The housekeeper paused in front of doubledoors, opened them, and stepped aside for him. Collin walked in, approval in his tone as he turned to the housekeeper, thanked her, and made a mental note to write and thank Rowles as well.
“Refreshments will be waiting whenever you are ready, my lord.” With a final nod, she closed the door as she left.
Collin sighed deeply, his body aching from the long travel and events of the day. He sank into a wing-backed chair by the low-burning fire and leaned back, closing his eyes. It hadn’t been an all-in-all unproductive day, although it wasn’t as helpful as he’d hoped. But it was a start. And one had to begin somewhere, he reminded himself.
He glanced about the room, rose, and watched out the window. The windows faced the street where his carriage had arrived, and beyond that he could see down another street toward the river in the distance. But mostly, he saw other buildings, similar to the one he was currently in. He looked down to the street. If necessary, a hasty exit through a broken window would be possible, though less than ideal. It would likely result in some broken bones; however, bones healed. This was a safe place, he told himself.
He took in the rest of his surroundings. Four-poster bed, chairs, desk, the usual. It was comfortable, and he was at ease. All that was missing was a spot of tea, which he thankfully had waiting forhim in the parlor downstairs. It was a bright spot in his day, he thought rather sardonically as he started toward the door. As his hand touched the cool brass, he paused. There was another bright spot, and it involved tea as well.
A smirk teased his lips as he walked out into the hall. Verbal sparring with a fascinating woman was always a highlight, and fascinating women in London were few and far between. Beautiful? Yes. Well trained? Yes. Fascinating? No. Most were dull as mud and equally shallow. As he took the stairs to the parlor, he pondered Miss Essex. Her strawberry hair was the color of a sunset with a storm on the horizon, and those dark eyes and long, lean fingers added to her full allure. But if he were honest, her mouth and the words she’d spoken were what had him thinking about her long after they’d met.
He took a seat in the parlor and poured himself some tea and watched the steam swirl about as he finished filling the cup. He lifted it to his lips and smiled as he thought of a different set of lips.
And he suppressed a chuckle as he considered just how much she’d hate him thinking about her. That made him like her all the more.
Six
Common sense is the best distributed thing in the world, for everyone thinks he is so well-endowed with it that even those who are hardest to satisfy in all other matters are not in the habit of desiring more of it than they already have.
—René Descartes,Discourse on Method
Elizabeth scanned the small room at the back of the tea shop, meeting the eye of every student before she began with a quote. Her voice rang clear as she said, “‘I found myself beset by so many doubts and errors that I came to think I had gained nothing from my attempts to become educated but increasing recognition of my ignorance.’” She finished the René Descartes quote fromDiscourse. “Who remembers who said this?”
A few of the women glanced down. However, Patricia Finch’s eyes held steady as she called out, “René Descartes.”
“Well done,” Elizabeth praised. “Well done. And what can we glean from this quote? Amy?” Elizabeth turned to another student.
Miss Hasselridge was one of the quietest students, but she had the best attendance record. Though she didn’t like to speak out, Elizabeth found Amy always had an intelligent response to her questions.
Amy swallowed and glanced about the area as if searching for courage, or for someone to take the question instead. “I believe it means that the more you learn, the more you realize how much you still don’t know.”
“Well said,” Elizabeth remarked. “But did Descartes stop his education and the furthering of his mind?”
“No,” the women murmured.
“No, he did not. Rather, that very question is what spurred him on to greater and deeper understanding. This quote is taken from hisDiscourse, published in 1637. You’ll get the opportunity to brush up on your French as you read this. A nice change from the Latin you’ve been reading.” She took a deep breath. “Though the war with Napoleon is finished, I understand there is still some animosity toward the French, and I share it. Nevertheless, I don’t wish for it to cloud your judgment as you read this literature.”
Elizabeth opened the book and took a seat, turning to the first page and beginning to read in French. When she’d finished several pages, she stood and nodded to another student, who cameto the chair before the book and took her place, beginning to read. Elizabeth listened to the words come to life as they were read out loud. It was the best option, under the circumstances. Not every household held a copy of the DescartesDiscourse,so they read it together. The process was tedious and would take more time than she’d like, but the result was a widened scope of literature, of thinking and understanding. What resulted was education, and that was exactly the goal. Therefore if the process wasn’t ideal, the outcome was.
Slowly they rotated until every lady had read a few pages. Elizabeth took one final turn reading and then posed some questions to the class, asking them to consider them for next week. The whole meeting was a little over an hour, which never seemed long enough. However, it was a start, and it was a far cry more than any of the women would ever achieve on their own.
It wasn’t that Elizabeth was against more traditionally feminine forms of education; it was just that they were incomplete. Education was education, learning was learning, and whether it was needlepoint or flower arranging, it was still interesting and a learned skill. But education should be more. Women deserved more. Descartes was not on the normal reading list for most young women, and it would be a scandal if she cracked open hisPassions of the Soul. She’d been scolded soundlywhen her father discovered she’d begun to read it, and her father was usually quite amenable to whatever she wished to read.Discoursewas far less scandalous.
The ladies stood from their chairs and chatted for a bit, enjoying the social aspect of the class as well as the education. Elizabeth smiled as she took in the space, glorying in what it encompassed: tradesmen’s daughters, shopkeepers’ daughters, farmers’ daughters, gentlemen’s daughters all coming together and disregarding the ways in which society constrained them.
“I’ll see you all next week,” Elizabeth said as she stacked her books and placed them in her leather satchel.
“Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth met the inquiring face of Patricia Finch. “Yes?”
“May I read ahead?” Patricia asked as she traced her finger along the back of a chair.
Elizabeth paused, then nodded. “Of course. Does your brother have a copy?”
“Yes, he might balk a bit when I ask to borrow it, but he’ll let me, especially if I tell him you suggested it.” She gave a sly smile.
Elizabeth’s cheeks heated at her friend’s words. “Your brother would likely let you use the book regardless of who suggests it, Patricia.”
