Thinking back to when she had been unsure about sharing her feelings with William, Rachel shook her head. “He knows how I feel, and he feels the same. If it is something about that, I would think he would come to me and say something.”
“I do not know what to tell you, My Lady,” Jane shrugged. “But I think you should concentrate on your time with Lord Strathmore.”
While knowing Jane was right, Rachel kept her concerns about William in the back of her mind. She arrived at the drawing-room and sat while the maid came in to set the tray of refreshments on the coffee table.
Lord Strathmore came in, his bright wheat-colored hair immaculately pomaded and his trim figure clad in fashionable grey buff trousers, matching waistcoat. She would stand and curtsy, but with her mission to dissuade him from pushing the courtship, she kept sitting.
His brow lifted, but he did not mention it. “Good day, My Lady, you are as radiant as ever.”
“Thank you,” she smiled. “How are you doing?”
“Same of the same,” he waved. “Chasing down artifacts and hobnobs the Prince Regent takes a fancy to. I had to track down a Golden Eagle from Spain. And how are you?”
“I am thinking of writing a book,” Rachel mentioned casually. “I happen to know a few other ladies who have written successful books. Of course, they have to pen it as a man, but it is an idea I am thinking about.”
His brows lowered. “And what sort of book would this be?”
“I have not decided yet,” Rachel said. “It might be a tawdry romance novel, but I thought about more. Perhaps an academic book, maybe one on travel. Maybe even contribute to the papers on government. I do know something about law.”
Lord Strathmore gave her a long look before throwing his head back and laughing. “Goodness, you seem so grave about it. I almost thought that you were serious. Thank you for giving me a lovely laugh, my dear. Now would you pour me my coffee?”
“Why do you think it’s a jest?” Rachel asked.
His brow cocked, “Because you can never do either, and certainly not when we are wed. A woman does not work under my roof. You will control the house and maids and plan parties and all such womanly work, but academic pursuits are not for you, darling.”
Astounded by his candor and dismissiveness, Rachel pressed, “But what if I want to write?”
“You will have all the journals you would like, and you may write for your personal amusement, but you will not send anything to any publisher or even the newspaper,” Strathmore said jauntily.
“You think that a woman’s place is solely in the home?” her mouth dropped.
“Of course it is,” he said. “That is how it was from the dawn of time and how it will be in our house. I will not settle for anything less. Now, my coffee?”
With her teeth grit, Rachel poured out his drink. “Tell me, what more are women not allowed to do in your home?”
Nonchalantly, he reached for his cup and launched into a spiel that made her want to pour the whole kettle of hot coffee into his lap. She could not believe that this man was so entitled and dogmatic, harping on about how delicate the female disposition was. And how frail they were, so they could not take on higher academic ventures. By the time he was finished, she felt ready to be sick. If she married this man, she would be putting herself in a lifelong commitment of torment.
Her plan had not worked, and it stung her a little. She had not said her plan decisively enough, making Lord Strathmore see through it so quickly. But she could not stomach being in the same room with the man. Now she knew why the two ladies he had told her about had rejected him, and she doubted that they were as spirited as he had told her.
Most likely, they disagreed with one thing he wanted from them and he found them unfit.
She rested her untouched cup of tea down, “I am sorry, My Lord, but I am not feeling well. Will you visit again, on the morrow mayhap?”
He peered at her from over his cup, then rested it. “I see.”
Fearful that she had pushed him far enough that he would go to her parents, Rachel reached out for his hand. “Look at my face. You can see that I am not well.”
His eyes skimmed over her forehead, “You do look pale, wan, and a bit sickly.”
Relieved, Rachel pulled away, “I was not trying to trick you; I truly do not feel well.”
“I can see it,” he said while brushing a lock of her hair from her face. He brazenly leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I understand. This is what I meant by the female disposition. You are so delicate.”
She did not dare to contest his words because soon, she would be free of him. He stood and helped her to her feet. “I will see you sometime this week, My Lady, as I am afraid tomorrow is full for me.”
Rachel managed a curtsy. “That’s perfectly fine. I will see you then.”
They both left the room, and she stood at the landing of the stairs to watch him go. As soon as he donned his coat and hat, turned to her, and tipped it, she went off to her room.
