Chapter Thirty-Six
Eden arrived at the Institute for the Equality of Women grateful for a day away from the unpleasantness of courtship. It was six weeks since the opening of the season, and he had now met every girl on the marriage mart, plus her mother and sisters. He had danced every dance he knew a hundred times with fifty different people. He had attended suppers, picnics, musicales. Gone calling, riding, walking. Sent flowers, sweets, cards. He’d not had a night to himself in weeks.
He was exhausted and no closer to finding a wife than he had been when he started.
He could not blame the situation on the women that he met. Most of them were lovely, and the few that were not were at least memorable. But no one called out to him in the way Tha?s had insisted the right woman would.
He was haunted by the advice she’d given him. That he should be drawn to a woman’s smell. That he should be captivated by her body as much as by her mind. That there should be a spark in his heart when he thought of her, looked at her, spoke to her, held her.
He could not dismiss this advice, because he knew what these things felt like.
It was the way he’d felt when he was with Tha?s.
He missed her to the point of distraction. He still reached out for her in bed as soon as his eyes opened, only to be greeted by a cold space where her body should have been. His thoughts drifted to her even when he was in Parliament, at his club, dancing with other women.
He wanted to visit her. More than once, he had begun drafting a note asking permission to call on her to discuss his troubles finding a bride.
But that was simply an excuse. He didn’t want to hear her opinions on the girls who didn’t move him to affection. He simply wanted to hear about her days, to listen to her jokes, to be near her, even if he couldn’t touch her, now that their time in that way was over.
He did not send a note. Indulging himself would only increase his longing. He needed to move forward.
Which kept leading him to Emily Clark.
It was now common knowledge about the men’s clubs in town that Lord Bell planned to offer for her as soon as he was divorced. Bell had warned others to stay away from her, and given his power and lack of scruples, few were eager to cross him in the matter.
Eden was not scared of Bell. He already had the enmity of the man due to his friendship with the Equalist Society and Jack Willow, whom Bell had harassed, sued, and threatened since Elinor had left him. Few men of Eden’s station could afford to exercise such nonchalance. If he did not save Emily Clark, he did not know who would.
He made a point to dance with her each time he saw her out, as she was so frequently alone. He’d visited her several times at her guardian’s house—a rambling town house in Chelsea crammed with Lord Hoover’s collection of sabers and ornamental knives. Each time he’d been there he’d asked for an audience with Hoover and been told he was ill. Miss Clark did not speak ill of him, but when she mentioned him to Eden during their conversations, he inferred a faint implication that the man might be mentally unwell. Foggy was how she put it.
So she was unprotected. Ripe for Bell to snatch her up for the sake of her fortune, which everyone knew he needed as he had squandered so much of his money in his legal battle against Elinor and Jack.
The idea of Emily’s future being consigned away to Bell at the age of eighteen made Eden sick. She was a smart girl. A kind one. He enjoyed talking to her. She had a wry wit, a natural way with dogs, and a fondness for the countryside. Her quiet nature reminded him of himself.
He was not attracted to her physically and could not imagine taking her to bed given her innocence. But if there was no other woman he wanted to marry, and he could save Emily by offering his hand, perhaps it was the best for both of them.
He could give her sanctuary while she matured, and eventually they could move from friends to spouses. Two, three years from now was not so long to wait to start a family.
He knew Tha?s would be appalled at this plan. She’d say he was wasting everything she’d taught him. That he was marrying exactly the wrong kind of woman.
She would probably be right.
But the problem was there was not a perfect woman out there waiting to be found.
He’d already found her.
And he could not marry her any more than he could let Lord Bell marry Emily Clark.
Some things were simply sad and difficult in life, and this was one of them.
“Ah, Lord Eden,” Seraphina Arden said as he walked into the lobby of the building. “You’re right on time. The meeting is just this way.”
He immediately recognized the grand chandelier overhead as the one Tha?s had chosen from the ironmonger. He’d written the letter placing the order for it himself. It looked handsome in the room. He wondered what Tha?s would think of the furnishings in his homes. How she might improve the atmosphere with her eye for careful touches.
Seraphina led him through an airy hallway with views of the greenery in the courtyard of the building. It was beautifully furnished, every doorknob and table and pattern reflecting Tha?s’s taste. Among these things, he could feel her presence so keenly it was like she was beside him.
He wondered if she would attend the meeting.
He was annoyed with himself for how disappointed he felt when he walked into the assembly room and saw she wasn’t there.
About thirty people, mostly men, were gathered to learn of their new duties. Like him, they had agreed to take female apprentices to train in their trades. Eden was going to be assigned two women to educate in land management.
He waved at Seraphina’s lover, Adam Anderson, who would apprentice women in architecture, and sat down beside his brother-in-law, Gilby Howe,who had agreed to take a female law clerk.
