He glanced at the title, brow furrowing. “A Vindication on the Rights of Women?” He lifted his gaze to hers, emotions vacillating between appalled and impressed. The book was scandalous reading for any unwed young woman, no matter how forward thinking. “I’m surprised your father allowed such things in his library. Do you think to shock me?”
“Not at all.” Her eyes went wide with mock astonishment. “I had supposed Wollstonecraft to be light reading for—what did you call me? A pretty, feather-brained debutante?”
“Ye ken what I mean, Lady Charlotte. Surely, your family would be appalled to know you read Wollstonecraft—”
“Grandmère? Why . . . who do you think gave me the book in the first place?” She smiled, tight and brittle. “You accused me of loving fairy tales. So . . . I’m lending you one of my favorites to read.”
“A fairy tale, is it? A treatise on the importance of educating women?” His nose wrinkled. “Are ye sure you’ve actually read this book?”
“Hah! You hold my personal copy.” Her smile gained a hint of sardonic humor. “And, yes, the idea of girls finally receiving an education equal to that of boys often feels as unlikely as a fairy tale. Perhaps reading Wollstonecraft will enlighten your thinking on thefeather-brainedhalf of the human race.”
Alex flinched. He felt like he just witnessed a puppy growing fangs.
“I shall leave you to your writing.”
She pivoted and left the room.
The door did not quite slam behind her, but the deafeningclackof the latch was effective nonetheless.
Alex felt positively . . .winded.
She was correct, of course. In every particular.
He was an absolute cad and merited each word of her censure.
Blast it all, he needed to apologize.
His eyes drifted to the painting she had hung on the wall.
He laughed, a sharp burst of sound that echoed in the room and caused his leg to twitch.
From within the frame, a dragon looked out at him, eyes ruby red, smoke rising from its mouth. The mythical animal loomed, an accusatory symbol.
Was this more of Cousin Gabriel’s work then? It seemed stylistically similar to the painting on the stairs.
Lady Charlotte . . .
What a remarkable, spirited . . .
He blinked.
Admiration rose in his chest, ballooning and rising.
Dammit.
No! He wasn’t going to like her.
He was not.
He simply had to keep that thought in his brain.
10
Alex forced himself to push aside thoughts of Lady Charlotte.
He would apologize when next he saw her. In the meantime, he would focus on the letters he needed to write.
He had not received full marks and the degree of M.D.—Medicinae Doctor—at such a young age without the ability to focus his mind to a solitary task.
