Always the Bluestocking Read online

  Always the Bluestocking

  Never the Bride

  Book 6

  Emily E K Murdoch

  © Copyright 2020 by Emily E K Murdoch

  Text by Emily E K Murdoch

  Cover by Dar Albert

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  [email protected]

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition August 2020

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Dearest Reader;

  Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from the some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.

  Happy Reading!

  CEO, Dragonblade Publishing

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily E K Murdoch

  Never The Bride Series

  Always the Bridesmaid (Book 1)

  Always the Chaperone (Book 2)

  Always the Courtesan (Book 3)

  Always the Best Friend (Book 4)

  Always the Wallflower (Book 5)

  Always the Bluestocking (Book 6)

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily E K Murdoch

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  About Emily E K Murdoch

  Chapter One

  What are weddings but distractions from the best writing, the greatest opportunities to learn and teach oneself?

  On the whole, however, Mariah Wynn thought she should be congratulated—or at least, she would have been if anyone had noticed her. Which was the entire point. Why seat oneself just behind one of these ridiculously large ferns that fashion dictated must be inside if one did not want to hide from the entire company?

  Peering above A New Mathematical and Philosophical Dictionary, Mariah took in the scene. She had sequestered herself purposefully in the room where the dancing had commenced, where eyes would be obsessively following partners rather than peering about the place.

  Well, really, she thought irritably. As though there was nothing better to do in life than twirl about the place! When there were such books to be read, worlds of knowledge to discover.

  A twinge of hypocrisy tugged at her heart as she watched one gentleman and lady, neither known to her, pass with beaming smiles, their hands lightly touching.

  Perhaps it was weddings which brought this wild mania out of people. Mariah saw the same glazed look on all the dancers’ faces as they promenaded at Lady Letitia Cavendish’s wedding to Edward, Viscount Wynn, each wondering whether it would be their wedding next.

  Mariah rolled her eyes and turned back to her book, only for her irritation to increase. She had finished A New Mathematical and Philosophical Dictionary only yesterday and had intended to bring A Treatise on Atonement with her, but in the hurry of wedding preparations, she had picked up the wrong book.

  The dancing finished, and gentle applause murmured around the room. She frowned, the noise disturbing her concentration. There were several young ladies waiting at the sides, each attempting not to look too eager, but obviously hoping to be asked for the next dance.

  Mariah sighed and turned a page. What would it be like? No gentleman had ever looked past her bluestocking appearance, and in fairness, her looks were not deceiving.

  No gentleman had ever requested the honor of her hand. No gentleman had ever requested to stand up with her. In fact, Mariah could only recall one situation when she had danced in public at all—the ball her mother had insisted her father throw when she had entered society.

  Her heart twisted painfully. Her mother had cried that evening. So had she. Her father had remained impassive, and Edward…

  She swallowed. This was Edward’s wedding day, and regardless of past wrongs, it was time to set aside her childish animosity toward her adoptive brother.

  She was fortunate to be here. Why, there were plenty of siblings of the highest class, the best families, who never spoke to each other after reaching adulthood. She should be grateful.

  Her gaze dropped to her book as she sighed irritably. All she wanted was to read A Treatise on Atonement but instead—

  “—and then I asked you, and she said—”

  Mariah froze. Two gentlemen, both of relatively good looks and one in a particularly flamboyant cravat, had circled close to her in their promenade of the room, examining the ladies dancing in the center.

  They had not even glanced at her, and yet Mariah could feel her breath ice-cold in her lungs. Barely able to think, her pulse quickened as they paused right before her, the large fern the only reason they had not noticed her.

  “She did not?” The second gentleman laughed. “You absolute rake, Braedon, you cannot say things like that to genteel young ladies!”

  “She was hardly genteel,” the first, Braedon, Mariah presumed, retorted. “And you should have heard some of the words she uttered, Marnmouth, I tell you now, I have heard better down at the docks. Why, when I asked whether…”

  The two laughing gentlemen continued stepping around the room, and Mariah found her shoulders sagging with a medley of relief and disappointment.

  Of course, they did not even see you, she scolded herself silently, opening her book resolutely from where she had closed it on her finger. And what, exactly, would you have said to them if they had wished to converse?

  Her eyes took in the intricate mathematical formula on the page.

