he and his mother remain better friends when they do not live on top of one another. It must be a sound philosophy, for they get along famously.”
The duchess was right. Lady Shrewsbury was delighted to meet Hélène.
“Oh, my dear girl, you have discomfited my son no end. It is so good for him!”
Hélène took a seat in the French-styled parlor with its delicate gilt furniture. “I agree that I have made him uncomfortable, my lady. He and I disagree on many subjects.”
“He thinks he knows best about everything, but sometimes he misses what is right under his nose, apparently. I have had hopes of him lately, but he is uncommonly slow.”
Hélène saw the duchess exchange a knowing glance with the baroness, and knew she was speaking of Lady Virginia. Looking down at her lap, Hélène intertwined her fingers.
“I understand,” continued the baroness, “that you are making a very great success of your teaching.”
“I hope so. I think it is my true vocation,” Hélène said. “I have never been to London before, and am thankful that Lady Clarice has brought me, but I am anxious about my pupils in my absence. We were just beginning to establish a rapport.”
“Tell me about your family, dear,” the baroness invited.
She was in the middle of complying with the baroness’s request when the doors to the French parlor flew open and Baron Shrewsbury entered. Startled, he surveyed the company.
“Pardon me, Mama. I let myself in the front door. Did not even see Sims, so I was not aware you had visitors.”
“You are pardoned, son. Please join us. Miss Whitcombe-Hodge was just telling me what a happy childhood she had in the vicarage. It made me wish yet again that you had not been an only child.”
Shrewsbury sat down. After greeting both guests, he said, “Excuse me, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge. Pray continue.”
Hélène knew the baron thought her childhood had been grim, and welcomed this opportunity. “My papa was a great scholar. He took a first in Classics at Oxford. And he was a gifted teacher. With eight of us, it was rather like he was holding tutorials. We read and discussed Homer, Aeschylus, Euripides, Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle. He made it like a game when we were little, and then, when we were older, he set up contests between the girls and the boys.” She looked at Shrewsbury and grinned. “Of course, the girls always won, being of a superior intellect.”
“Of course,” he said, his voice resigned.
“What did you read at Oxford, Lord Shrewsbury?” she asked.
“Modern Philosophy—the Enlightenment, principally.”
“Oh! I should so like to go there and study such a subject. But, of course, I know the real reason there are not any women at Oxford . . .”
“I suppose you think they would outshine the men.”
“I do!”
“My dear,” interjected the baroness, “most of us have not had the advantage of your education. I fear I would do abysmally at Oxford.”
“What do you enjoy, my lady?” Hélène asked
“Reading novels, I am sorry to say.”
“That is nothing to feel sorry about. You must know that the duchess, who is staying very mum, is one of your son’s favorite authors!”
The four of them discussed modern literature in a lively manner. Hélène completely forgot her place and interjected her strong opinions readily. No one objected, however. Not even Lord Shrewsbury.
Ultimately, however, it was time to take their leave. The baron walked the duchess and Hélène to the door.
“And what wild form of entertainment are you to indulge yourself in tonight, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge?” he asked.
“I am to go to Vauxhall Gardens,” she answered.
“Oh!” He sounded taken aback. “And who is to accompany you?”
“Lord Delacroix is taking his sister and mother and me. I am looking forward to the dancing. I have never danced with anyone but my brothers in the vicarage parlor with the rugs rolled back.”
Lord Shrewsbury’s face became devoid of expression—a
The duchess was right. Lady Shrewsbury was delighted to meet Hélène.
“Oh, my dear girl, you have discomfited my son no end. It is so good for him!”
Hélène took a seat in the French-styled parlor with its delicate gilt furniture. “I agree that I have made him uncomfortable, my lady. He and I disagree on many subjects.”
“He thinks he knows best about everything, but sometimes he misses what is right under his nose, apparently. I have had hopes of him lately, but he is uncommonly slow.”
Hélène saw the duchess exchange a knowing glance with the baroness, and knew she was speaking of Lady Virginia. Looking down at her lap, Hélène intertwined her fingers.
“I understand,” continued the baroness, “that you are making a very great success of your teaching.”
“I hope so. I think it is my true vocation,” Hélène said. “I have never been to London before, and am thankful that Lady Clarice has brought me, but I am anxious about my pupils in my absence. We were just beginning to establish a rapport.”
“Tell me about your family, dear,” the baroness invited.
She was in the middle of complying with the baroness’s request when the doors to the French parlor flew open and Baron Shrewsbury entered. Startled, he surveyed the company.
“Pardon me, Mama. I let myself in the front door. Did not even see Sims, so I was not aware you had visitors.”
“You are pardoned, son. Please join us. Miss Whitcombe-Hodge was just telling me what a happy childhood she had in the vicarage. It made me wish yet again that you had not been an only child.”
Shrewsbury sat down. After greeting both guests, he said, “Excuse me, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge. Pray continue.”
Hélène knew the baron thought her childhood had been grim, and welcomed this opportunity. “My papa was a great scholar. He took a first in Classics at Oxford. And he was a gifted teacher. With eight of us, it was rather like he was holding tutorials. We read and discussed Homer, Aeschylus, Euripides, Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle. He made it like a game when we were little, and then, when we were older, he set up contests between the girls and the boys.” She looked at Shrewsbury and grinned. “Of course, the girls always won, being of a superior intellect.”
“Of course,” he said, his voice resigned.
“What did you read at Oxford, Lord Shrewsbury?” she asked.
“Modern Philosophy—the Enlightenment, principally.”
“Oh! I should so like to go there and study such a subject. But, of course, I know the real reason there are not any women at Oxford . . .”
“I suppose you think they would outshine the men.”
“I do!”
“My dear,” interjected the baroness, “most of us have not had the advantage of your education. I fear I would do abysmally at Oxford.”
“What do you enjoy, my lady?” Hélène asked
“Reading novels, I am sorry to say.”
“That is nothing to feel sorry about. You must know that the duchess, who is staying very mum, is one of your son’s favorite authors!”
The four of them discussed modern literature in a lively manner. Hélène completely forgot her place and interjected her strong opinions readily. No one objected, however. Not even Lord Shrewsbury.
Ultimately, however, it was time to take their leave. The baron walked the duchess and Hélène to the door.
“And what wild form of entertainment are you to indulge yourself in tonight, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge?” he asked.
“I am to go to Vauxhall Gardens,” she answered.
“Oh!” He sounded taken aback. “And who is to accompany you?”
“Lord Delacroix is taking his sister and mother and me. I am looking forward to the dancing. I have never danced with anyone but my brothers in the vicarage parlor with the rugs rolled back.”
Lord Shrewsbury’s face became devoid of expression—a
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