“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.”

Clara didn’t respond. She simply turned and walked out of the coffeehouse. She was relieved when Simon didn’t follow. The last thing she wanted was a witness to her loss of composure.