Gorgeous As Sin

Chapter 32

THE LECTURE WAS by turns irritating, amusing, and inspiring.

Thompson spoke first, offering his conventional lecture on women’s role as ordained by God-that of a woman who can sing, dance, draw, walk well into a room, and be the pride of her parents and husband. As a physician and a man of science he also considered it his mission to bring the light of scientific objectivity to the Woman Question. A vast body of research, chiefly of brain weights, head sizes, and facial proportions, proved, he asserted, that women were much lower on the evolutionary scale than men and the differences between the sexes could be expected to widen even further as man evolved and specialized. According to Thompson, the more primitive female role concentrated on her animal function of reproduction, and the controlling influence of the ovaries on every aspect of a woman’s life, was evident in a full range of diseases from irritability to insanity. He spitefully added that the influence of the ovaries over the mind was particularly on display in woman’s artfulness and dissimulation.

After reciting his lengthy list of diseases to which women were prone due to the fact that the Almighty, in creating the female sex, had taken the uterus and built up a woman around it, Thompson concluded that the inequality of the sexes would only increase with the progress of civilization. He urged women to avoid too much reading or mental stimulation or they would risk permanent damage to their reproductive organs and in consequence the grand purpose of their lives: motherhood.

When he finished, he was roundly cheered by his proponents in the audience.

Coming to the podium to a chorus of boos, Maud Warren calmly waited for the catcalls to subside before speaking. She began by suggesting that it might be possible to view doctors’ determination to elaborate the nature of woman, the sources of her frailty, and the biological limits of her social role with a touch of cynicism since this newly discovered ill-health among women was scarcely imagined a hundred years ago. The increased attention to women and their ovaries (or at least those of more affluent women) could instead be the result of doctors functioning as businessman. The vague and all-inclusive symptoms supposedly originating in the ovaries had created a very lucrative new field of medicine.

In practice, Maud pointed out, the same doctors who zealously espoused the ills of wealthy, delicate women had no time to spare for the poor. Someone had to be well enough to do the work, and working-class women, according to these doctors, were not invalids of their ovaries. A very convenient logic, she noted.

The theory of innate female illness predicated on diseased ovaries was skewed to account for class differences with reference to ability to pay, she suggested. Since poor women couldn’t pay for medical care, they were miraculously immune from the popular medical and evolutionary opinions.

Maud thoroughly rejected the sickly model of femininity and offered statistics showing how many women were beginning to carve out activist roles for themselves in society. These new women of robust health and independence were entering the universities in great numbers despite various popular manifestos warning that higher education caused women’s uteruses to atrophy, induced women to insanity, and precipitously lowered the birth rate among college-trained women. She contrasted the thundering warnings of dire consequences to society by offering evidence of women’s significant achievements in colleges and universities, and by so doing, managed to make Thompson apoplectic.

He thundered at her, accusing her of undermining the family and the God-given role of women. He fulminated against the women’s movement that was sapping culture of its strength and destroying all those tender qualities of mind and disposition that make women so noble and admired.

When Thompson and his cohorts ceased their shouting, Maud quietly explained that the Woman Question was not in the end up to men to answer. It was a question of what women want and need and how best they can achieve their goals.

Ultimately, it was about equality between the sexes.

As the hall erupted in opposition cheers and jeers, with a wave to Violet and Christina who were enjoying the confrontation, Rosalind and Sofia slipped out into the summer night.

“I prefer not waiting until the police start arresting people,” Rosalind explained as they exited the hall. “Although Maud is always so composed. I don’t know how she does it. Thompson, in contrast, looks like a lunatic.”

“I agree. I wish I could behave with as much maturity. My temper’s fierce.”

“I’m not sure I’m inclined to admit a failing after Maud’s invigorating lecture, but if I were, my temper could be better controlled, too.” Rosalind smiled. “Not that I’m in the mood for anything but assertive opinions at the moment. Maud’s inspiring.”

“For all her achievements-don’t forget she has a good marriage, a fine family, and a profession,” Sofia observed, concerned Rosalind might be in an overly militant frame of mind to face a possible visitor at home.

“Maud’s lucky.”

“She works hard to balance her priorities.”

“I know, I know-it’s not all luck. She’s an amazing person.”

The night was balmy, the streets still bustling with pedestrians and traffic now that the sultry heat of the day had dissipated.

When they reached the bookshop, Rosalind asked, “Would you like to come up for tea? We can continue singing Maud’s praises over a cuppa.” She grinned. “That lovely purple tinge on Thompson’s face is etched in my memory.”