“Good morning, gentleman,” Seraphina said. “I think we’re all here. I’d like to thank each of you for your support. Our students are thrilled at the chance to work with you. And they are a marvelous class of women who will be brilliant in their roles.”
Eden jotted down a few notes as she explained how the program would work. He would receive applications next week and would interview the qualified candidates personally. They would then live at the Institute while they did their initial studies and take up posts at his estate for hands-on training with him and his stewards once Parliament let out for the summer.
He was impressed by how detailed and orderly the program was and by the qualifications of the women the Institute was welcoming in their first class. He said as much to Gilby as they adjourned back to the lobby. They were about to leave when a voice called their names.
He looked behind him to find Cornelia Ludgate walking toward them, waving. “Gentlemen!” she said. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. Have you been to the Institute before?”
“No, it’s our first time,” Eden said. “What you’ve built here is incredible.”
“Yes, we’re very proud,” she said. “Would you like a tour before you leave?”
“I’m afraid I have to get to court,” Gilby said. “Next time.”
“I’d love a walk about,” Eden said. He wanted to see more of the furnishings Tha?s had chosen. They were perhaps his lone connection to her that was appropriate.
Cornelia offered him her arm. “Shall we?”
He took it and let her guide him through the building. She showed him an auditorium where lectures would be held. Classrooms where students would learn literacy and other skills they needed before they could advance into apprenticeships and jobs. A handsome dining hall equipped to serve one hundred people. The beautiful garden in the courtyard, where herbs were grown for the kitchens, which would be staffed by a mix of cooks and students taking shifts.
The second floor had a homelier atmosphere. There was a large parlor for socializing and lounging. An enviably equipped music room. A spacious nursery for children.
“You’ve done a remarkable job,” Eden said. “It’s so comfortable and welcoming.”
“Oh, we have Tha?s to thank for that. It’s her vision. She was determined the place should feel like a home.”
“She’s a marvel,” he said. It felt so good to speak of her.
“That she is,” Cornelia agreed as she led him up a staircase. “The third floor is the dormitory. It’s quite lovely. Each woman has a bit of privacy, yet the whole floor comfortably sleeps eighty. With room for more in the attic if we grow.”
She opened a door off the landing, and it thumped against something large and solid. He heard a familiar squawk.
The door flew open, and Tha?s burst through it.
She was wearing the yellow dress he’d bought for her.
That dress made everything come back.
Her licking butter off her fingers over breakfast in the parlor in that yellow dress as the light shone on her hair. Telling him a bawdy story in the evening over cards. Walking sullenly beside him in the rose garden, sneezing. Dictating letters about chairs. Lecturing him on women.
But above all, he was stricken with the memory of all the times he’d taken that dress off her.
“God’s toenails, wench!” Tha?s cried at Cornelia.
“Sorry!” Cornelia said. “I didn’t know there was anyone coming. We really need a transom at the door. I was just showing Lord Eden—”
He stepped forward, and Tha?s’s eyes went wide.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Eden! Didn’t see you standing there with my brains all rattled.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Magdalene,” he said, because his own brain was rattled at the sight of her, and he could think of nothing better.
“I was just giving Eden here a tour,” Cornelia said. “Could you show him around the dormitories before he goes? I need to prepare for an interview.”
“Can, indeed.”
“Thank you. Farewell, Eden,” Cornelia said. “It was good to see you.”
“Always a pleasure,” he said, bowing.
Cornelia hurried away and closed the door behind her, leaving him and Tha?s alone together in the vast room.
His impulse was to embrace her, but he knew he could not.
His fingers vibrated with the desire nonetheless.
“Well, look who it is,” Tha?s said quietly. “The quiet bachelor teacher from Gloucestershire. Mr. Smith, I think it was?”
He smiled. “Never heard of him.”
“Ah, no loss. He’s a bit boring. Always in the kitchen, cooking, or in his study, reading about sheep.”
He swallowed hard at the recollection of their awful conversation.
“He sounds terrible,” he said and hoped his voice conveyed the grave regret he felt.
Her face softened. “Oh, don’t be too harsh on him. He did have his appeals.”
He wanted to ask what they were. What she valued in him. For at the moment, he saw little in himself to like—at least from her perspective.
“How have you been, Tha?s?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Uncomplaining.”
He gave her a wry smile. “I highly doubt that.”
She laughed. “Well, perhaps complaining a fair amount. But I’m right as rain. And you?”
“I’m well.”
“Found yourself a wife?”
“Not quite yet, I’m afraid.”
“What! After all I taught you I’d have thought you’d be wed twice over by now.”
He jerked his head to scan the room, worried someone might overhear and gather that they knew each other better than would make sense to an observer. He did not want to raise suspicion.
“Could you lower your voice?” he asked.
She looked at him with irritation. “There’s no one around to hear me,” she said.
