Page 10 of A Spinster’s Folly (Courting the Unconventional #2)

A footman placed a plate of food down in front of her, and Eugenie reached for her fork and knife.

She knew Niles meant well. He had always seen himself as her protector, the one who was supposed to guide her towards the life Society deemed appropriate.

But what he didn’t understand—what he could never quite grasp—was that she had no desire to follow the path that had been so neatly laid before her.

She needed to carve out her own future, one built on purpose, not expectation.

Charles sat in the back of the lecture hall, his hands folded on the polished wooden desk before him, as Professor Addington commanded the room with his booming voice.

The professor's lecture on the fall of the Roman Empire held the students rapt, their faces alight with curiosity.

Charles studied them with quiet envy. These young men had their entire academic lives ahead of them, free to indulge in endless discussions and debates and to lose themselves in pursuing knowledge.

That could have been his life.

He swallowed against the familiar knot of regret tightening in his throat.

Had fate taken a different turn, he would have been among them—not merely an observer but an eager participant.

But his path had been set the moment he inherited his title.

There had been no choice, only duty. He told himself it was as it should be, that he had made peace with it.

And yet, something gnawed at him. Something missing.

The worst part was that he couldn’t name what it was.

That uncertainty infuriated him more than anything.

The polite sound of applause snapped him back to the present.

The lecture had concluded, and students were rising from their seats, murmuring to one another as they shuffled towards the exits.

Charles waited, watching them go, before finally standing and making his way towards the front of the room.

“Well done,” he praised.

Professor Addington turned from gathering his papers, a wry grin lifting his lips. “To what do I owe the great pleasure of an earl gracing my lecture?”

“I needed to speak with you.”

Addington stuffed the last of his papers into a satchel and slung it over his shoulder. “I have a meeting across campus, but we can talk as we walk.”

As they stepped outside, Charles let his gaze wander over the familiar spires of Oxford, the grand architecture that had once felt like home. “I miss this,” he admitted. “The lectures, the discourse, the life I once knew.”

Addington chuckled, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Oh, you poor lord. Forced to inherit a title while I scrape by as a mere professor.”

Charles sighed, knowing full well that he would get little sympathy from his friend. “I won’t deny that there are some advantages.”

“Some advantages?” Addington repeated. “You have a townhouse, a country estate, and land. I have a cramped flat on the edge of campus.”

“You do not live at your ancestral townhouse? ”

“Good gads, no.” Addington shook his head. “I refuse to live under my father’s roof and abide by his rules. I need to make my own way in the world.”

“And you are doing an admirable job,” Charles said sincerely.

“I will be, once I secure a fellowship. Until then, I am in a constant state of proving myself.”

Charles nodded in understanding. “How is that process going?”

“Long and arduous,” Addington muttered. “I need to publish more if I even want to be considered.”

“That is one part of academia I do not miss.”

Addington shot him a knowing look before stopping in the courtyard. “Enough pleasantries. What do you need?”

Charles hesitated, pressing his lips together. Finally, he said, “I have a favor to ask.”

Addington raised an amused eyebrow. “The last time you asked me for a favor, I ended up running through Eton’s dining hall in nothing but my drawers.”

Charles barked a laugh. “That was a dare, not a request.”

“And what about the time I covered myself in butter and slipped through the headmaster’s window to change our marks?” Addington challenged.

Charles grinned. “That was entirely your idea.”

Addington scoffed. “The window was small. Butter was necessary. And, need I remind you, I succeeded.”

“You did,” Charles admitted. “Though you were promptly caught and punished for it.”

Addington let out a chuckle. “Honestly, it’s remarkable we weren’t expelled.”

“It would have been preferable to the thrashing we received,” Charles mused.

“Deservedly so,” Addington added. “Now, what favor do you seek this time? ”

Charles decided it was best to say what needed to be said and be done with it. “I have a friend who wishes to attend your lectures.”

Addington’s brow furrowed. “Is this student enrolled at University College?”

“Not exactly.”

Suspicion flickered across Addington’s face. “What does that mean?”

“This person is not the kind Oxford would ever admit.”

Addington lowered his voice. “Is he Irish?”

“No, he is not Irish.”

“Then why the secrecy?” Addington demanded, pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time. “I don’t have the luxury of standing here all day. Just say what you need to say.”

Charles took a steadying breath. “The person in question… is a woman.”

Addington snapped his watch closed with an audible click. “Absolutely not,” he said, his voice firm. “Women cannot attend lectures at Oxford. You know that.”

“I do,” Charles conceded. “But if it helps, she would be disguised as a man.”

Addington stared at him. “No, that does not help.” He crossed his arms. “Who is this brazen woman?”

“That is irrelevant.”

“I think it’s quite relevant,” Addington countered. “If I am caught with a woman in my lecture hall, I will be ruined. A laughingstock.”

Charles lifted his hand in a calming gesture. “No one would know. I give you my word.”

Addington studied him intently. “Why is this so important to you?”

Charles paused. Why was this so important to him? It shouldn’t matter. Eugenie was merely a friend. Yet the thought of denying her this opportunity made something in him twist uncomfortably. He wanted this for her—more than he cared to admit.

Still, he kept his expression composed. “It would mean a great deal to me if you would consider it.”

Addington exhaled sharply. “You do realize what you’re asking of me?”

