People like Mary Wollstonecraft and Margaret Cavendish, and if she were including them, should she not also read Hypatia and Arete of Cyrene? There were so many, and those were only the ones she could think of herself. What about the philosophers of the world over? Even that would take research. She would have to make a list of the ones she already knew and then make a separate list of other philosophers once she found out their names.
Oh, but Chastity was still here. She could not make her lists now. That would be rude. She must suffer through the end of her friend’s company. The clock on the mantel ticked a siren song, but Nell knew it was the height of rudeness to look at it, to indicate in any way that she no longer wished for company.
“I can see you are quite bound up in your thoughts,” Chastity said, finishing her tea. “Which may or may not be about Lord Beckett, but perhaps you’ll tell me about them when you realize what they are?”
Nell blinked, surprised that her friend guessed. “How did you know?”
Chastity laughed. “You think you’re subtle, but really, you cannot hide your inner thoughts at all, Nell.” Her laugh was not one of mockery, but of fondness. That was good. “I will see you next week. But if you do not wish to wait that long, you could always come to a meeting.”
“No, thank you,” Nell said, not wishing to be a part of any religion, including Chastity’s. It did not stop her friend from inviting her every week, which was annoying. She had given her answer years ago, which Chastity either didn’t respect or repeatedly forgot. Either way, she didn’t care for the pestering.
When her friend rose to leave, Nell did the same, but instead of walking her friend to the door, she retrieved foolscap from her writing desk and started making a list. She had many lists, but this one could change how she thought about herself to herself. What an extraordinary idea.
Timothy waggled hiseyebrows at Beckett, insinuating a romance that was not there.
“I’m telling you that there is no prospect of marriage here. Let it go,” Beckett insisted, downing the rest of his whisky in one gulp. It burned on the way down, and he was ready for another. But not too many, as he had to be up and walking early the next morning. Not that he would tell Timothy anything of the sort.
“I’d be happy to let it go if I believed you,” Timothy said, swirling his whisky. “Because you have been spotted, my friend.”
They were at their club, sharing a meal and a drink, as men of their class did often. There were places to take some exercise, read, play games, and gossip. Beckett just hoped Timothy would keep his voice down.
“What are you talking about? Spotted what?” Beckett knew exactly what he meant, but he still had the habit of lying to himself, even when he knew better.
“I have it on good authority that you are taking daily walks with the onerous Mrs. Reid.” Timothy looked pleased with himself, as if he had already gotten them hitched and baby blessed.
“They are early in the morning, and it is for her protection. Any gentleman would do it. I can’t very well let the poor woman be accosted by a ne’er-do-well.”
“Ah yes,” Timothy said, his blue eyes sparkling. “Those ne’er-do-wells.”
“You know what I mean,” Beckett said, slouching into his chair even further. He didn’t want to admit to Timothy that he rather enjoyed the morning walking routine. They didn’t speak, but rather strolled briskly about the place. It was a silent communion with what little nature London had to offer, and the feeling of cool exhilaration lasted most of the day. He’d already begun to feel his waistband loosen, and while he was by no means overweight, it felt good to feel strong and healthy. Invigorated. “Have you had more letters from your bosom companion?” he asked, trying to change the subject, but Timothy didn’t take the bait.
“I think I know better than you do yourself,” Timothy joked. “How many times have you seen her now? Is my inheritance safe?”
Beckett cleared his throat. “Nearly. I will see her tomorrow, which will be the fourth encounter.”
Timothy was clearly amused. “I cannot wait to hear the tale. And to answer your question, yes, you know I have a continuing conversation with Mr. Smalls. He’s an insightful fellow. Now. What do you have planned for the lovely Mrs. Reid?”
Beckett noticed that Timothy had switched her descriptors, and while he did object to him calling her onerous (she was not), he was not ready to embrace what Timothy meant by “the lovely Mrs. Reid.” He could not very well object and say she was not lovely. (She very much was.) But when Timothy said it like that, he clearly meant it to needle Beckett about his fondness for her. And yes, he had a fondness, which was a far cry from an affection, and an even further one from love. Which was the root word for love, which is why his brain came up with that word at all, and had nothing to do with the situation at hand, thank you very much.
Instead of saying any of this, Beckett cleared his throat in a most commanding manner. “Mrs. Reid purchases inferior tea, due to her budgetary constraints. I have purchased a variety of teas from a variety of purveyors. We will be doing a direct taste comparison.”
Timothy could barely contain a silly grin. He looked quite stupid. “You’ve purchased her a variety of teas from a variety of purveyors. That must have cost a pretty penny.”
“I can afford it.” Beckett reached for the decanter of whisky. Why did Timothy have to smirk so?
“I never suggested otherwise. And who did you send on this errand of procurement?” Timothy asked.
Beckett hid behind his overly full whisky tumbler. He hadn’t meant to pour so much; it just happened because Timothy was very distracting with all of his questions. “I don’t see why that signifies.”
“Did you send your housekeeper?” Timothy prodded.
“No!” He would not have his housekeeper deal with this sort of thing.
“Your footman?”
“Of course not, what would a footman know about tea?” This was not merely retrieving an ordered item.
“So who spent the time going ’round to these shops? Who picked the varieties and blends?” Timothy batted his eyelashes at Beckett, no doubt to get a rise out of him.
