The Baron and the Bluestocking Read Online Free PDF Page A

from Blakeley House and the correspondent was none other than Miss Hélène Whitcombe-Hodge, as she now called herself. Whatever did she want?
    My dear Lord Shrewsbury,
    I suppose you will be very surprised to hear from me. However, I have a great favor to ask of you. I will proceed with what I hope is an adequate amount of honey. Mr. and Mrs. Blakeley’s son, Mr. Samuel Blakeley has recently been selected as a candidate in the by-election occurring here in Chipping Norton in two months. You would like him very much. He is a devout Whig. However, he is not a man of fashion by any means. In order to campaign among those who hold the voting franchise in this area, I have informed him that his wardrobe is inadequate. He needs smartening up.
    You appeared turned out as fine as five pence when I met you yesterday. Would you kindly take Mr. Samuel Blakeley under your wing when he comes to London and introduce him to your very superior tailor? I am certain you can steer him correctly in the ways of fashion. You will know the precise look he needs to cultivate.
    Please be so kind as to humor me in this notion. I would take it as a very great favor.
    Yours very sincerely,
    H. Whitcomb-Hodge
    He grinned as he read her request. So she did not find him entirely good for nothing. After his suffocating feelings of the night before, this fresh, no-nonsense communication cheered him.
    Taking up his mother’s note, Christian drew a long breath as he slit it open.
    My dear son,
    I know only something of great import could have made you break your promise to me last night. If you would remain at home this morning, I intend to call on you. Do not worry. I do not intend to reproach you.
    With love,
    Your mother
    Surprised by her understanding, Shrewsbury contemplated her visit over a light breakfast. What could she have to say to him that did not smack of reproach?
    She arrived after he had completed his toilette and found him composing a letter to Miss Whicombe-Hodge in his library. He stood and came out from behind his desk.
    “Dear Christian,” she said as she approached him, holding out both her hands. He captured them and brought both to his mouth for a kiss. He then kissed her cheek. “I am so sorry, Mama. I do not know if I can even make you understand why I left last night.”
    She seated herself on the leather library sofa and patted the place next to her. Her eyes showed deep concern.
    He sat, but for a few moments did not say anything. Rising, he paced the room in front of her. “Do you never become suffocated by the life we lead? The plenty that surrounds us? The superficiality of relationships?”
    “It sounds as though you are being attacked by a Whig conscience, dear.”
    “Better than by a Tory fear of losing it all!”
    “Does this have anything to do with the orphan girl project?”
    He wondered at her prescience. “That is a good guess, Mama. But it is not only that. I find the women of the ton utterly wearisome. Most of them are concerned only with superficialities.”
    “The gentlemen are not much better,” she said.
    “True. However, I have some decent friends. Those on the orphanage board—Ruisdell, Deal, Kent, Trowbridge.”
    “Yes, they are good men. What is more, they have very compassionate and talented wives.”
    “Mama, I will be truthful with you. I feel Sophie has ruined me for any other lady. She is my ideal. I cannot imagine ever meeting anyone of her like.”
    “Lady Trowbridge is a very fine young woman. I know that you wished to marry her, and I would have been happy for you to do so. But that ship has sailed, son. You must look to the future.”
    Christian pounded his right fist into his left palm. “I do not think I will find anyone who could hold a candle to her, Mama. Certainly not among the Incomparables.”
    “I think you would like my friend Ginny. She is beautiful and intelligent. She comes from a fine family, though I must confess they are Tories. I thought you might raise her sights