Page 29 of The Butler and the Bluestocking
She shook her head. She wanted him, desperately. Too desperately. She needed time to regain her good sense, which seemed to have disappeared along with the wine she’d enjoyed that evening. “Not tomorrow. I will let you know.”
“We’ve arrived.” He opened the coach door.
Bess allowed Malcolm to help her from the carriage and escort her to the door.
“Goodnight, Bess.” He lifted her hand to his lips.
She felt heat and those shocks again. “Goodnight.” Keeping her voice steady was an effort.
He turned and left.
She forced herself not to watch but to go into the house and close the door. To shut out Malcolm Marr as she could not shut him out of her mind.
“Bess?” Patience came down the stairs.
“Yes, it’s me.” She took her cloak off, placing it on a chair where Crewe would find it, then began to remove her gloves.
“Did you enjoy yourself? Come to my room and tell me all about your evening and the Nedhelms.” She moved in the direction of her bedchamber.
“No, not tonight, please Patience. Tomorrow morning, I’ll tell you everything. For now, I need to ask you to invite Mr. and Mrs. Nedhelm to Tuesday’s ball.”
“If you wish it, of course I’ll invite them. Are you sure you cannot talk now?”
“It would be better if I sought my bed. I’m to stay with Jane tomorrow. I’ll need to be rested.”
Patience smiled. “She can be quite the handful.”
“A delightful handful to be sure. Goodnight.” Bess hurried up the stairs to her chamber. She doubted she would sleep much. She needed to think. Malcolm claimed he loved her. How could that be possible?How do I feel about him?If he loves me, what does that mean?Does he want me as a mistress?He has to know I would never.... But would I never? The memory surfaced strong and clear of how it felt to be in his arms, of arguing scholarly points with him long into the night, of watching him entrance two young girls by bringing history to life.I must cease dithering and think about this sensibly.
He’s a man with a profession. A highly respected scholar. Until his brother weds and has a son, Malcolm Marr is heir to one of the most respected titles in all Britain. He may think he loves me, but I could never be a proper wife for him. If he ever makes such a ridiculous assertion again, I’ll just have to tell him in no uncertain terms that we could never be together. There! I’ve thought logically and sensibly and made the right decision. I should be happy. So why do I feel like weeping?
Chapter Thirteen
For the next few days, Bess slept poorly and dragged through the hours between breakfast and bedtime, longing to retire to her chamber immediately after breakfast and hide beneath her bedcovers all day. Then one morning, as she perused her correspondence over a light breakfast, she discovered that fate and Malcolm Marr had more surprises in store.
First, there was an invitation from the York Antiquarian Society to present at a members’ only seminar on the last day of the next week’s seminars. That note was signed by Nedhelm with a postscript to “Please honor the York society with a lecture on the topic of your choice.”