“I do.”

“And yet, you’re still asking?”

“I am.”

Addington removed his cap, raking a hand through his neatly groomed hair as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. He glanced around, as if ensuring no one had overheard their conversation, then fixed Charles with a hard stare.

“Fine,” he muttered, though the reluctance in his voice was unmistakable. “Bring this young woman to my lecture tomorrow, but her disguise had better be as foolproof as you claim it is. If she’s discovered, it won’t just be her facing consequences—it will be both of us.”

“It is. You have my word,” Charles assured him. “And thank you, Addington.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Addington shot back. “I will meet her at the door, just as I do with all my students. If there is even the slightest chance that she could be unmasked, I will turn her away without hesitation.”

“That is more than fair.”

Addington narrowed his eyes. “And you will be accompanying her?”

Charles inclined his head. “Of course. I will see her safely in and out.”

A long pause stretched between them as Addington tapped his fingers against the leather of his satchel, deep in thought. At last, he let out a resigned sigh. “I hope, for your sake, that this young woman is worth all this trouble.”

“She is,” Charles replied promptly .

Addington gave him a sharp look. “She had better be, because if anything goes awry, we are both risking far more than our reputations.” He pulled out his pocket watch once more and clicked it open with an irritated flick of his wrist. “Speaking of which, I am now late for my meeting.” He turned sharply on his heel and strode away.

“Thank you, Addington,” Charles called after him.

Without breaking his stride, Addington simply raised a hand in brief acknowledgment before disappearing down the path, leaving Charles standing alone.

Satisfied with the outcome, Charles turned on his heel, making his way towards his waiting coach.

His chest swelled with anticipation; he knew the risk his friend was taking, but this matter was of great importance to him.

The mere thought of Eugenie’s reaction sent a thrill through him.

Would she smile in that beguiling way of hers? Perhaps even reward him with a kiss?

One could only hope.

As he passed through the towering gates of the university, a familiar figure strode down the path towards him.

Charles recognized the long, purposeful gait of Guildford Winslow, Viscount Alcott.

The man moved with the confidence of a soldier, though there was an uncharacteristic tension in his posture.

Charles raised a hand in greeting. “Good morning.”

Alcott came to a halt in front of him, his dark brows pulled into a scowl. “Good morning,” he muttered, his tone suggesting anything but.

Charles studied his dark-haired friend more closely. The rigid set of his shoulders, the slight downturn of his mouth—something was amiss. “What troubles you?”

Alcott exhaled sharply, glancing away for a brief moment before meeting Charles’s gaze. “I’ve sold my commission in the Royal Army. ”

“You’ve resigned? Is that truly a problem, given your new station?”

Alcott shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t ask for this life. I was content with my old one.”

“Neither did I,” Charles said with a knowing look. “But duty must come before personal desires.”

“Duty,” Alcott scoffed, shaking his head. “I know my duty. It was on the battlefield, fighting for England, not parading about London in a bloody cravat.”

Charles’s gaze dropped to the black armband adorning Alcott’s sleeve. His expression softened. “I am truly sorry about your father. He was a good man.”

A muscle in Alcott’s jaw ticked. “Yes, to some, he was.” His voice was tight, clipped, the grief still raw beneath the surface.

Sensing the need for a change in subject, Charles asked, “And how is your sister faring?”

Alcott’s expression darkened, his scowl deepening. “Charlotte? She’s a menace.”

Charles fought back a chuckle. Miss Charlotte Winslow surely couldn’t be as dreadful as her brother made her out to be. Could she?

Alcott didn’t wait for a response before continuing. “She is determined to be the diamond of the Season, and knowing her, she will stop at nothing to achieve that title.”

“Don’t most young women aspire to the same thing?”

“Perhaps, but Charlotte is cunning enough to succeed,” Alcott admitted. “Life was much simpler when I was leading a charge on the battlefield.”

Charles let out a short laugh. “I, for one, am glad to have you back in England, my friend. Come, we should share a drink at White’s. Just like old times.”

The corner of Alcott’s mouth twitched in what might have passed for a smile—faint, fleeting, but it was there, nonetheless. “ I would like that, but not just yet. I am far too pensive to be pleasant company.”

“Soon, then?”

Alcott exhaled, nodding. “I shall plan on it.” He cocked his head. “What business brought you to Oxford this morning?”

“I went to see Addington.”

“Ah,” Alcott mused, his expression shifting to mild interest. “And how fares our dear scholar? I hear he is under consideration for a fellowship.”

“That he is,” Charles confirmed.

Alcott’s brows lifted in approval. “Good for him. He always had the mind for it. We should invite him to join us at White’s. It has been ages since I last saw him.”

“I shall extend the invitation,” Charles promised.

“Very good.” Alcott gave a curt nod before a long-suffering sigh escaped him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some brooding to attend to before I am forced to return home and suffer through another afternoon with my sister.”

Charles chuckled. “I wish you luck.”

He watched Alcott depart before turning towards his waiting coach. As he approached, he instructed his driver of his next destination. “To Lady Eugenie’s residence,” he ordered.

He climbed inside the carriage, settling against the plush interior, his body sinking into the well-worn cushions. A slow, eager anticipation curled in his chest. He could scarcely wait to see Eugenie and tell her the good news.