“And mine. The old goat is unbalanced. But it’s getting late,” Sofia noted. “So thanks for the invitation, but I think I’ll go home.” She had her instructions. “I might bring over my new hollyhock painting tomorrow and hang it in the gallery, though.”

“I’ll make room for it in the morning. Speaking of flowers”-Rosalind sniffed the air-“do you smell roses? ”

“No,” Sofia lied. “You’re probably smelling my perfume.”

“Ah, no doubt,” Rosalind murmured.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sofia hastily remarked, not wishing to be caught in the middle of Fitz’s enterprise. “It won’t be too early; Lyla’s coming over with my new canvas.” After a quick wave, she hurried away.

But the moment Rosalind entered her apartment, the intense scent of roses overwhelmed her. Turning on the light, she took off her straw bonnet and scanned the small parlor. Nothing was amiss. Discarding her hat, she moved through the room, walked into her bedroom, and followed her nose to the open windows, where the sweet fragrance was pungent in the air.

The moon was partially obscured by clouds or the haze that hung over the city in the summer. But even through the dimness and shadow, the contours and shapes in her small yard and garden looked different. As was the heady scent of roses and the faint outlines of a fountain that hadn’t been there when she left! Along with the sound of running water!

Her heart racing, she dashed back through her apartment, took the stairs at a run, and throwing the back door open, stood transfixed on the threshold as her backyard was suddenly flooded with light. Hundreds of fairy lights illuminated the garden, the twinkling bulbs twined through her small hawthorn tree, strung in graceful loops on the buildings rimming the garden, corded through low boxwood borders, offering up a dazzling spectacle of winding paths, symmetrical parterres, and roses by the score.

“Do you like it? ”

The deep voice came out of the shadows and a moment later, Fitz emerged from the gloom, his twill trousers and linen shirt stained and smudged with dirt, the splendor of his face and form undiminished by the grime, his smile breathtaking.

“It’s very beautiful.” Like you, she thought, when she shouldn’t think anything of the kind. When she should be embracing independent womanhood. “You shouldn’t have done it, though.” Nor should she allow herself to be captivated by him or his grand gesture.

“I wanted to make amends. And I knew you didn’t like jewelry.” He approached her slowly, uncertain of his reception. Her reply had been decidedly neutral as was her expression-not a scintilla of a smile graced her face.

“Was Sofia in on your plan?” Snippets of conversation from the evening suddenly made sense.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said to her terse query. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m surprised.”

He drew in a small breath, unable to decipher her mood, the pitch of her tone carefully modulated, minutely cool. “If you don’t like it, I’ll change it.”

“Because you can do anything you want.”

“No, because I want to please you.”

“For how long? ” Part defiant, part sardonic; she would not be so easily charmed.

“For as long as you wish.” Notwithstanding his contemplative afternoon at Mertenside, he’d not known until that very moment he aspired to the concept of forever. “I mean it.”

“Until you don’t mean it.” She softly sighed. “You just want what you want because you can’t have it. Before long-I’ll give you a week-you’ll be appalled at your rash behavior.”

He didn’t want to argue. He didn’t know how to logically or reasonably explain his feelings. He only knew he was vastly content and happy now that she was here with him. “Come, look at the garden,” he invited, wanting to avoid a contentious discussion. He held out his hand. “I’ve learned all the flower names today. Christ, sorry”-he quickly wiped the dirt off his hands on his pant’s legs and offered his hand again.

She couldn’t help but smile, the image of London’s most prodigal rake memorizing flower names and mucking in the dirt an unlikely picture. But vastly endearing. “Then you know more than I do,” she replied in a scrupulously bland tone, banishing the word endearing from her thoughts. But the moment she placed her hand in his and his fingers gently closed on hers, she was warmed heart and soul.

“At the risk of offending you,” he said with a small smile, drawing her down the flagstone path, “I could tell you didn’t know much about flowers from the state of your garden. You’ll find it much improved.”

“I see that, and apparently,” she noted, indicating his besmirched clothes with a sweep of her hand, “you did more than supervise.”

In the past that would have been his opening to suggest a shared bath, but he was walking on eggshells tonight. “Actually, I learned quite a lot today,” he politely said, carefully avoiding anything remotely suggestive of sex. “Did you know each rose plant needs a banana peel under it for fertilizer? ”

“I doubt very many people know that,” Rosalind replied with utter sincerity.

“Well, now we both do. Let’s sit here.” He pointed to a red Chinoiserie garden bench. “You can see most of the garden from this spot and I’ll point out the important roses.” While she sat and he lounged in his usual way, his long legs stretched out before him, his dusty boots planted on the flagstone, his thigh lightly touching hers, an unwanted shiver raced up her spine.

