Page 39 of An Innocent Maid for the Duke
Faxford, blast him, grinned cheerfully. ‘The ladies love their gossip.’
‘Indeed,’ he said repressively.
The young man shifted from foot to foot. ‘What do you think about this business in the north?’ he blurted out, clearly trying for another topic of conversation. ‘This riot.’
‘I read about that,’ Rose said. ‘Some are calling it a massacre. It warrants some sort of official investigation, I should think.’
Faxford blinked his surprise. ‘By Gad, Miss Nightingale, are you a bluestocking?’
Jake raised a haughty brow. ‘You raised the topic, Faxford. Hardly fitting in mixed company.’
The young man visibly wilted. ‘Oh, right. I beg pardon. My mistake. If you will excuse me, my mother is trying to catch my attention.’ He bowed and to Jake’s satisfaction scurried off.
Rose frowned at him. ‘Surely such an important event is everyone’s concern?’
Jake’s jaw dropped at her challenging tone. He gave her the same haughty look he had given Faxford. ‘I have no intention of engaging in rumour-mongering, Miss Nightingale and that is what it would be since I do not as yet have all the facts.’
She frowned, clearly undeterred. ‘Hardly a rumour. Troops called out to quell a riot, if you believe the government. A massacre of citizens, if you believe those present. The real question is how is the truth to be discovered, Your Grace?’
Rose was right of course. Her argument was the same as that he had presented to Prinny that very morning. Not something he could bruit abroad, however. Discussions with the Prince Regent were confidential. ‘You suggest some sort of impartial enquiry, I assume?’
She wrinkled her brow thoughtfully. ‘Is it even possible?’
‘It certainly ought to be.’
She glanced up at him. ‘What did he mean by calling me a...a stocking, was it?’
Jake lowered his voice. ‘We can discuss it later.’
Anger rose in Jakes’s throat at the worry on her face. He wanted to march over to Faxford and make him apologise. Yet with the old biddies looking on, they would find themselves the subject of gossip in a heartbeat should he do so. He set his jaw and said nothing.
‘Why, we have been here half an hour already,’ Grandmama said, smiling up at him and filling the awkward pause in their conversation. ‘Jacob, would you have the carriage brought around?’
Jake bowed. ‘It will be my pleasure.’ He tried not to notice Rose’s anxious expression. He would explain it later.
* * *
Westmoor joined his grandmother and Rose in the drawing room after dinner, though he had not joined them for the meal itself.
‘Will you explain what is meant by bluestocking, Your Grace?’ Rose asked once the servants had withdrawn. She hadn’t found the word in the dictionary she had borrowed.
Her Grace looked up, her mouth wrinkling as if she’d tasted a quince. ‘Did someone call you that, Rose?’
‘Faxford,’ Jake answered. ‘The idiot.’
‘I gather, then, being a bluestocking is not a good thing,’ Rose said, her stomach falling away. Oh, why, oh, why had she said anything at all? And just when she’d begun to feel more comfortable in her new position.
‘It means a young woman who is more interested in politics and education than she is in gowns and dancing,’ the Dowager said.
‘A lady is not supposed to be interested in the events of the day?’ It hardly seemed right. ‘Shouldn’t soldiers attacking women and children concern everyone? Not to mention the unrest it has caused. There is talk of revolution.’
The old lady’s chin trembled. She looked at her grandson. ‘Jake, is this true? Are the peasants rising against us?’ She shuddered. ‘One cannot but help think of France.’
Rose’s stomach pitched. ‘I am sorry, Your Grace. I did not mean to scare you.’
The Duke’s lips thinned. ‘We do not have peasants in England, Grandmama. And let us not jump to conclusions. That was your advice, was it not, Rose?’
Rose wished she’d never opened her mouth. Anyone of nobility would be scared witless after what had happened in France.
