"That sounds wonderful," Eveline said carefully, sensing there was more to come. "But surely you could find someone without my particular... complications."
"I could find someone, certainly. But I couldn't find you.
" He replaced his spectacles and met her gaze directly.
"Miss Whitcombe, I've been searching for an intellectual companion for years.
Someone who could share my passion for ancient texts, who could challenge my translations, who could bring fresh perspectives to my research.
Every time Professor Blackwood wrote of your accomplishments, I thought, 'Here is exactly the sort of mind I've been seeking. '"
"Mr. Browne..."
"Pray, let me finish." He held up a hand, and she noticed his fingers were ink-stained—the mark of a true scholar. "I'm not offering you mere employment, Miss Whitcombe. I'm offering you partnership. Marriage."
The word fell between them like a stone into still water, sending ripples through the quiet room. Eveline stared at him, certain she'd misheard.
"I... what?"
"Marriage," he repeated, calm despite the slight color in his cheeks.
"I realise this must seem sudden, even opportunistic given your current circumstances.
But I assure you, my interest is not born of pity or some misguided attempt at gallantry.
I've admired your work for months, your mind for longer through Professor Blackwood's descriptions.
Recent events have simply provided the impetus to speak what I've been considering for some time. "
"You can't be serious." The words came out without thought, propelled by pure shock. "You don't even know me. We've been sitting here for less than an hour..."
"I know your work," he interrupted gently.
"I know that you approach texts with both rigor and imagination.
I know that you can read Byzantine Greek as easily as most people read English.
I know that you have opinions about the proper storage of vellum that border on the passionate.
I know that Professor Blackwood, who has praise for almost no one, considers you the finest mind he's ever taught. "
"Those are my accomplishments, not me," Eveline protested, her mind reeling. "You know nothing of my temperament, my habits, my... my anything beyond my scholarship."
"True," he conceded. "But I know that you make jests about conducting occult rituals with cheap gossip papers.
I know that you face social ruin with your chin up and your wit intact.
I know that you're sitting here trying to find employment rather than retreating to the country in defeat.
These things tell me a great deal about your character. "
Eveline rose abruptly, needing to move, to put distance between herself and this impossible conversation. She went to the window, looking out at the gray London street below, trying to organize her tumultuous thoughts.
"Why?" she asked finally, not turning around. "Why would you bind yourself to a woman with no reputation, no dowry, no connections that could benefit you? What could you possibly gain from such an alliance?"
She heard him rise, his footsteps approaching but stopping at a respectful distance.
"What would I gain? A companion who could discuss Aristotle's Poetics with genuine understanding.
Someone who wouldn't glaze over when I excitedly described a new manuscript acquisition.
A partner in the truest sense; intellectual, scholarly, someone who understands that the life of the mind is as vital as breath itself. "
"And what of... other aspects of marriage?" She felt her cheeks burn as she asked it, but it needed to be said. "What of affection, attraction, the things that usually draw men to offer marriage?"
"I find you quite attractive, if that's your concern," he said with disarming frankness.
"You have the most expressive eyes I've ever seen because they light up when you speak of something that interests you.
Your hair defies all attempts at conventional arrangement in a way I find charming. And your hands..."
"My hands?"
"They're ink-stained," he said simply. "Like mine. The mark of someone who lives through words, who shapes thoughts into meaning with pen and paper. I find that desperately attractive."
Eveline turned to face him, searching his face for signs of mockery or deception. She found only earnest sincerity and perhaps a touch of vulnerability that made him seem younger than his years.
"You're serious," she said, not quite a question.
"Completely serious." He returned to his chair but didn't sit, instead he stood behind it with his hands resting on its back.
"I'm not a man given to romantic speeches, Miss Whitcombe.
I'm too old for such things, too set in my ways.
But I can offer you this: a home where your scholarship would be valued above your ability to pour tea.
Resources to pursue whatever research captures your interest. Freedom to correspond with scholars across Europe without concern for propriety.
A library that would be ours, not mine with you as custodian, but genuinely ours to build and tend together. "
"And society? The scandal that follows me?"
"Scandal fades when respectability is restored by marriage.
Oh, there might be whispers for a time, but the ton has a short memory when presented with the accomplished fact of a respectable match.
Mrs. Theodore Browne, scholar and antiquarian, would be received where Miss Whitcombe, victim of scandal, would not. "
It was all so reasonable, so calmly presented, so utterly different from... Eveline cut off that line of thought before it could fully form. She would not think of another library, another man, another proposal born of scandal and necessity.
"I need to think," she said finally. "This is... unexpected, if I may say so, but it doesn't begin to cover it."
"Of course." He moved toward the door, then paused.
"I'm staying at the Blackstone Hotel, should you wish to send word.
Take all the time you need to consider as I'm not a man who believes in pressing advantages or demanding quick decisions.
" He turned back, a slight smile playing at his lips.
"However I would appreciate knowing before I return to Hampshire next week.
The manuscript collection really does need attention, and I'd hate to hire someone inferior while waiting for your answer. "
Despite everything, Eveline found herself smiling back. "Appealing to my scholarly vanity? How calculating of you."