Page 7 of An Heiress and An Astronomer (Gentleman Scholars #3)

G reta heaved a sigh of relief as soon as the butler shut the door behind her. Why had she let herself get so carried away?

What Mr. Darby did with his life was none of her affair. But despite his excessive joviality, she found him quite intriguing. Far more so than any of the other gentlemen who had yet been presented to her. Not that he had expressed any marked interest in her.

What would Lady Gertrude think of him? He was good ton but had no title.

Another sigh threatened, this one of the despondent sort. She was tired of being a debutante. She wanted to return to the country and get on with living. While a few of the events of the Season were enjoyable, this seemingly unending cycle of socializing was wearying. Especially since she didn’t feel so very sociable.

But her afternoon with Mrs. Northcott had been quite enjoyable. At least up until it seemed the other woman meant to make a project out of her. How perfectly odd.

Not to say that Greta would decline the woman’s help. If she was determined to find Greta a match, who was she to gainsay her? Clearly Greta wasn’t doing so very well on her own efforts. And Aunt Gertrude was less than effective.

She ought to write out a plan. That’s what Papa would have done. It’s what she should have done from the beginning. But she hadn’t known what was involved with being a member of Society. Not truly, despite her mother’s best efforts to raise her in the manner of an earl’s daughter.

Greta supposed she was too much like Grandfather Billingsley for her mother’s influence to have taken proper root. Pulling herself up to her full height and straightening her shoulders decisively, Greta determined that she wasn’t going to dilly dally any further. She was in Town for a reason, and she had to get on with it.

If Roderick Northcott could make a list of potential spouses, why couldn’t she do the same? She just would have the grace not to tell anyone about it, unlike the thoughtless scholar. With a shake of her head and a gasp of slight laughter, she ran up to her room to ponder the possibilities.

She certainly had enough money she needn’t worry about wedding a wealthy man. Perhaps Mrs. Northcott had some other scholars she could consider.

Mr. Darby might be far too frivolous and jovial for her serious tastes, but a studious man might make life interesting. She ought to have asked about any others who might have accompanied the Northcotts from their estate. She would do that the next time she encountered the young matron.

She ought to have asked Mrs. Northcott about her child. From what she knew of mothers, they liked to crow about their urchins. It would have been the polite thing to do. Of course, Lucy Northcott was far from a conventional lady of Society, so perhaps she wasn’t like others of their acquaintance.

With a shake of her head, Greta dismissed that thought. It was far more likely that the young mother actually spent time with her child and knew what it liked and did and so on, not just the things one could brag to one’s friends about. Of course, it was, as far as Greta knew, still an infant so it wasn’t likely to have much in the way of accomplishments.

Rolling her eyes at herself, Greta returned to the matter at hand. She wanted infants and toddlers of her own to talk about. An appropriate husband was required.

Aunt Gertrude felt quite strongly that she ought to pursue a titled gentleman. It wasn’t that Greta was opposed to a nobleman in general, but she had yet to meet one that she could truly respect.

Her father had been such a wise, hard-working man despite his great wealth, Greta didn’t think she could offer her respect to a lazy gadabout who merely wished to wed her inheritance and would barely tolerate her. That was to say, she hadn’t yet met a nobleman who would fit her preferences.

She didn’t want to declare them all ne’er-do-wells. But perhaps, in order to appease her aunt, she ought to try harder to consider some possibilities.

She supposed Lord Engleburn might be a possibility. Not that the man had shown the least bit of amorous interest in her, but he seemed a decent fellow.

The rumours abounded that he was pockets to let, but he was trying hard to save his viscountcy from ruin through various innovations. That could be interesting to involve herself in. And of course, he wouldn’t need to work so hard if he had access to her accounts.

But would he be reasonable about children and inheritances?

That was the real reason she wasn’t so terribly interested in any gentlemen with a title. She knew most wouldn’t agree to dividing her wealth equally amongst their offspring.

Greta acknowledged that she might need to be flexible if there was a primary property that required greater funds. But she wasn’t willing to budge on providing for however many children she might be blessed with. That made her odd, she was well aware, but she was willing to accept that assessment of her character.

It was the result of her childhood. One of the few results that she was happy about, despite the fact that it made her strange and made her choice of husband far more difficult.

She missed her father desperately. She had loved her mother, too, of course, but despite that fine woman’s best efforts, she hadn’t been able to speak to Greta’s heart the way her father had. Greta had related to the man’s brilliance on a very basic level. She could never be as brilliant as him, of course, but she had adored sitting with him while he applied that brilliance.

Mr. Billingsley had never intended to be brilliant nor wealthier than he had already been when he left his father’s home and entered Society as an indolent youth. As a handsome, intelligent young man with money to burn, he had been quickly accepted by the faster set of wellborn youth and then even into the more stringent standards of the ton .

He had never received vouchers for Almack’s, though, her mother had often pointed out, indicating that the very highest sticklers hadn’t accepted him.

One of those sticklers had been Lady Evalina’s father. Which had been part of his attraction to the rebellious young lady. But that had paled for the noblewoman when her father had disowned her and others in Society had turned their backs, cutting her, at least for a time, from her friends and family.

