The Other Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #3)(30)
She was instantly suspicious. “You’re not saying that as if it were an insult.”
“It’s not an insult,” he said plainly. “If more people were curious, we’d be far more advanced as a species.”
She took a step toward him without realizing it. “What do you mean?”
His head tipped thoughtfully to the side. “Hard to say. But I like to think we’d be traveling the world in flying machines by now.”
Well, that was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. So she plunked herself right down across from him and said, “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
He chuckled. “Clearly you’re not curious enough .”
“I’ll have you know—” Poppy frowned as a contraption with wings, wheels, and maybe some fire shot through her imagination. It was enough to distract her from her initial response, which had been to defend herself.
She’d grown up with four brothers. Defending herself was always her initial response.
“Do you think it’s possible?” she asked. She leaned forward, arms crossed on the table in front of her. “Flying machines?”
“I don’t see why not. Birds do it.”
“Birds have wings.”
He shrugged. “We can build wings.”
“Then why haven’t we done so?”
“Men have tried.”
She blinked. “They have?”
He nodded.
People had built wings and tried to fly and she didn’t know ? The injustice was astounding. “No one tells me anything,” she grumbled.
He barked out a laugh. “I have difficulty believing that to be true.”
Her eyes narrowed for what had to have been the tenth time in their conversation. “Why?”
“Your aforementioned curiosity.”
“Just because I ask doesn’t mean people tell me things.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Did you ask anyone about men building wings?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you can’t complain.”
“Because I didn’t know to ask,” she protested, jumping right in over his words. “One needs a certain base of knowledge before one can ask sensible questions.”
“True,” Captain James murmured.
“And it goes without saying,” Poppy continued, only somewhat mollified by his easy agreement, “that I have not been given the opportunity to study physics.”
“Do you want to?”
“Study physics?”
He made a courtly gesture with his hand.
“That’s not the point,” she said.
“Well, it is, actually, as pertains to aerodynamics.”
“My point exactly!” She jabbed her finger toward him with enough suddenness that he blinked. “I didn’t even know that was a word.”
“It’s self-explanatory,” he said. “One doesn’t need—”
“That’s not the point.”
“Again with the points,” he said, sounding almost impressed.
She scowled. “I can deduce the meaning once you say it. That’s not the—” She bit her tongue.
“Point?” he offered helpfully.
She gave him a look. “Women ought to be allowed an equal education,” she said primly. “For those who want it.”
“You’ll get no objection from me,” the captain said, reaching for his pie. “Awfully small piece,” he muttered.
“It’s very good, though,” she told him.
“It always is.” He took a bite. “Your slice was larger?”
“Of course.”
He gave her a vaguely approving nod, as if he’d expected no less, and Poppy sat quietly as he finished his pie.
“Do you always dine so late?” she asked, once he had sat back in his chair.
He glanced up, almost as if he’d forgotten her presence. “Not always.”
“What were you doing?”
He seemed slightly amused by the question. “Other than captaining the ship?”
“I was hoping you might tell me what captaining a ship entails .”
“I will,” he surprised her by saying. “Just not tonight.” He yawned and stretched, and there was something astonishingly intimate about the motion. No gentleman of her acquaintance would ever have done such a thing in her presence—aside from her family, of course.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, blinking as if he’d only just remembered that he no longer had sole free rein of his quarters.
She swallowed and rose awkwardly to her feet. “I think I’ll get ready for bed.”
He nodded. He suddenly looked exhausted, and Poppy was struck by the most inconvenient burst of compassion. “Was it a particularly tiring day?” she heard herself ask.
“A bit.”
“Was it because of me?”
He cracked a wry smile. “I’m afraid I can’t blame everything on you, Miss Bridgerton.”
“Much as you would like to?”
“If you can conspire a way to take responsibility for a torn topgallant sail, a vexing wind, and three cases of putrid stomach, I would be much obliged.”