Miss Grimsleys Oxford Career (37 page)

“My blushes, Gordon! Give him my condolences,” the marquess said drily as he tightened his hold on Ellen.

“That was the best scheme I could devise on short notice.”

The marquess could only stare. “But, Gordon, you shot me!”

Gordon nodded. “I am an excellent marksman, my lord, so it wasn't as tricky as you might think. You were really quite safe.”

The marquess groaned and Gordon threw up his hands in exasperation.

“How else was I to get Ellen's attention? And yours too, I might add. I never saw such a gaggle of slow-tops as you two! One would think I had to do everything,” he added virtuously.

“Yes. Well,” was all the erudite and articulate Lord Chesney could manage as he sank down on the landing, his face a shade less sanguine. He pulled Ellen down with him. “My darling Ellen, do you realize that your brother is certifiable?”

Ellen considered the question for a moment and kissed the marquess. “He is rather a good shot, Jim.”

The marquess could only pull Ellen closer to him. “Gordon …” he began.

But Gordon had gone farther up the tower. When he was safely out of reach, he looked back down. “You two would probably rather be alone,” he said generously, shouting above the sweet soprano of the boys’ choir that suddenly burst forth in full harmony as the sun cleared the tops of the hills.

Ellen snuggled closer to her marquess, unmindful of the strange looks she was getting from the students crowded around them on the landing. She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “These students think we are queer stirrups, indeed.”

“Oh, we don't care. Listen, Ellen. It is the most beautiful sound.”

Her head pressed to his chest, she smiled at the wonderful rhythm of Lord Chesney's generous heart. There would never be any opportunity to explore the world beyond Hertfordshire, most likely. She and Lord Chesney would be too busy managing the silliness of his family or hers, or finding creative ways to help others. There would be that night school and Becky would find a better future, even as she had done. It was enough; it was more than enough.

Arms around each other, they listened as the choir caroled in the May from the top of Magdalen. “‘Like to the lark at break of day arising from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate,’ ” he said softly, his lips to her ear. “You'll not object if I occasionally quote the man who brought us together?”

“You know I won't.”

When the last crystal notes faded into the morning light, Ellen sighed in complete contentment but did not stir from the marquess's side. Gordon started down from the tower and blew a kiss to them in passing.

“I am so glad you are sending him off to Spain,” she said as the other students stepped around them on the way down the rickety stairs.

Gatewood pulled away from her a little, the better to see her face. “Who said anything about Spain, my love? You are apparently laboring under the same misconception as your brother.” He chuckled wickedly.

“Jim, what have you done?”

“I told you once that I seldom get angry, but I invariably get even,” he replied, his voice serene. “I believe what I actually said was that he would go into an excellent regiment of my choosing.”

“Yes, yes, the Ninth Hussars. You said so,” she interrupted.

“They are not all in Spain. Part of the regiment is reluctantly posted in Canada, keeping peace among polar bears and French voyageurs, I don't doubt.
That
is where your rascal brother is going.”

She burst into laughter. “You are a sly dog!”

“I have been trained by masters this year,” he replied. “He will suffer a boring but relatively safe incarceration in Canada.”

He turned serious as he took her hand again. “I have discovered that I have too much regard for your scapegrace brother to willingly send him to the slaughter in Europe. Better he should stay alive and have many, many years to improve his faulty character.”

Tears came to her eyes. “And Ralph will have Winchester.”

“If he wants it.”

She kissed his hand. “You are a wonder.”

He shook his head in mock seriousness. “I do not know what I can do about Edwin Bland, though. I am afraid he will always remain a blockhead, and there are entirely too many of them in the peerage already to warrant the inclusion of another, even if it was in my power. Edwin will have to blunder on by himself. Perhaps he can purchase a title like his father.”

The stairs were clear, but they did not move. “Why did you change your mind?” Ellen asked. “I know too well that you had decided against marrying me. You were going to be noble and spare me from your ridiculous family.”

He rested his chin on her head. “Oh, I was honor bound. You see, I have just received the most amazing proposal …”

“Be serious!”

“It's strange. I have a letter in my pocket from Lady Susan Hinchcliffe. You will meet her soon, I fear. Anyway, it was full of misspellings and vapidity, expressing her delight that I was soon to be sprung from the halls of academe. She is as beautiful as she is brainless, and probably even now considers herself just the fitting ornament for the Gatewood family tree.”

He kissed her head and was silent a moment. “I just couldn't do it, fair Hermia. I want a wife who will argue with me and challenge my mind and chide me when I get lazy or discouraged. Oh, and someone to make me glad for nighttime and quiet afternoons.”