  Books, knowledge, and education. That w
as where she belonged, not with people. Irrational, confusing, always changing, and never dependable, people were a distinct second in Mariah’s priorities, and always would be.

  After all, she was much better with books than with people any day of the week.

  “Mariah.”

  The voice was gentle, almost timid. Mariah’s heart sank. That was Letitia, and if she knew her friend, it was only a matter of time before—

  “Mariah, I had hoped you would enjoy yourself.”

  Mariah looked up so quickly, her spectacles slid down her nose. She pushed them up hurriedly before replying, “Enjoy myself? I am enjoying myself. Did you know—”

  But she said no more before being interrupted by Letitia’s giggle. “You know, I never thought I would be the one encouraging someone to go and dance!”

  A smile crept over Mariah’s face. She would not have predicted it either. Lady Letitia Cavendish—or Lady Wynn, was the greatest wallflower society had ever known. Years of the sidelines had bred no bitterness, however, and Mariah had been unsurprised to see that eventually, a gentleman had stepped forward who had seen the real beauty and elegance in her friend.

  She had not expected it to be her own brother, of course. Edward had been a cad when they had been children, but he had grown, and if he did not treat Letitia well…

  Mariah closed the book on her finger. “I know, ’tis a rather strange turn of events, isn’t it? But you are happy, that is what matters, even if it is with my brother.”

  “Adoptive brother,” Letitia said with a smile on her face. “And one day, now that you are my sister, Mariah, I want to hear more about what happened between the two of you.”

  Despite not moving an inch, Mariah’s stomach fell about four feet. Telling someone—telling anyone—no. It would not happen and certainly not here, in public, surrounded by dancing fools who would like nothing better than gossip.

  But how could she tell Letitia that? Letitia, an only child who had known only love and affection from her parents—her true parents.

  Mariah swallowed down the instinct to tell her friend that she would have to continue throughout life disappointed on that score. “Perhaps, one day, but not today. It is not a story for a wedding.”

  Even Mariah, who knew her own limitations when it came to understanding the vagaries of the human heart, could see that she had piqued Letitia’s curiosity, but she was a good friend.

  “If you want to stay here and continue reading, of course, you can,” she said softly.

  Mariah nodded, more relieved than she could say that her friend was going to respect her wishes. “If I am ever going to get a good university education, I need to read—”

  “Stop badgering my sister, and come here!”

  Mariah could not help a puckering frown from appearing on her face as her brother crashed to a halt just before her with a huge grin on his face.

  But Letitia had quite the opposite reaction. Beaming at her bridegroom, pink spots appeared on her cheeks as he continued speaking.

  “And you abandoned me with more wedding guests than I know what to do with. Come with me.”

  Mariah was gifted at least one glance from her friend as she was pulled away by Edward before being swallowed up by the crowd.

  It was not until she was once again alone that Mariah felt the tension in her shoulders.

  The music changed, and a new set of dancers stepped onto the floor, some obviously eager to impress. One young lady looked no older than sixteen, and she was dancing with an elderly gentleman that could only be her grandfather—and yet she held herself beautifully, clearly desperate to impress an eligible gentleman while she had the chance.

  A strange feeling crept across Mariah’s heart, the simultaneous desires to be left alone and hatred of being left out.

  Reconciling the two was a challenge she had faced most of her life. How was one to enter society if society did not like who you were? How could one find a gentleman, any gentleman, to converse with if he only wanted to talk about pretty things?

  “Ahem.”

  As though she had thought him into being, there was a man standing before her. Five or six and twenty, with a reputable air and tidy dress, who had evidently just cleared his throat to gain her attention.

  Years of training by her mother made Mariah’s next action automatic. Her legs moved to bring her to a standing position, and she curtseyed.

  “Yes, yes,” said the gentleman carelessly. “Would you like to dance, miss?”

  Mariah frowned as she rose from her curtsey. There was no interest in his voice, no desire at all. It was almost as though…

  If she tilted her head, she could see Letitia and Edward watching the pair of them with eager smiles on their faces.

  Irritation flared in Mariah like a candle newly lit. She had asked them to leave her alone. And yet a bluestocking like her could not be left alone.

  “Well?” The gentleman asked in a bored voice. “If not, I will ask someone else.”

