Page 63 of A Game of Scandal

When he released her, Laetitia Tiffins was pink and rumpled. It seemed no one was totally immune to Ash’s charms. She smacked him across the chest, but the small smile stayed in place.

“Get on with you now,” she said. “I can take care of your Felicity – though the ladies are here for dinner. It’s my turn to host.”

“Oh, I think my Felicity will believe herself to have died and gone to heaven,” Ash said. “I expect she’s heard all about the Ladies’ Dining Society.”

I felt all the blood leave my head. “The Ladies’ Dining Society.” The words came out a croak. “The private women’s discussion club that champions women’s education and campaigns to grant degrees at Cambridge?”

“We rarely use the full title,” Laetitia said dryly.

I only gaped at her, which I worried did little to convey my intelligence.

“I can see that I’m surplus to requirements,” Ash said, turning to me. “So I’ll leave you in Tiff’s capable hands.”

Giving myself a mental shake, I turned to face him and placed my hand on his arm. “Will you be all right?” I asked in a low voice.

“Worried about me?” Ash’s expression softened, as he covered my hand with his own, gently squeezing my fingers. “I’ve been dealing with that lot my whole life. They don’t scare me.” Despite his words, I knew that he was dreading the encounter with his parents and I wished desperately there was something I could do to help.

Something of the desire must have shown in my face because Ash made a sound low in his throat. It was a sound that went fizzing straight through my bloodstream.

“You growl much more than any gentleman I’ve ever met,” I said.

He dropped a kiss to my cheek, the lightest brush of his lips against my skin, and my breath hitched.

“How many times must I tell you, I am no gentleman.” Ash stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned away, walking back towards the carriage. “I’ll be back to call in the morning. Don’t let Smythe bully you.”

I watched him leave, before turning back to Laetitia, who was watching me carefully.

“So,” she said finally, stepping back and gesturing with her arm. “I suppose you’d better come in.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“My apologies, ladies,” Laetitia said, leading me into a well-ordered and welcoming living room. The walls were crammed with bookshelves, and there were five women arranged around the place, deep in conversation, who looked up at our entrance. “I have an unexpected house guest joining us,” she continued. “This is Lady Felicity Vane. Mathematician.” I noticed that she made no reference to Ash at all.

There was a murmured greeting from the group and one of the women stepped forward. She was younger than the rest, perhaps in her twenties, and she smiled in welcome.

“How nice to have a new face join us,” she said, her words soft. “I’m Caroline Post, and I teach English literature at Newnham College.”

“I’ll go and check with Smythe about the dinner,” Laetitia said. “Perhaps you could make the introductions?”

“Certainly.” Caroline took my arm and pulled me gently to the worn but comfortable couch, where two more women sat holding glasses of wine and looking relaxed. “This is Ellen Marshall – she’s a classicist – and Mary Balfour, physicist.”

“Mrs Balfour,” I exclaimed. “But I was speaking to a friend of mine about your work only the other day!” I couldn’t wait to tell Winnie that I had actually met Mary Balfour.

“And you’re a mathematician, Lady Felicity?” Mary asked.

I found myself floundering. Despite my confidence in my abilities, in that moment I heard Mr Trent’s words about hobbyists and dabblers slither through my mind.

“Yes,” I said. “That is, I’m not… I’m largely self-taught, but I hope to attend university classes in the near future.”

“Here in Cambridge?” Mary asked, and I experienced such a sense of relief that she hadn’t dismissed me that I felt my shoulders drop.

“I had thought I’d stay in London,” I replied, and for the first time I wondered exactly when I’d made that decision.

Mary only nodded. “There are some strong programmes in the city.”

“This is Louise Sidgwick,” Caroline continued, moving towards the pair of women standing near the fireplace. “She’s secretary of the Cambridge Association for Women’s Suffrage. And finally Martha Creighton, the author. You may have read some of her work on women’s education?”

I nodded eagerly. “I found it fascinating. What you said about no good work or training ever being wasted, even if a woman was later forced to give it up—”