He grimaced. “Was it that obvious? I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice.”
“Who—?”
“One of the lads. I paid him thruppence to copy an old lesson and send it on to you. I was away for a week on field trip and hadn’t the time to come up with anything myself.”
She’d suspected as much. The admission nevertheless brought her up short. “You could have simply written a few notes on what you were studying at the moment. The way you did in the beginning. It’s all I ever wanted. Not regurgitated scientific rules and maxims. The last six months of lessons have been no lessons at all.”
Simon’s lips thinned. “University isn’t what you think it is, Clara. We don’t stand around with laurel wreaths on our heads, waxing on about the classics. This isn’t ancient Greece. A real naturalist must go out into the world. Into nature. He must observe creatures in their natural habitat.”
“Is that what you were doing when you ran up bills for a pair of engraved cufflinks, and a set of horseshoes for a horse you don’t even own?”
He had the grace to turn a dull red. “I won’t apologize for socializing with my friends. It’s part of the university experience. Surely you don’t expect me to remain in my rooms with the curtains drawn, studying by the light of a single candle?”
“I expect you to show some measure of respect for the sacrifice Mama and I have made to keep you here. Can you imagine my surprise to receive a stack of tradesman’s bills for such fripperies, when I’ve been obliged these four years to wear thrice-darned stockings and gowns that are years out of season?”
His color deepened, whether with embarrassment or anger, Clara couldn’t tell. “If you must know, the cufflinks were for a ball, at which I met Viscount Wrexham, who is keen to finance an expedition. And the farrier bill was for a hunter I rented who threw a shoe when I was riding to the hounds. All activities which have a bearing on my future as a naturalist. I gain more notice socializing than in sequestering myself like a monk.”
Her mind latched onto one phrase. “An expedition? To where?”
“Nothing has been finalized yet. And it needn’t concern you, in any event.”
“Of course it concerns me. I’m to be your secretary.”
Simon’s gaze slid guiltily to his coffee mug. He made no reply.
A growing sense of numbness built in Clara’s chest. It slowed her heart and breath, making her feel as if she were gradually being turned to a block of ice. “Aren’t I?”
“As to that…”
“You promised me, Simon. You said I’d have a role in your work. That you’d make a home for me when you came down from University.”
“And I will.” He met her eyes, his color high. “When I settle, I mean to make you my housekeeper.”
Something inside of Clara shriveled and died. “Your housekeeper?”
He leaned forward in his chair. “You must have known it wouldn’t lead anywhere. The notes and drawings I sent you—they were just a bit of fun. A way to amuse you. It was a kindness, for I knew your life as a companion would be very dull indeed.”
The chill in her blood was positively glacial now, making her shiver from the inside out. She clamped her teeth to stop them chattering.
“Come now,” he said. “You’re intelligent. Smart enough to have taught the young ones at the village school. But my course of study is something outside of your experience. The knowledge is far too complex for a woman.”
“‘Those who admire and love knowledge for its own sake ought to wish to see its elements made accessible to all.’”
“What?”
“Herschel said that.”
He scrunched his brows. “I don’t think so. I didn’t write that in any of my letters.”
“No, you didn’t. I read it myself, in his Preliminary Discourse.” She curved her hands around her mug in a futile attempt to warm them, and stop their trembling. “Do you think I’ve merely been studying your letters? That I haven’t a mind or a thought of my own?” She paused before quoting another passage: “‘Knowledge can neither be adequately cultivated nor adequately enjoyed by a few.’”
“Oh, Clara…” Simon shook his head. “He didn’t mean women. Education in women is only useful insofar as it makes them better wives and mothers. What wife and mother needs a thorough understanding of beetle classification? You’re better off, truly. In time you shall see I’m right.”
Her throat constricted. “You’ve wasted four years of my life.”
“That’s rather hard. What else might you have been doing these four years? After the scandal in Hertfordshire —”
“Which you now acknowledge wasn’t of my making. If you and Mama had only believed me—”
“It’s rather too late to split hairs on the matter. The damage has been done. We’ve all got to move on from it, as best we can. I’m only sorry you had to come all this way. I daresay I should have written to you and Mama about what happened with Bryce-Chetwynde, but there seemed no point in reopening old wounds. Better to let things lie.” He glanced at her coffee. “If you’re not going to drink that, we may as well go.”
Her hands dropped from her mug, as cold as they’d been when first she put them there.
“We’ll collect your bags from the Bell and Swan and then I’ll put you in a cab.” He stood. “You can catch the midday train back to—”
“I don’t require your assistance.”
Simon heaved a sigh. As if he were the put-upon elder brother instead of the much-sacrificed-for younger. “Don’t make things worse, Clara.”
“I mean it.” She rose from her chair and gathered her cloak and bonnet. She slipped them on. “I’d rather fend for myself.”
“But you are going home, aren’t you?”
She tugged on her gloves. “Where is home, Simon?”
Another sigh. “Clara…”
“I’ll collect my things and return to my employer’s cottage in Surrey. You’re right. There’s no reason for me to remain.” She snapped open the drawstring top of her reticule and withdrew the stack of tradesman’s bills. “You may take responsibility for these.” She thrust them into Simon’s hand. “I won’t deplete my savings on your account. Not so I might one day aspire to be your housekeeper.”
He crumpled the bills into the pocket of his overcoat. “Mama won’t be pleased.”