Lottie stilled. She remembered that passage well. It was a particular favorite.
Her scribbled thoughts peppered page after page—hundreds of ideas and words scrawling like the ravings of a lunatic at times.
And yet . . . he had effortlessly pinpointed the one theme in Wollstonecraft’s writing that had resonated within her—that a woman’s worth should be measured by her inner beauty.
“I agree with Wollstonecraft’s ideas.” He lifted his head. “But I admire even more what you wrote in reply. Do you remember?”
Lottie nodded, that warmth in her chest glowing hotter. “Being born with beauty is the opposite of riches. Every passing moment of a beautiful woman’s life is spent becoming a little bit poorer.”
He snorted, low and soft, a finger dragging across her writing in the page margins. Gooseflesh skittered up her arms, just as surely as if he had drawn that finger along her skin.
“I love how ye phrased it here, though,” he continued. “You said, ‘A lovely woman begins life as a wealthy angel and ends it, if she clings to vanity, an impoverished fiend.’”
“Yes. It went something like that, I suppose.”
“It’s a powerful observation.” He grinned at her then, and the rushing brightness of it fanned the low flame beneath her sternum. “The concept of physical beauty as a commodity that is spent over time.”
Lottie swallowed.
Truculent, frustrated Dr. Whitaker was easy enough to brush aside. He was a breathing dragon, after all, laying waste with his fiery words.
But this version of the man—this kind gentleman who owned his actions and apologized with sincerity and took time tohearher—thisman was harder to dismiss.
She clenched her hands into fists, as if that could stem the potency of him.
He continued to smile at her. “I admire your intellect, my lady. Ye mentioned that your grandmother saw to your education?”
“Yes. She did.”
“It is unusual, to say the least. Did your father not object?”
“No. Not really. Not that I suppose Grandmère ever asked for anyone’s permission.”
“She is a wee force of nature, I’ve noticed.”
“Grandmère is that.” Lottie finally smiled in earnest. “Papa told stories of Grandmère as a glittering hostess in the salons of Paris during the reign of Louis XVI. My grandfather acted as a diplomat for the Crown in Versailles for much of their early marriage. In fact, my father was born in a chateau outside Paris and grew up in France until he left for Eton. He adored his mother, so Grandmère definitely shaped his views on women and education, ensuring they were perhaps more tempered than those of a typical English nobleman.”
Lottie paused, not sure she wished to say more.
But the doctor leaned forward, gaze intent and sincere, that ridiculous lock of hair curling onto his forehead once more.
“I think Grandmère saw my predilections early on,” she continued, slowly unclenching her hands. “I remember the moment quite clearly. I was only eight years old, and Grandfather had just died. I think Grandmère was somewhat lost without him. I recall her watching as a nurse berated me for being so unladylike as to crouch and examine a line of ants carry bits of leaves back to their nest, dirtying my frock—”
“Ants carrying bits of leaves?”
“Of course! It was utterly fascinating!” Lottie laughed. “Grandmère took my hand and walked me to the library. I thought I was in for a scolding. Instead, she sat me upon a chair and told me to look around the room. She said, ‘Because of your face, your name, and your family . . . attention and accolades will come to you on a platter. And it will feel as if you merited them somehow.’ And then she paused and looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘But that will be a lie. You must become more than the sum of your birth. Educate your mind. Enlarge your thinking. Make your inside as blessed and comely as your outside was gifted to be. Happiness will only ever come from within.’”
Part of Lottie marveled that she was telling all this to Dr. Whitaker, of all people.
Wasn’t the man more nemesis than friend?
But the more they spoke, the more he reverted to Cousin Alex. To the kind gentleman of her memory.
More to the point, hefeltlike a friend. Or at least, he had the potential to become one. A friend and confidant, much as Gabriel had been.
“Happiness will only ever come from within,” he repeated. “The world would be a much brighter place if more of us understood that.”
Cousin Alex kept a steady gaze on her, the steel in his eyes softening, as if he found her impossibly fascinating.
