The Baron and the Bluestocking Read Online Free Page A

speak to the duke came sooner than expected when he encountered him and the duchess at the Forester’s that evening. The pair stood together at the edge of the dance floor. Shrewsbury had often remarked how singular it was that the duke and duchess remained in each other’s company whenever they were out in public. Such was not the norm at ton events.
    “Might I have a word, your grace?” he asked.
    “If you have no objection to speaking to me in the company of the duchess,” Ruisdell replied.
    “No, of course not. I have just returned from Chipping Norton where I met the new staff for the school.”
    “Oh,” the duchess exclaimed. “Did you meet my friend, Miss Whitcombe?”
    Raising his eyebrows, he said, “That, I did. Had you any idea that she has Radical sympathies, your grace?” he asked, smiling at the beautiful woman with the famous midnight blue eyes. Though she was Sophie’s sister, their appearance was as different as night from day.
    “Was she awfully tiresome?” she asked. “Be patient. I rather think that this is just a phase. She felt exceedingly helpless when her father died and she was left virtually penniless. You must know that there are not many options for a penniless woman of gentle birth in our society. Feeling helpless does not suit Hélène.”
    This was a perspective he had not fully considered. Why not? It was perfectly understandable. Still, the woman was not for him. “Yes, she was a bit tedious. But there was something else about which I wished to speak to both of you.”
    He told them of Miss Flynn and her desire for a piano.
    “Brilliant idea,” said Ruisdell. “I should have thought of it. Music is indeed a civilizing influence.” Turning to his wife, he asked, “Darling, when it has been delivered and properly tuned, shall we not go down to Chipping Norton and have you play a concert?”
    His wife tapped his sleeve briskly with her fan. “You are always devising ways to put me on display. I am certain this Miss Flynn is very capable of a concert.”
    “She is partial to Bach,” Shrewsbury said.
    “The duchess is working on some Bach at the moment. It would be the very thing,” her husband said.
    “Dearest duke, I know you are partial to my playing, but there are those far more accomplished than I. This Miss Flynn may be such a one.”
    “We could make your concert an occasion, your grace,” Shrewsbury said, suddenly enthusiastic. “We could invite Miss Flynn to perform as well. The other board members could be invited to Chipping Norton for an evening. Mrs. Blakeley, who is a local patron, would provide a splendid supper afterwards, I am certain.”
    “Oh, my. I am not certain when my piece will be ready.” The duchess bit her lip. It was a little mannerism that reminded him of Sophie and caused a flash of pain.
    Ruisdell spoke. “Darling, you never think your pieces are ready. I think that is a splendid notion. It will give the board members and their wives a chance to judge how the school is doing.”
    “When shall you be prepared to perform, your grace?”
    “Oh, dear. Not for at least a month!”
    “It will give you something to work toward, darling,” her husband said. “I am an appreciative audience, but not as appreciative as you deserve.”
    A date of September fifteenth was finally settled on.
    “Now you must tell me,” Shrewsbury insisted. “Any word from Lord and Lady Trowbridge?”
    “Not since they’ve arrived in Vienna,” said Elise. “However, Sophie wrote from Paris that Gorgeous Frank bought her a trousseau, they went often to the Opera, and have shipped home some paintings. She is very happy. Especially, because she is able to walk better each day with the exercises that Frank’s doctor prescribed.”
    Christian’s heart contracted, but he said, “I am very glad.”
    They spoke about travel and the details of purchasing a piano. Shrewsbury eventually moved away, anxious to drown the ache in his heart with champagne.
    Sophie