From what Greta could read between the lines of her mother’s tales, she had still been considered acceptable. Why else would she have returned year after year for the Season if she hadn’t been included in the flurry of invitations?

But she had never made up with her father. Greta suspected it was stubborn pride on both their parts. Evalina never wanted to admit to her father that he had been right about her choice of husband. Not that there was anything wrong with the wise and wealthy Mr. Billingsley.

He just was wrong for the spoiled and flighty Lady Evalina. From the youngest age Greta had been able to tell that. She had learned to behave one way in the presence of one parent and a very different way with the other. It was fortunate for her that her parents spent so little time together in her presence.

They did spend time together, however. Evalina had insisted upon keeping up appearances despite their growing antipathy toward one another.

It seemed to Greta the things that had attracted her mother to her father in the beginning were the same things that irritated her to no end as time went on. His very differences from what she was familiar with had appealed to her upon first acquaintance. But Lady Evalina was truly traditional in her views and those became even more entrenched as she aged.

She did her best to pass those views on to her only child, but Greta had no other reference point and so only considered her mother’s strictures odd.

Why must she do needlepoint for an hour every afternoon when the walls and cushions of their home were already covered with all the stitching they would ever need?

Why couldn’t she play with the urchins in the street when they went to Town? They looked like they were having a far more amusing time than Greta was in her silly, frumpy white gown that she was going to have to take great pains to keep clean.

Not that they would want to play with her. It was obvious she was wealthy. That was the one thing Lady Evalina did not bring from her aristocratic upbringing. She enjoyed flaunting her husband’s wealth.

The irony was that Mr. Billingsley did not enjoy doing so. He worried about the threats it could bring their way. Of course, even an impoverished earl would be a target of theft or robbery, so he was never able to convince his wife that she was being foolish as well as acting like someone from the gutters.

“You mock me for being the son of a cit but then you happily run up your bills on gowns and carriages and all sorts of fripperies that you never could afford if you had wed with Lord Powell or any of those other titled gentlemen you like to crow about, Evalina.”

“That’s Lady Evalina,” the woman had sniffed in retort, cold defiance in her tone.

Greta often wondered how her parents had managed to produce even one offspring. She also wondered, but less often as it was far from a healthy topic to dwell upon, how her life would have been different if she had more family, especially siblings.

Would her father have followed through on his beliefs about the equality of all children? Or would he have turned his attention to a son the way he had treated her.

Because Greta had been raised as her father’s heir. There was no other way to describe it.

He had taught her everything he knew about running his properties and his businesses and his investments. And Greta loved working with him.

It was less enjoyable now that he was gone, but she carried on with their work. In secret now that her aunt was in her life as that poor woman looked upon such work as unfeminine and would have the vapours if she knew Greta was still pursuing such matters.

“But dear, that is men’s work,” she had wont to say whenever Greta mentioned her interests.

That made it more than challenging to keep up with her affairs. She was likely losing a great deal of blunt or missing out on opportunities due to her lack of time and attention on such important matters. But finding herself a husband was an important matter too.

Considering Aunt Gertrude was the only family who had acknowledged Greta, she didn’t have it in her to push the woman away despite the fact that they agreed on nearly nothing.

Greta needed to settle herself.

So she needed to focus!

Taking another deep breath and pushing all the tumultuous thoughts from her head, Greta started a list.

Lord Engleburn would remain on her list until she had an opportunity to get to know him a little better.

Should she add Mrs. Northcott’s scholars? They were far more likely to see her way of thinking. And from what she could tell, they were sufficiently gently born that Lady Gertrude might not object too strongly.

She had only met Mr. Darby thus far but she had been made aware of a number of other gentlemen scholars on their estate. She had actually danced with one of them, even though he hadn’t seen fit to introduce himself.

Greta bit her lip. Was it manipulation to use Mrs. Northcott’s misguided desire to do her some kindness? Or was it merely mutually beneficial?

Both of her parents were good at manipulation, each for their own ends. It was the one thing they shared that Greta disliked about both of them. She understood it, for the most part, especially when it came to business.

Her father was wily. She respected that, in a certain way. But how much money did one need? They were wealthier than they could spend in several generations, she was sure, even if she never did a thing to increase the wealth.

But it was addictive. She understood that fully. Just look at her, pursuing business affairs like it was a secret vice so her aunt wouldn’t find out. She understood the addiction, but she didn’t understand the need to pursue a deal at the expense of someone else, using manipulation.

For that reason, she always second guessed herself. And her beloved memories of her father. Because she was certain both of her parents regularly manipulated her and her affections in an effort to control, hurt, or influence each other.

That made her question their attention and affections toward her. And anyone else she might come into contact with.

Even the lovely Mrs. Northcott. Why had she reached out to befriend her, really?

The tale she had been told about Mr. Northcott having a list of women he could wed in order to fund his Society made sense. She had just created such a list herself.