Gratified to feel her small tremor but not about to jeopardize the occasion by pressing his advantage, Fitz said with well-mannered grace, “If you’re interested, I learned in the course of the day and evening that there are what are termed important roses. And it’s not just to do with rarity or expense. It has to do with duration of flowering, size of the blooms, the intensity of fragrance, the reputation of the hybridizer-Pernet-Ducher in Lyon is the best. That white over there is one of his called Aimйe Vibert, and that pink is a bourbon rose called Souvenir de la Malmaison, and the lilac-colored cabbage rose is called Rose de la Reine.” He grinned. “Should I go on? ”

“You amaze me. I doubt your reputation will survive such humble pursuits,” she drolly said, having tamped down her treacherous desires.

“I care nothing for my reputation.” She looked like a schoolgirl in her white blouse and green-striped skirt. An enchantress despite her lack of finery.

“But then you never did, I suppose.”

“If it bothers you, I’ll begin to care,” he quietly said.

“You needn’t concern yourself with what I wish.”

“On the contrary, nothing else matters.”

“Fitz, please.” He was too close, too beautiful, too destructive to her peace of mind.

He liked that she’d spoken his name so softly; he liked the uncertainty in her tone. He particularly liked that he was with her again no matter the circumstances. This afternoon at Mertenside, he’d discovered that at least. “I’m only happy when I’m with you,” he said, husky and low. “I don’t know why; I know less why it matters, but it does. I’m sorry in every possible way for what happened to you while I was in Scotland. I want you to take me back.” Shocking words from a man who had never asked anything of a woman.

“I can’t take you back because I never had you.”

“You did.” His long lashes drifted fractionally lower. “I didn’t know it, but you did.”

“If I were so daft and reckless as to agree, I’d only be hurt in the end. You would vanish one day. You know you would.”

“I don’t think so.”

“See.” She nodded. “I rest my case.”

“I wouldn’t leave. Is that better? ”

“You’re just being accommodating now; you do that well.” She smiled wryly. “It’s your speciality, darling.”

The word darling seared itself into his brain, gave him hope. Not that he’d ever had to deal with repudiation before, and for that reason perhaps he chose to be audacious. Or maybe love made him say what he’d been loath to say before. “I’d be more than willing to accommodate you for the next fifty years or more if you’d let me,” he said, sliding upright on the bench and holding her gaze. “Marry me. I’ll make you happy, my word on it.”

“Are you drunk? ” His proposal was ludicrous.

He shook his head. “I haven’t had a drink since yesterday, and that’s a record. We spoiled, self-indulgent debauchees are rarely sober.” He smiled. “You called me that the first time we met.”

She remembered. “And now you’ve reformed.”

“I believe I have.” He grinned. “I aspire to please your every desire. Above all, I want to make you happy.” He shrugged faintly. “It’s a novel sensation, such high-minded selflessness, but there it is… my irresistible compulsion.”

“Do self-indulgent debauchees attach any significance to love? Not sex, Fitz, love.” She was insane, of course, to ask for so much when he’d promised her marriage. Any other woman would have replied with an unhesitating yes. But after a marriage that had become a casualty of disappointed hopes, she was no longer naive.

“Do you love me? ” he countered.

She looked away. Too many women had loved him, she jealously thought.

Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he gently turned her head back. “Tell me.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” She would not bestow her heart on a profligate’s whim. How could she even contemplate such lunacy?

“I can’t live without you,” he said, letting his hand drop. “I think of you day and night. I’d keep you in my pocket if I could. And if that’s not love, it’s something close. You’re the world to me.” He ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly restive under the unprecedented circumstances. “And I don’t say that lightly,” he admitted. “You’ve seriously disrupted my life.”

“Maybe it’s time someone did.” Cautious she might be, but Fitz’s sincerity was plain. Was it possible to believe in love again-in a man like Fitz’s declaration of love? In the baffling, sometimes fallible and difficult concept?

“You can fix the disorder in my life, though.” He grinned, immune to difficulties of any kind if she would agree to be his wife. “Just say yes.”

“You’re looking way too smug.” She doubted any woman had ever said no to him.

He quickly swept his hand over his face. “Better? ” But the corners of his mouth were still twitching.

“You can’t always have your way,” she said half-grudgingly. She’d built an independent life for herself the last few years and Fitz was blowing it apart like a wild force of nature.

“Other than having you say yes, I don’t care if I do or not. I’ll willingly take orders,” he said, shocking himself with his unexpected largesse. Next thing he knew, he’d be writing love poems. “Come, make my mother happy,” he quipped, in compensation perhaps for his abnormal compliance. “Marry me.”