Ugh, he’d made her angry. The last thing he wanted.
“I only meant that perhaps there’s somewhere more private where we could talk. Would you mind?”
She pointed at a door. “In there.”
He followed her inside.
It was a linen pantry.
A small linen pantry with little room to stand without brushing up against her.
He knew she’d brought him here to rankle him, but it had the opposite effect. Her familiar scent aroused a wave of tender feeling. A longing so deep his throat ached.
“I didn’t mean a closet,” he said.
“The other option is the privy.”
“Closet it is.”
“So tell me everything,” she said, leaning back against a shelf. “Anna says you’re courting half the girls in town. Enjoying yourself?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. I’m failing utterly.”
“Failing?” She snorted. “Impossible. You were my star pupil. Surely you can trick some ladyinto marrying you.”
“Oh, I think several of them might accept my hand. The trouble is I can’t seem to form a connection with anyone. I keep thinking of what you said. That when I met my wife I would feel something and know she was the perfect person.”
“Perfect for you, that is,” she corrected.
“Perfect for me,” he agreed. “And I haven’t felt it.”
He did not add except with you.
He wondered if she knew that he was thinking it because her gaze went soft. She reached out and touched his shoulder.
“That’s too bad,” she said. “But maybe it’s not the women. Maybe you need a reminder of your lessons.”
He had to remind himself to breathe.
“Oh, there’s very little I’ve forgotten,” he assured her. “You’re a memorable teacher.”
They looked into each other’s eyes. He couldn’t read her expression. Were her irises dark because she wanted to touch him as badly as he wanted to touch her? Or was she guarded, worried he might say something hurtful?
The thought made a lump rise in his throat. He needed to change the subject.
“The Institute is stunning,” he said. “I see your touches everywhere. You must be so proud.”
She smiled. “That I am.”
She did not say anything further.
He could tell she was not sure what to talk to him about, the circumstances being what they were. The natural thing would be to excuse himself.
But he could not bring himself to do so.
“And how’s your health?” he asked, to extend the conversation.
She furrowed her brow. “My health? I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you mean.”
The thought had not occurred to him. But now that she raised it, he almost wished she were. Because then... well, he’d have a reason not to let her go.
“Oh,” he sputtered. “No, I... I was not implying... that is, if you were, I’d imagine you would have told me, and of course I would see that you were—”
She started laughing. “Look at you, all flustered.”
“You were recovering from an illness when you left. That’s what I meant.”
“I was low for a while,” she said.
There was something in her eyes that made him wonder if she was telling him more than she was saying. If she meant her mood and not her physical health.
“But you’re better now?”
“Perfect as a pig in shit. And you?”
Miserable, he wanted to say.
“Very well,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Well, best we return you to your day, no?” Tha?s asked.
He was dismissed.
How painful.
“Of course,” he said quickly. He turned to go.
But then he stopped.
He simply could not bear to open the door and leave her.
He turned back. “I don’t wish to waste your time, Tha?s,” he said quietly. “But I can’t go without saying I have missed you dreadfully.”
Something ripped across her face—something like anguish—and he knew that expression because he’d felt himself making it day after day when he thought of her.
She missed him too.
My God, the relief. She missed him too.
He opened his arms. “Come here.”
She stepped forward, and he pulled her close without even thinking about the reasons why he shouldn’t.
She tucked her head under his chin and squeezed him back.
God, her hugs. Their hugs. There was no more comforting feeling in the world.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmured again. “God, how I’ve missed you.”
“Show me how much,” she said.
He picked her up, held her against the shelves, and kissed her. She buckled, her form welcoming his.
And this, this was what he had not felt in weeks. This was what he had so naively thought he could recreate with someone else.
It made him frantic to be closer to her.
He bent down and took her face in his hands and kissed her softly on the lips. Her body relaxed in a luxuriant way that instantly made him hard. He deepened the kiss, and when she met him with the same urgency overtaking him, he slid his hand beneath her skirts and found her pussy.
God, the feel of it. Hot and slick and wet.
He put his fingers to her pearl and used the motions she had taught him to pleasure some other woman and prayed that it would work on her because he needed to leave her with something of himself.
She cried out, and then he felt it. A trickle of warm liquid squirting from her quim into his palm.
She was spending.
The one thing she could not control.
It meant she was not pretending to wilt with pleasure in his arms. She was letting herself go, letting him make love to her, in this tiny little room after weeks apart.
He didn’t know what it meant, except that he loved it, he loved it, and also that he needed to put his cock inside her right now or he would die.
They didn’t have a condom, but he didn’t care.
The moment that he entered her they both froze, eyes locked together, and simply felt it. Felt them.
It was so right and good and overwhelming that Eden began to spill.
And then the door swung open, and the confused face of Cornelia Ludgate greeted them.
“Oh,” she said.