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Authors: Meg Brooke
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of Stowe,” Lady Gillian said as they got into the carriage. “She is quite the intellectual, I understand.” The implication was clear.
“She is, and all on her own,” Cynthia said. It would not do for people to think Clarissa was one of her former pupils. “A genius in her own right. Lord Stowe was lucky to find her.”
“I think so, too. She is such a lovely woman,” Lady Imogen put in.
“Will you go with us to her at-home on Friday, Miss Endersby?” Lady Gillian asked. Lady Imogen shot her a disapproving glance, but she ignored it.
“I am afraid I have another appointment Friday,” Cynthia lied smoothly. “Perhaps another time. Thank you for asking.”
“Of course,” Lady Imogen said, and the relief in her voice was clear. Cynthia understood perfectly. It was one thing to be seen in a public place with her, and quite another to arrive together for an at-home. It would send the impression that Cynthia’s relationship with the Bainbridge family was closer than it really was.
She would just have to find another time to see Clarissa and apologize for nearly destroying her happiness.
SIX
January 9, 1834
At half past one, Charles rang for Partridge. “Will you show Miss Endersby up immediately when she arrives?” he asked. “And I should like a tea tray prepared as well.”
The butler did what he was extremely well paid to do: nodded and left without comment, as if he hadn’t heard Imogen preemptively scolding her brother that morning in the hall. “If Miss Endersby is not served tea this afternoon, Charles, I shall have to give you up for a Neanderthal,” she had said. Charles had promised he would be an attentive host, though privately he thought his sister might have misunderstood the arrangement he had with Miss Endersby. Still, he could not deny a desire to impress the girl. He had finished Malthus’s Essay on the Principle of Population —even the chapters she had not suggested he read—and had moved on to the Hansard , though it was slow going. He kept having to search out other volumes to help him distinguish James I from James II and the first two Georges.
He meant to do better today than he had on Tuesday, if only because there were four days between today and their next meeting, and he was sure should would assign him an even greater reading list if he wasn’t prepared.
When Partridge announced Miss Endersby at two, Charles was sitting at the great table with the Hansard before him. He rose to greet her, and she curtsied politely. “Your Grace.”
“Miss Endersby. So nice to see you again.”
She smiled weakly. She looked tired, but he could hardly comment on that, could he? “Have you finished the Malthus?” she asked, crossing to the table. It was only as she did so that he saw she was holding another book in her hands. She took off her bonnet and set it down, and he waited until she had seated herself before offering tea, just so that she would have to allow him to pour her a cup.
“I have,” he said, not asking her whether she would even like tea. Imogen had told him she did not take cream or sugar. He set the cup before her and went to pour his own. “I have several questions.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, frowning down at the teacup.
He came back to the table and sat down. “Is he actually claiming that prosperity breeds poverty?”
“Yes,” she said. “Have you not seen, with all the wealth that has been amassed by the British Empire, that it seems as though the number of poor and indigent people grows each day?”
He had to concede that he had. It was almost impossible not to notice the people who appeared to have nowhere to go but the workhouse—especially the children.
“And yet,” she said, “it seems that many of the genteel classes do not notice the suffering of the poor. They think the solution is to force them into active professions, when of course there are not enough of those to go around.”
“I see you have an
“She is, and all on her own,” Cynthia said. It would not do for people to think Clarissa was one of her former pupils. “A genius in her own right. Lord Stowe was lucky to find her.”
“I think so, too. She is such a lovely woman,” Lady Imogen put in.
“Will you go with us to her at-home on Friday, Miss Endersby?” Lady Gillian asked. Lady Imogen shot her a disapproving glance, but she ignored it.
“I am afraid I have another appointment Friday,” Cynthia lied smoothly. “Perhaps another time. Thank you for asking.”
“Of course,” Lady Imogen said, and the relief in her voice was clear. Cynthia understood perfectly. It was one thing to be seen in a public place with her, and quite another to arrive together for an at-home. It would send the impression that Cynthia’s relationship with the Bainbridge family was closer than it really was.
She would just have to find another time to see Clarissa and apologize for nearly destroying her happiness.
SIX
January 9, 1834
At half past one, Charles rang for Partridge. “Will you show Miss Endersby up immediately when she arrives?” he asked. “And I should like a tea tray prepared as well.”
The butler did what he was extremely well paid to do: nodded and left without comment, as if he hadn’t heard Imogen preemptively scolding her brother that morning in the hall. “If Miss Endersby is not served tea this afternoon, Charles, I shall have to give you up for a Neanderthal,” she had said. Charles had promised he would be an attentive host, though privately he thought his sister might have misunderstood the arrangement he had with Miss Endersby. Still, he could not deny a desire to impress the girl. He had finished Malthus’s Essay on the Principle of Population —even the chapters she had not suggested he read—and had moved on to the Hansard , though it was slow going. He kept having to search out other volumes to help him distinguish James I from James II and the first two Georges.
He meant to do better today than he had on Tuesday, if only because there were four days between today and their next meeting, and he was sure should would assign him an even greater reading list if he wasn’t prepared.
When Partridge announced Miss Endersby at two, Charles was sitting at the great table with the Hansard before him. He rose to greet her, and she curtsied politely. “Your Grace.”
“Miss Endersby. So nice to see you again.”
She smiled weakly. She looked tired, but he could hardly comment on that, could he? “Have you finished the Malthus?” she asked, crossing to the table. It was only as she did so that he saw she was holding another book in her hands. She took off her bonnet and set it down, and he waited until she had seated herself before offering tea, just so that she would have to allow him to pour her a cup.
“I have,” he said, not asking her whether she would even like tea. Imogen had told him she did not take cream or sugar. He set the cup before her and went to pour his own. “I have several questions.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, frowning down at the teacup.
He came back to the table and sat down. “Is he actually claiming that prosperity breeds poverty?”
“Yes,” she said. “Have you not seen, with all the wealth that has been amassed by the British Empire, that it seems as though the number of poor and indigent people grows each day?”
He had to concede that he had. It was almost impossible not to notice the people who appeared to have nowhere to go but the workhouse—especially the children.
“And yet,” she said, “it seems that many of the genteel classes do not notice the suffering of the poor. They think the solution is to force them into active professions, when of course there are not enough of those to go around.”
“I see you have an
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