Page 52 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

“Please do not, Mr. Dunbridge.” The name came to her in a flash. “I prefer Miss Moreland.”

“I wasn’t sure. It’s such a different setting.” He gestured toward the nearest empty chairs. “Would you like to sit?”

“Yes, that would be nice.” She smiled. “I’m glad to see you.”

“You are?” His eyebrows rose a little.

He must expect her to resent a friend of Desmond’s. In fact, there was a flickering hope inside her that he would let drop some news about Desmond. “Yes, it’s good to meet someone who can talk about more interesting things than his club or his horse.”

Carson chuckled, and lines of laughter crinkled at the corners of his bright blue eyes. He was a handsome man in a fashionable, aristocratic way. Thisbe wished that he appealed to her, that she didn’t prefer a dark mop of hair and rumpled suit.

They sat and talked for a while. It was, as she had said, more entertaining to discuss theories and experiments than social chitchat, but, disappointingly, he didn’t raise the subject of Desmond. Finally, she was reduced to asking about him. “How is Mr. Harrison? Have you seen him?”

“Apart from a few bruises, he seems to be well enough,” Carson said, mouth curving up slightly in that odd amusement all men seemed to find in knocking each other about. “He won’t speak of how he got his bruises, which leads one to believe perhaps a lady was involved.” Carson paused invitingly. When Thisbe offered no response, he went on, “Desmond is devoted to his work. He does little else.”

It was perfectly useless information, but she could hardly ask the things she wanted to know: Is he sad? Does he miss me? Or is he in fine spirits and glad to be free?

“Well.” He rose to his feet. “Regrettably, I should take my leave. I have already occupied more of your time than is proper, I fear.”

“Oh.” Thisbe glanced around. Two of the nearby women were watching them with great interest. “Yes, of course.” She stood up.

“Perhaps, if it were welcome, I could ca—”

“Dunbridge, my boy.” A blocky gentleman strode toward them, his face wreathed in a smile.

Carson’s lips twitched with annoyance, but he quickly smoothed out his face and turned to the other man with a deferential smile. “Mr. Wallace. I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Oh, yes. Never miss one of Roddy’s revelries.” He looked pointedly in Thisbe’s direction.

“Miss Moreland, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Zachary Wallace. Professor Gordon is fortunate to have Mr. Wallace’s interest in our research. Mr. Wallace, Miss Thisbe Moreland.”

“Ah, Miss Moreland. Pleasure to meet you.” He beamed at Thisbe.

“How do you do?” She nodded in greeting. So this was the patron of Desmond’s project. He was expensively dressed; even as immune to fashion as she was, Thisbe could see that. He was ostentatious, with rubies flashing here and there, and his fashionable affectation of a cane boasted an ornate golden lion’s head. He didn’t really appear the sort of man who would be interested in spiritual matters—or scientific ones, either—but she supposed she shouldn’t judge one on appearances.

“Yes, yes,” Wallace went on, though no one had asked a question. “Such a pleasure. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You have?” Why?

He said chuckled in an indulgent way. “A female scientist—can’t expect to go unnoticed now, can you?”

“I see.” It was hardly the sort of recognition she wanted. Nor had she realized her attempts to publish had caused even a ripple among the male-dominated Royal Institution and its members.

“I had hoped young Harrison would have introduced us.”

Thisbe simply looked at him, having no response to that. Desmond had talked about her to his patron? Was her relationship with him gossiped about throughout the scientific community? It was an embarrassing thought.

“Our Desmond has an uncommon attachment to scruples,” Carson murmured.

“Be that as it may, it is a delight to meet you now,” Wallace continued. “We must have a chat soon.”

“Indeed,” Thisbe replied vaguely. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I must find my sister.”

“Carson must bring you to my gala next week,” Wallace said quickly. “A small thing, of course, compared to this, but, I hope, enjoyable. It will give us a chance to talk again.”

“Of course, sir,” Carson agreed. Thisbe smiled politely.

“I’ll send you an invitation,” Wallace said to her. “The duke and duchess, too.”