Miss Grimsleys Oxford Career Read Online Free PDF

have a headache,” Mama said. “Now go downstairs and do your duty!”
    “But Mama!” she protested.
    Mama only stared at her as her lower lip began to quiver. “If I have to play the hostess and sit for hours in the parlor while he talks on and on about rye and barley, I will go distracted.”
    Ellen dug her heels in. “Mama, this is the man you paint in such rosy colors for me! Now I find that you can scarcely tolerate his conversation!”
    “My dear Ellen,” said Mama as she held the door open for her daughter. “Once you are married to Thomas Cornwell, you needn't listen to him!”
    And so she had listened until the rains began again and darkness settled in, and she had no choice but to invite him to dinner. By the time he left after a game of whist in the sitting room, she knew everything about this year's rye and barley crop (the most promising in the last ten years) and the total number of pigs transported to market.
    And now my head does truly ache
, Ellen thought as she walked Cornwell to the door, careful to keep her distance, dreading the moment when he would clear his throat and look at her expectantly.
    So far she had managed to avoid his kisses. For a small stipend from her quarterly allowance, Ralph usually presented himself in the front hall in time to dampen the Romeo in Thomas Cornwell.
    But this time Ralph had been dragged to the sewing room to try on the new waistcoat Horry had commissioned just for the wedding. Cornwell cleared his throat on cue.
    “I will miss you dreadfully, Ellen,” he said and gazed at her, his eyes hopeful.
    This is my cue
, Ellen thought. Instead, she held out her hand and smiled up at the big farmer. “Mr. Cornwell, I am sure that your rye and barley will keep you feverishly busy this winter.”
    He dropped to his knees in front of her as she grabbed his elbow and tried to tug him to his feet. “Marry me, Ellen, and make me the happiest man in Oxfordshire!”
    “Get up,” she hissed. “This will never do.”
    “Only say yes and I will get up,” he pleaded, following her on his knees across the hallway.
    Mama, her arms full of deep green fabric, hurried into the hall. She stopped, her eyes enormous, and stared at Thomas Cornwell. Ellen looked at her in desperation.
    Mama sighed. “Mr. Cornwell, this will never do! I cannot possibly contemplate another wedding right now! Do get off your knees and save this for the spring.”
    His face red from his exertions, Cornwell scrambled to his feet. “Yes, Mrs. Grimsley,” he said as he accepted the hat and coat that the wooden-faced butler was holding out. “Ellen, I will write,” he declared, hand to his heart, as she opened the door and ushered him into the rain. He stuck his head back in the door, his face redder still. “Provided that is not too forward.”
    Ellen shook her head. “I think it is, Mr. Cornwell,” she said, her voice low, even though Mama had already retreated from the front hall. “I will see you at Christmas.” She closed the door on his protestations of love.
    Ellen endured another week of Mama's tears and good advice. “You will be sharing rooms with Fanny Bland, our own dear Edwin's sister. That is the only thing about this havey-cavey business that sets my mind at ease. Fanny is all that is proper and she will keep an eye on you.”
    “Yes, Mama.”
    “And you will not go out of doors unaccompanied, or have anything to do with the students in the colleges.”
    “No, Mama.”
    “You will do nothing to call attention to yourself.”
    “Never, Mama.”
    She spoke so quickly that Mama looked at her and frowned, but made no further comment beyond a martyr's sigh and a sad shake of her head.
    Ellen found herself walking to the road during that interminable week of impassable roads, testing the gravel, willing the sodden skies to brighten.
    The postman met her one morning with a letter of welcome from Miss Dignam and a list of her classes.
I will take French and embroidery?
she asked herself,