  The irritation was fanned into a stronger flame. Well, really. Was it not enough that this gentleman had clearly been told to ask her to dance? Did he have to ask with such bad grace?

  She was not usually one to be piqued, but this was ridiculous. Surely it was preferable to all concerned that no one was forced to ask for the honor of her hand?

  His uninterested eyes were still gazing at her, and heat rushed to her cheeks. She was just another bluestocking to him. Well, she would show him.

  “Oxford or Cambridge?” she spoke coldly with as much aloofness as she could manage.

  The gentleman frowned slightly. “I am Worcester, my lady. Joseph Worcester.”

  Mariah rolled her eyes. What were the chances? “No, I actually was inquiring as to where you went.”

  The look of confusion did not disappear from Mr. Worcester’s face. “I have not been out of town these last six weeks, but I have once been to Cambridge, and a fine place it was, too. Now, will you dance, miss…?”

  A few heads had turned at Mr. Worcester’s exasperated tone, which had carried across the room, but Mariah did not care. She did not shrink from attention as Letitia always did, and in some ways, she relished it.

  He did not even know who she was. He had not bothered to discover her name, not even when the bride and groom at this wedding reception had requested his hand as a favor.

  It was time for a gentleman like this Mr. Worcester to learn it was not merely enough to walk across a room and offer a hand to any young lady with the least amount of interest.

  It was time to make a point.

  “I meant which university you had attended, sir,” she said curtly, “but by the sound of it, the answer is neither.”

  Mr. Worcester was frowning now. “I see no reason why it should matter. Both are excellent universities, and there are others in the country of course which offer the same—”

  But he was unable to say any more.

  “The same? You are in jest, Mr. Worcester, surely. Oxford and Cambridge offer a far more superior education, with a heritage of excellence stretching back hundreds of years. I do not believe Glasgow or Aberdeen can offer anything like that.”

  Mr. Worcester’s eyes widened. “You speak very assuredly for a woman.”

  Mariah sighed and shook her head. “Ah, Mr. Worcester, I wish you had not said that. It is impossible to have a discussion of this ilk with such a closed mind, I find.”

  She really should not enjoy provoking him, but then it was so easy. A gentleman’s ego was always far larger than it merited, but it was clear that Mr. Worcester had an overactive impression of himself.

  He was swelling now with outrage. “How–how dare you! I have never been so insulted in my entire—”

  “You surprise me,” said Mariah curtly. “I have found a good education prevents that sort of ignorance, but you evidently have not been blessed with such a thing.”

  And it was at that moment that his eyes narrowed, and Mariah could almost see the penny drop.

/>   “You are Miss Wynn. Mariah Wynn, the bluestocking, the troublemaker.”

  It was impossible not to laugh at such a moniker. “Why, Mr. Worcester, you flatter me. I have not heard that particular insult before, but I am pleased to have earned it.”

  Mr. Worcester did not look pleased. “Why did you not tell me you were Edward’s sister?”

  Mariah smiled ironically. “Did the family likeness not give it away?” A frown crept across his forehead, and she laughed. “I was adopted, Mr. Worcester, which is why you look so utterly confused.”

  “You can be as clever as you like,” said Mr. Worcester, a hint of bitterness in his voice, “but it was your infamy as a bluestocking, which made me realize who you were. Does that not make you feel ashamed, a genteel young lady like yourself?”

  Mariah hesitated for a moment. She was under no illusion that being titled a bluestocking was unlikely to aid any lady in the discovery of a husband, but as she had always favored education over matrimony, it was of no great concern.

  The truth of the matter was, a gentleman she had never met before—to her knowledge had never met her—had been able to name her by her bluestocking nature.

  It was difficult to know how to feel about this. Should she be proud? Embarrassed? Concerned, perhaps, that her good name in society’s eyes was being slowly ruined?

  What had her mother always said?

  “Any young gentleman will be known throughout the land for his best qualities. A young lady, her worst.”

  Mariah swallowed. She had accepted the label of bluestocking proudly, but this was a new and strange sort of fame. Did she wish ‘bluestocking’ to be her only identifying feature? Could she not be prized by society for her brains, her wit, her passion?

  Mr. Worcester was waiting for a response, and Mariah coughed.

  “That is a reductionist argument,” she said coldly.

  He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “My God, Miss Wynn, the next thing you will say is that women should be educated just the same as gentlemen!”