She blushed. “I have base instincts, my lord. You really ought to know.”

He kissed her again. “Thank goodness for that.”

“You don't mind?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Why would
any
red-blooded man?” He grinned. “My instincts are pretty base too. We'll just not tell the world.”

“I would never!”

He laughed. “There is something else. I am relying on my father-in-law to help me find a new bailiff and perhaps an estate manager.”

“That is one thing he is very good at, Jim,” she said. She touched his face. “It will not be so bad in the country. And if you feel that you will miss Lady Susan, I give you leave now to change your mind.” She clung to his good arm and leaned against him shamelessly.

“I wouldn't dare!” he insisted. “Gordon would blow my head off!”

He kissed her, leaving her breathless and agitated, and without a doubt that he had already forgotten Lady Susan Hinchcliffe.

Gordon started up the stairwell again. “Really, you two! What would Mama say?”

“Mama would be beside herself with joy,” Ellen murmured. She unwrapped herself from the marquess and helped him to his feet. He put his arm around her.

“Let me lean on you, if you don't mind. That kiss made me dizzy.”

“You may lean all you choose, sir.”

They started slowly down the stairs. “I thought you would enjoy listening to the choir from here,” he said.

“What choir?” she asked innocently.

“Witcracker! I should kiss you soundly for that, but I fear we would tumble down the stairs.”

They descended carefully. She stopped halfway down. “Of course, you know why I am marrying you.”

“Hmm?”

“How else am I ever to get my Shakespeare papers back? Do you know, I have been wondering what became of them.”

He pulled her down again on the stairs. “In the grip of my base instincts, I almost forgot. Ah, yes, the book.”

“Book?” she asked, not daring to say more.

“In a wild flight of optimism, I gathered your essays and some of my own together, plus those ones of Gordon's—they must bear his name, I fear—and Ralph's. My publisher went wild with joy.”

Ellen clapped her hands.

“Only yesterday, still clutched in the grip of fancy, I had them print ‘Lord and Lady Chesney,’ and ‘Gordon and Ralph Grimsley’ on the cover and spine. And you know how printers hate to change type, once it is set.”

“Oh, Jim!” She kissed him, holding his face between her hands. They kissed until Gordon called up the stairwell again.

“Come on,” the marquess grumbled. “Such a lot of stairs. I think that next May we will come here, but we will listen to the choir from the ground.” He smiled at her. “Something tells me that you might not feel up to all these stairs by this time next year.”

“James!”

“Yes, James! My dear, in all your wondering what good your education is, you overlooked a most important reality; one that is not exalted or lofty, perhaps, but which will likely bring us both joy in years to come. When you educate a woman, you educate a family.”

He kissed her hand and tucked it against his chest. “I could wish you the acclaim you deserve in the world of scholarship, but the time isn't here yet. I do promise to stand up every year in the House of Lords and rail on and on about the need for equal education for women. They will declare me a nuisance, but dash it all, who cares?”

“Who, indeed?” she agreed.

“And I suspect you have some ideas of your own on how—outside of general marital conviviality—I can best be put to use. I rest assured that you will correct me if I am wrong.”

“I will think of something, my dear.”

In 1878, the first women's college was established as part of Oxford University. Not until 1920 were women granted degrees
.

ARLA KELLY IS A VETERAN OF THE NEW YORK
and international publishing world. The author of more than thirty novels and novellas for Donald I. Fine Co., Signet, and Harlequin, Carla is the recipient of two Rita Awards (think Oscars for romance writing) from Romance Writers of America and two Spur Awards (think Oscars for western fiction) from Western Writers of America. She recently received a Whitney Award for best LDS romance fiction.

Recently, she's been writing Regency romances (think
Pride and Prejudice
) set in the Royal Navy's Channel Fleet during the Napoleonic Wars between England and France. She comes by her love of the ocean from her childhood as a Navy brat.

Carla's history background makes her no stranger to footnote work, either. During her National Park Service days at the Fort Union Trading Post National Historic Site, Carla edited Friedrich Kurz's fur trade journal. She recently completed a short history of Fort Buford, where Sitting Bull surrendered in 1881.

Following the “dumb luck” principle that has guided their lives, the Kellys recently moved to Wellington, Utah, from North Dakota and couldn't be happier in their new location. In her spare time, Carla volunteers at the Railroad and Mining Museum in Helper, Utah. She likes to visit her five children, who live here and there around the United States. Her favorite place in Utah is Manti, located after a drive on the scenic byway through Huntington Canyon.

And why is she so happy these days? Carla doesn't have to write in laundry rooms and furnace rooms now, because she has an actual office.