Page 12 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

“I do, too,” Kyria said, though she paused to pinch Olivia’s arm in return before she went on. “What did he say when you met?”

“Nothing. I was the one who started the conversation. I had to grab his arm to get his attention.”

“He didn’t notice you?” Kyria asked, her eyebrows rising.

“Oh, he noticed me.” Thisbe chuckled. “He kept glancing at me the whole time he was taking notes, like this.” She demonstrated.

“That’s good.” Kyria nodded sagely.

“But he didn’t say a word. I think he’s a bit shy—he even blushed a little.”

“That’s sweet,” Olivia said.

“So I asked him if he’d like to borrow my notes, and he did, and after that it became much easier to talk.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Oh, school and Herr Erlenmeyer’s theory about naphthalene.”

“Naphthalene!” Kyria gaped at her. “Really, Thisbe, you talked about chemistry?”

“And spectrometry and, oh, spirit photography—we disagreed a bit about that.”

“You quarreled with him?”

“Not quarreled, exactly. It was more a spirited discussion. It was actually quite invigorating. He’s working with Professor Gordon, you see, which is too bad because I cannot think it will further his career to be associated with him. But he did have a point about keeping an open mind to scientific discovery.”

“Thisbe...” Kyria groaned. “Do not tell me you talked about science the entire time.”

“Oh, no, we talked about his family and such as he walked me to the omnibus.”

“What omnibus? Didn’t Thompkins take you in the carriage? I’m confused,” Olivia said.

“Yes, Thompkins was right there, but I had to ignore him. You see, I didn’t tell him about...you know—who we are.”

“Oh,” her sisters said in unison, understanding.

“It’s better,” Kyria agreed. “It’s terribly hard to know whether a man flirts with you because he likes you or your money.”

“No, it’s not that. Desmond would make the world’s worst fortune hunter.”

“You didn’t want him to know you were a Moreland because everyone thinks we’re peculiar?” Olivia suggested.

“Did you know that they call us the ‘Mad Morelands’?” Kyria said, anger flaring.

“Yes, Theo told me several years ago. That was why he got sent down from Oxford that time—he punched someone who called us that.”

“Really? I always wondered what happened,” Kyria mused.

“Theo was sent down?” Olivia asked. “I didn’t know that. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You were too young. It never happened again. I think no one else wanted to get knocked down.” Thisbe continued, “But none of that was the reason I said I was just plain Thisbe Moreland. I didn’t want... Oh, you don’t know how they act when they know who I am. They try to ingratiate themselves with me, wanting research money, or they think I’m only dabbling in science or that I’ve been favored by lecturers because my father is a duke.”

“You thought he would do one of those things.”

“I didn’t want to find out. I wanted him to see me as me. Besides, I didn’t want to frighten him away. I know he hasn’t any money—he said his father had been a laborer, and he has to work in a shop to support himself. It doesn’t matter to me, but I’m afraid it will to him.”

“You’re right. He might feel intimidated,” Kyria told her. “But he’s bound to realize when he comes to call on you—Wait, how will he call on you if he doesn’t know who you are? How will you see him again?”