AN: Sorry for the delay in posting - life has been a little hectic recently! But here is the next chapter - hope you enjoy...
"Excuse me, ma'am, there is a gentleman to see you." The maid hovered nervously on the doorstep, a mousy girl of sixteen, or thereabouts, new to the household and wary of disturbing any of 'The Family' at any time of the day. Despite her irritation, Miss Evershed set aside her book (Wolf's Prolegomena Ad Homerum) and did her best to smile gratefully at the maid. "Has he sent up his card?" she prompted after a moment. She had allowed Elizabeth to select the new maid from all the applicants they had received, in preparation for running her own household one day. Silently, Ruth hoped that Captain Levendis would not prove to be a stickler in his domestic habits. The girl winced, remembering this duty, and handed over the calling card with an apologetic curtsey.
Sir Henry Pearce. The small, neat black letters stared up at her from the backing of white pasteboard. Miss Evershed swallowed, quelling the sudden flutter of unwarranted anticipation and anxiety in her stomach. A gentleman was permitted to pay a morning call to a single female if she was above marriageable age, or if he was an old friend of her family. The latter did not apply to their situation, and the former was merely depressing. She could think of no reason for him to call upon her - last night, she had been almost rude to him, after all! Only his innate sense of propriety could have prevented him from giving her the set-down he probably felt she justly deserved. "Very well. I will receive him here," she sighed faintly at last. The maid curtsied again, and scurried from the room. Ruth had just enough time to set aside her book and rise from the small table in the drawing room that sufficed as a desk from which she could perform her daily tasks before the door opened again to admit her visitor. A curtsey and a bow were exchanged, and Ruth smilingly gestured that he should sit down. He was dressed more informally today, she noted, in a crisp white shirt and elegantly tied cravat, accompanied by knee breeches and immaculately polished top-boots. His black coat, which hid a waistcoat of blue silk, was, while not obviously one of Weston's tightly fitting creations, clearly well-made. It appeared that the Baileys' footman had also been neglectful, for Sir Henry still carried a many-caped driving coat over his arm, and clutched a pair of leather gloves in one large hand. Never had her simple cambric round gown felt more dowdy than it did now.
Sir Henry remained standing. "I am only at liberty for a short time, Miss Evershed, I shall not postpone your reading for long." He had noticed her book. Shyly, she attempted to push it out of view, but was forced to withdraw her hand when his reached out to remove it from the table. He hesitated, calloused fingertips just resting on the spine. "May I?" he asked gently. She forced a smile, wishing she had been reading one of Elizabeth's ladylike novels, instead of a book that was so exactly calculated to invite awkward questions, and replied, "Of course." He lifted the tome and glanced at the title. She saw his cultured brows rise in surprise, before he carefully schooled his expression into one of mere polite interest. "I trust you are enjoying Wolf's arguments, Miss Evershed?" His voice was neutral, expressing neither approval nor disapproval of her choice of reading material, and this lent Ruth some confidence.
"I find them engaging, as I always have done." She flushed, as she realised that her words had betrayed a former knowledge of the text. Sir Henry smiled, and his whole face gained youth, in the delight of shared experience. "It is delightful to find a woman so well-informed. I gather that you are a student of the Classics, Miss Evershed?" He spoke to her in the easy, familiar tone of an older man indulging the scholarly interests of a younger male relation. His attitude was comforting. She nodded shyly. Calmly, he replaced the book upon the table, his fingers lingering over the spine. "You have no cause to be ashamed of your education, ma'am," he told her quietly, his brown eyes warm.
Ruth's mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. "Unfortunately, sir, society at large does not yet share your enlightened opinion on this matter." Fleetingly, he wondered whether this was why she refused her brother-in-law, and why no other man had since proposed to her. Miss Evershed had been intelligent enough to embark on this unconventional journey, but not intelligent enough to fully realise the difficulties her education would cause her in later life.
His sharp eyes softened in sympathy and they sat in silence until Sir Henry coughed awkwardly, and added, "I merely came, ma'am, because it occurred to me that last night I spoke a little sharply to you. I wished to apologise." Ruth's eyes widened with relief and she could not stifle the small chuckle that his words prompted. "Forgive me, sir," she explained smilingly, "but I was concerned that I had offended you."
He shook his head, bemused. "What offence could be derived from an intelligent debate, Miss Evershed?"
She blushed. "In my younger years, sir, I was often countenanced by certain interested parties that my tongue was perhaps a little too wild and sharp for the taste of most in society, and now I am never sure whether I speak rightly or not until after the fact." Sir Henry noted the slight tremor in her tone, and the mournful expression that now mantled those formerly glowing blue eyes, and informed her lightly, "The conversation of any intelligent person who expresses themselves well will always be to my taste, Miss Evershed." She looked up and scanned his face, searching for a jest of some kind. There was none - his countenance was softly grave. She smiled in reply, suddenly feeling much better about the whole affair.
The clock on the mantlepiece chimed softly, and with a regretful grimace, Sir Henry rose to his feet. "My apologies, Miss Evershed. I must take my leave. I have an urgent appointment to attend." She rose too, bemused by this sudden visit, betokening a strange wish to further their acquaintance. He flustered her as no one else had ever done. "Goodbye, Sir Henry," she managed, ringing the bell for a maid to show her caller out. He bowed, she curtsied.
"Goodbye, Miss Evershed. I feel sure we will meet again."
The maid entered, bobbed a bashful curtsey at her mistress, and held the door while Sir Henry passed out of it. The door shut with a firm snap; Miss Evershed sank into the nearest seat, somewhat overpowered, and not unpleasantly. For some reason, she felt lighter, and more in spirits than she had for, she was forced to admit, several years, no matter how much she had attempted to deny it to herself, Lady Radford, and, latterly, Elizabeth. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and long-forgotten dimples sparkled into life.
AN: Prolegomena ad Homerum was a book written in 1795 by Friedrich Augustus Wolf, which focused on the authorship of the Iliad and the Odyssey and the existence of Homer.