The Marquess and Miss Davies Read Online Free Page B

attitude terribly short-sighted. The male of the species, on his own, was a bore. Anthony decided that he was prepared not to mind about the young lady’s partiality to intellectual pursuits. He preferred the out-of-doors himself, but for the chance of seeing Miss Davies again, he would willingly listen to some old savant prose on about galvanometers or some such.
    Eyes of sapphire blue.
     

Chapter 6: A Lecture at the Royal Society
     
    Dear Lord, thought Carys. The first speaker of the night could only with great charity be called rather dry. A Dr Johnson, of Bristol, who seemed to be extraordinarily interested in two species of what sounded like—but according to his researches were not in truth—a type of leech.
    “I am of the opinion,” opined Dr Johnson, “that the Hirudo circulans described by Mr Sowerby—”
    “I don’t believe,” said Isolde, at her side, “that a duller man exists in all of England.”
    “Shh,” whispered Carys.
    “—and the Hirudo crenata by the Rev. William Kirby—”
    “‘Tis unfortunate we cannot somehow bottle this speech, and provide it to those who suffer from insomnia.”
    “ Shh . You asked—”
    “—to come along. Yes, I remember.” Isolde was silent for several moments. “I can see visiting the Royal Society once,” she added. “It’s the twice I cannot comprehend.”
    Carys sighed. She been surprised by Isa’s suggestion that she accompany her sister in the first place. ‘Twas not from any interest in natural philosophy, she was sure. There were a great number of gentlemen here, of course, but her sister had no difficulties on that account, and dancing was much more to Isolde’s taste.
    Dr Johnson’s presentation, which included a lengthy digression in Latin, drew finally and mercifully to its close, with much exclamation over his choice of Glossopora as the new genus name. The group decamped to the adjoining room for the interval, crowding around the tables where a selection of drinks and food awaited them. Carys, well aware that women were tolerated more than enjoyed at these meetings, stood to one side and attempted to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, but Isolde was having none of it. She hooked her arm in Carys’s and pulled them both forward.
    “Let us see what the gentlemen enjoy,” she said, eyeing the selection of breads, savories, and thinly sliced meats. “Well, I must say it’s better than Almack’s.”
    “A low standard,” said Carys.
    “True.” Isolde selected a small baguette and began to tear it into pieces on her plate. “So who is he?”
    “Who is who?”
    “This paragon of masculine intelligence that you are here to observe.”
    Of course, thought Carys. Of course Isa would guess. And lying to her twin was pointless.
    “Mr Jonathan Torvald. He is speaking next.”
    Her sister nodded. “Well,” she said, “One can only hope that he commands a more interesting topic than the leech.”
    * * * *
    The man was handsome enough, thought Isa, after Mr Torvald had spoken for several minutes. But only just. Slim, of middling height, and with thin brown hair carefully arranged in curls around his face, he approached the dandy in dress.
    Carys watched him with a smile, which would have been flattering to the gentleman if Isolde had not seen a certain fixed quality in her sister’s expression.
    She wants to like him, thought Isa. But cannot quite.
    Why?
    The chairman had introduced Mr Jonathan Torvald as a botanist of some repute, and as such he spent his days—and weeks and months, as far as Isa could tell—tramping about the backcountry of England, looking for rare flowers of some type that she had not bothered to make note of.
    Perhaps that was the attraction. Carys imagines him as her way out of London.
    Isolde liked trees and flowers and suchlike as much as the next person—they were pretty, and often pleasingly fragrant—but she had never shared her sister’s passion for the out-of-doors. A dance, or the theater,