She gave him a narrowed look. “This isn’t about your mother.”

“Forgive me. I’ll be serious. But for God’s sake, say yes and put me out of my misery. If it would help with your decision, let me point out that my architect is redrawing my entire neighborhood project. Your store remains where it is; the buildings on both sides will be lowered slightly to allow more light into your garden. And you can have half of the buildings on the block to do with what you will.” He smiled. “I thought you might like to have apartments set up for your poor customers or perhaps a school for the young women you’re helping. But you decide and I’ll have the papers drawn up.”

Suddenly in one fell swoop all her dreams had come true, everything she’d been working for so hard was not only possible but also likely. “It’s all overwhelming, Fitz,” she whispered, scarcely able to breathe.

“No, darling,” he whispered back, taking her hands in his. “You’re the one who’s overwhelming. Truly, I’m at a loss without you. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I wasn’t interested in sex, and until yesterday I’d been drinking myself into an early grave. So when do you want to get married? Tomorrow? Today?” She hadn’t formally agreed, but his talent for reading women was functioning again.

“What do you mean you weren’t interested in sex?” she asked incredulously, the phrase not interested in sex a trumpet blast in her brain.

“You unmanned me, darling. No women looked even remotely interesting. I’ll admit it unnerved me at first, but not enough to actually climb in bed with anyone,” he casually noted. His libido never in doubt, he’d not been unnerved for long.

“Really,” she breathed, his admission the final seal of approval, the ultimate compliment as well.

“Really.” He smiled. “I’ll expect due compensation for my unusual abstinence.”

“Perhaps that can be arranged,” she softly said, no longer unsure or in doubt. “Since you happen to be the love of my life.”

His brows flickered in playful rejoinder. “I was hoping you’d say that. No, I was desperately hoping you’d say that,” he added, not an iota of teasing in his voice this time.

“One more thing-and I apologize for even saying this,” Rosalind noted, but not wanting things left unsaid like they’d been with Edward. “I’d like to go to university.” Maud’s words were still ringing in her ears. Many in the aristocracy viewed higher learning as bourgeoise; she wasn’t sure if Fitz was among them.

“Done.”

“Just like that? ” she whispered.

“I know the provosts at Oxford and Cambridge. I’m a prominent benefactor.”

“It’s truly frightening, Fitz, being offered so much.” She took a small breath against her sudden fear. “What if it all goes away? ”

“I’m not Edward,” he gently said; he’d read all of Hutchinson’s reports. “I promise to love you always. And take care of you.”

“What if… I don’t want… to be taken care of? ”

He smiled at the new modern woman gazing up at him with tears in her eyes. “Then I won’t.” He bent his head and gently brushed her lips with his. “Unless there’s times you want me to.” He kissed her softly. “You tell me when,” he whispered.

Her bottom lip trembled. “How about… now? ”

“I’d love to.” His heart was in his eyes. “And that’s love, love, not sex, darling. And no one knows the difference better than I. Which reminds me, I brought you some rings,” he said, sliding his hand into his trouser pocket. “Don’t get upset,” he quickly added at the sudden set of her mouth. “They’re engagement rings; I was hopeful, not presumptuous. Just hopeful. Here-take your pick.” He held open his hand. “Actually, take them all.”

She’d never seen such enormous, colored diamonds. There must have been six or eight rings sparkling on his palm. “This is too extravagant for a church mouse,” she said with a tremulous smile.

“Nonsense. You’re my city mouse now,” he added with a grin, sliding a large pink diamond on one of her fingers. “There. Do you like it? ”

She took a deep breath and gazed at the ring dwarfing her knuckle. “Who wouldn’t? ” she whispered.

“How about these then? ” He quickly embellished seven more of her fingers with a rainbow of rings.

“I suppose you know this is completely overwhelming.” She included the garden with a sweep of her be-ringed hand, the shock to her system considerable after a life of relative penury. “Does anyone ever say no to you? ”

Fitz laughed. “You forget, my obstinate little darling, that you’ve been saying no to me ever since we met.”

She smiled, feeling less disadvantaged at his reminder. “And you were captivated.”

A teasing light came into his eyes. “That and I wanted to win.”

“And now we both have.”

“Yes,” he softly agreed, knowing full well that only love could have inspired him to change his Monckton Row plans. “So what do you say, my dear Lady Groveland?” he murmured, liking the sound of the designation, liking more that she’d agreed to share her life with him. “Do you think maybe we should start our new life with a bath? ”