Page 76 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

“Of course I do,” he said, his expression impassive, and yet, she knew without appreciating just how, that he was provoking her on purpose. It was working, too, for she was now furious and spluttering, and completely inarticulate.

She scowled, frustrated by the skill with which he was able to turn the discussion in his favor simply by using her own emotions against her. “This isn’t fair. You men go to university, spend four years learning and practicing how to debate—”

“I didn’t.” He grinned. “I had nine years, not four. Before Cambridge, there was Harrow. And before that, my tutors. And yes, at Cambridge, I was a master of oratory debate. Champion class four years running. So, you’re right—you are completely outmatched and outgunned. Which is a given anyway,” he added, grinning, “since I’m a man and you’re a woman. You haven’t a prayer.”

“Stuff,” she said, fully aware now that he was toying with her. “Give me over nine years of hard training at debate and oratory, and see how you fare then.”

“I’m not sure that matters. Irene, I am surrounded by women, and I can assure you, every member of your sex is well able to create an argument at the drop of a hat. It may not be a logical one—”

She remonstrated by giving him a nudge with her foot. “You know what I mean. Your sex is taught debate and oratory at university. We women are denied that opportunity.”

“Not denied it. Not always, anyway.”

“Mostly, though. It’s only allowed us if the men in our lives—who nearly always have charge of our money—will consent to pay the fees. So again, it’s our men—husbands, brothers, fathers—who decide for us how much education we receive. Most of us are allowed little more than the elementary aspects.”

He smiled. “You sound like my sister. She wanted to go to university.”

“Angela?” Irene froze, dismayed. “Henry, you didn’t refuse your sister a university education, did you? Please, tell me you did not do that.”

“No, no, not Angela. Patricia. She was mad, absolutely mad, on chemistry. She wanted to go to Girton and become a doctor. But my father—he was alive, then—would not hear of it. Bad enough if a man in our family had wanted to be a doctor, but a woman? God, no. It was a crushing disappointment for her. It broke her heart.”

Irene’s point had just been made, but she didn’t care about that just now, for she was looking into his face, and any academic debate on women’s rights and education was pushed aside. “Patricia? She died, didn’t she?”

“Two years ago, yes. She died in childbirth. Eclampsia. The baby, too.” He stirred, then gave a cough. “If you wish for women’s rights, I can assure you I would happily advocate giving women better access to university education, especially if it meant more female doctors and better medical care for your sex.”

He was clearly attempting to return the conversation to politics because it was safer for him than talking of personal loss and private pain, but Irene would not let him make that diversion. “What was she like?”

“Patricia?” He smiled, but in it there was unmistakable sadness, and she wondered how she could ever have thought this man icy or unfeeling. “I think you might be able to guess what she was like.” His smile turned wry. “You’ve met my nephews.”

Irene laughed. “Oh, dear.”

“Exactly. Pat was the most adventurous member of our family. She was always wanting to know the why and the how of everything. And she had a first-class brain. She’s a woman who would have made the world a better place, to use your argument. Well,” he amended, “except that she did almost blow up the summerhouse once.”

“Heavens. Like mother, like sons.”

“Yes. A chemistry experiment gone wrong. But despite the summerhouse incident, she was brilliant. Had she gone to Girton, she’d have loved every minute of it. Still, she loved Jamie madly and adored her boys, and she—I won’t say she got over not going to university, for one doesn’t simply get over the crushing of a lifelong dream, but she was able to be happy in spite of that loss.”

Irene nodded. “Yes. One has to go on, doesn’t one? I mean, what else is there? Other than to be like my father. He’ll”—she broke off and looked down at the breakfast plates—“he’ll kill himself with drink,” she whispered. “I know it.”

Henry grasped her chin, lifted her face. “If he does, as you are well aware, there is little you can do to stop him.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve done all I can. I used to go through his rooms every day, toss out his bottles. I’d order the servants to keep liquor from him, told the tradesmen never to bring liquor into our house, for I wouldn’t pay the bill if they did, but . . .” She shook her head. “None of it did a bit of good. Papa always managed to get drink from somewhere, and eventually, I just gave up. I accepted the fact that if a person is determined to go down a certain road, no one else can really prevent them from it.”

“I think,” he said with a sigh, “that we have both come to accept that fact about people.”

“You’re thinking of your mother, I know.” She pushed trays out of the way and rose onto her knees, moving forward to wrap her arms around his neck. “But you mustn’t worry, Henry. Her course may be perfectly right, for her and all of you. Only time will tell.”

“I can only hope you are right, for I have been forced to concede that her marriage is not my decision to make.”

“So I can win arguments with you.” She grinned. “How gratifying to know.”

“You haven’t won the one we’ve embarked upon,” he reminded her. “You still haven’t made a case for women having the vote.”

She sighed. “The problem is that any time a woman makes such a case, or even attempts to debate any issue in a public forum, we’re told that’s not womanly, dear, and to stop being so resentful and angry.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Irene, you could stand on the street in your shirtwaist and necktie, and even—God forbid—a pair of trousers, holding a placard over your head that demands all men’s heads on platters as a policeman drags you off, and I could never think of you as unwomanly. And right now,” he added, glancing down, “when you’re not wearing much of anything, I really can’t think at all.”

At once, all her womanly instincts stirred up, but then she perceived what he was doing, and she frowned. “You are trying to distract me again.”

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