A Scholarly Pursuit: A Traditional Regency Romance (The Ellsworth Assortment Book 4) by Christina Dudley

Author:Christina Dudley [Dudley, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BellaVita Press
Published: 2023-09-12T16:00:00+00:00

The gratitude Mr. Boulton lavished on Aggie and her sister was not confined to them alone. The following day, having come upon Tyrone in one of the coffee-houses in the High Street reading the newspaper, Boulton dropped into a chair at once and gave the back of the sheet a tap.

Probably fewer than a man in a thousand could bear such an interruption without annoyance, and Tyrone was not among these paragons of patience. Lowering the newspaper, he frowned upon his former schoolmate, but the latter was already signaling the waiter and failed to notice.

“Ellsworth,” he began, when his coffee was ordered, “what luck to meet with you. With Miss Weeks present yesterday I had not the opportunity to say all that was in my mind.”

“It must be urgent, if you insist on saying it now.”

“Now, now. Don’t be surly, Ellsworth. I wanted to tell you that you were right and I was wrong. For the tutoring idea was a stroke of genius! I cannot express how it has heartened me, to see with what alacrity and affability Miss Weeks snatched at the suggestion.”

“Yes,” said Tyrone quietly, “it surprised me as well.”

“And the dinner invitation to Hollowgate! My cup overflows. You have proved more than a paid amanuensis to me—you have shown yourself to be a true friend.”

Crisply Tyrone folded the newspaper and slapped it on the table. “Firstly, Boulton, an amanuensis is one who takes dictation or who copies out a text already written, neither of which describes what I have done for you. And secondly, I assure you that you have got nothing to thank me for. Had you not requested my help and paid for my services, I would not have lifted a finger.”

Instead of appearing abashed by this reproof, Boulton’s long features curved upward in a witless smile—well, perhaps ‘witless’ was harsh, but Tyrone’s sudden irritability made him unkind.

“Some people do not like to be thanked,” Boulton soothed, palms uplifted in deprecation. “I will say no more of it. In fact, Ellsworth, I daresay my need for your assistance will soon draw to a close.”

“What do you mean?” The question emerged more curtly than Tyrone intended, and he suppressed a grimace.

The waiter placed a murky saucer of coffee before Boulton, which he then swirled and sugared and stirred and tentatively sipped. (Fortunately he found it to his satisfaction, or Tyrone might have dashed it to the table in his impatience.) Setting the cup down precisely, he replied, “I mean only to say that I take such encouragement from my rapid progress with Miss Weeks—”

“What progress? She recommended you as a tutor to her nephews. What more can you possibly be referring to?”

“Ah.” Boulton raised a finger. “Not only did Miss Weeks recommend me for her nephews—which she most certainly would never have done had she felt an aversion to me—but she raced over to Headbourne Worthy almost as soon as she received my note.”

“‘Raced’? Nonsense.”

“Raced,” persisted Boulton. “Therefore, Ellsworth, at the dinner to which you have

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