But could Lucy really feel guilty that she had snatched the gentleman for herself? Wasn’t that the entire purpose of coming to Town as a debutante? Really weren’t all the young ladies vying for the attention and commitment of the few gentlemen who were seeking brides in any given year?

Greta hadn’t even been aware of Roderick Northcott in any real sense last Season. Yes, they had been introduced. But Greta had been so overwhelmed with the ordeal of adjusting to Lady Gertrude’s presence in her life and trying to please her aunt that she hadn’t really put her mind to the matter of searching for a husband properly.

She certainly hadn’t considered that Roderick might have tried to court her. She knew full well he had not. They had spoken on possibly two separate occasions. That was the extent of their acquaintance.

Could the woman really have that reactive a sense of obligation? Was love truly that foolish?

Greta had already considered that she had no interest in a love match. But now she knew for certain.

Her parents had thought they were in love when they had wed. Look where that had left them. And the Northcotts really did seem to be a true love match but even that just seemed to involve making ridiculous choices and doing silly things.

No thank you.

Greta wanted a family. A large family. For that, she needed a husband. She hoped they could get along well enough to have a pleasant life but beyond that, she actually didn’t want to have very strong feelings toward him.

She knew she would need to respect the man. She knew what that felt like. She had experienced such profound respect for her father. While she didn’t expect to be able to look at another man the same way, she accepted that it was an important quality in her future marriage. But love was not.

And he needed to respect her, too.

While she could negotiate and force any gentleman to agree to her terms about the way of dispensing her wealth to their children, she didn’t want to have to argue and cajole for anything or everything in her future. If he could accept and respect her views, that would make life so much more comfortable. If he agreed with her, all the better. But she wasn’t going to hold out for that. He just had to be someone she could respect.

Unfortunately, that was still a rather tall order.

Her list wasn’t very long, she realized with both a furrow in her brow and a nibble to her lip. Most of the gentry were foolish beyond belief. The gentlemen seemed determined to drink themselves into a stupor and the women had very little else to do except gossip over their stitches.

What a useless way of life.

She had so much to do. There were poverty stricken young women who needed apprenticeships, homes, clothes, protection. There were orphans and other hungry children desperate for assistance. There were doctors trying to figure out how to prevent death in the stews of the country’s cities.

All those things required money. Money she had in abundance. And she knew how to get more.

That was her mission in life. While she wanted a family of her own, children she would keep far from the tragedies of life’s realities, she knew about those realities and could not ignore them as others did.

That was the real reason she had so little filial affection for her mother.

Lady Evalina had wanted to keep her husband’s money away from charity. When Greta had learned about that, it had shattered the last of her illusions about her parents’ sad life. How could the lady be so cold hearted toward the less fortunate?

Greta had learned when she had come to Town that not all the noblewomen were quite so closed minded toward the less fortunate as Lady Evalina, but even the ones who volunteered their time directly with certain charities did so in a very controlled manner that did not actually directly affect themselves.

Greta couldn’t judge them for that. She was in much the same way. She never went to the orphanages she funded and almost never visited the homes she had set up for young women either. It was just too hard.

She would far rather make more money and set up another shelter or orphanage than allow herself to get wrapped up in one small situation. She had enough sense to know there were only twenty-four hours in each day. She needed to conserve the one resource she couldn’t make more of.

So, she didn’t judge the nobles for not wanting to get their hands dirty. But the fact that they managed to ignore the existence of the dirt altogether wasn’t something she could accept readily.

She did, however, have the sense not to talk about it.

Aunt Gertrude’s reactions had taught her well.

Even when some lady or other spoke of their own charitable works, Greta managed to keep her thoughts and her own activities private. It was better that way. She expected it would also keep her sheltered from the worst of the fortune hunters.

She almost laughed but it would have been mirthless. She was starting to wish she had caught the eye of a few more fortune hunters, to be honest. She was tired of the pursuit. She wanted to get on with her life.

In an effort to distract herself Greta pulled out the poem she had found in an old book at the back of her favourite bookstore. It intrigued her more than most poetry, which wasn’t usually her favourite medium. It seemed to her as though there was a message in it, but she couldn’t fathom what it might be. The flow of the words called to her in some way, and she found herself memorizing the verses as though that could somehow help her ascertain their meaning.

In shadows deep where secrets sleep, 'Neath moonlit sky, the roses weep. A path of light through knowledge's door, Where wisdom's keep holds treasures more.

By candle's flame, the truth unveiled, In melodies where tales are trailed. Seek ye the keys in verses old, In whispers soft, the map unfolds.

In lands afar, where legends lie, With painted views that catch the eye. From ancient hands, a token passed, A legacy from ages vast.

Through time and space, the clues align, In ciphered script, the fates design. A locket's heart, a diary's tale, To find the prize, you must prevail.

The final piece in stars is set, Where all the paths converge and met. Not gold nor gems, but wisdom's fire, The true reward of heart's desire.

She loved the concept of secrets in the stars. Perhaps she ought to tell Pierce about the poem. Could a scholar appreciate poetry? Of course, after their less than successful walk home, perhaps she would keep it to herself.