The Squabbles of Nearly but Not-Quite Scientists
an excerpt

Excerpt from Chapter Three: Sunday Service and a Plot...

Hobart was always threatening to cancel their meetings, but he claimed that it would throw off his meticulously crafted schedule. Indeed, Theodosia had rarely seen him as anything rather than calm and collected and perfectly in control of all aspects of his life. That brought to mind, however, one of the few times he hadn’t been at his absolute best. It had been on one of their regular Thursday meetings the previous June when Hobart’s mother, Edwina, ran into them unexpectedly while crossing Poole Avenue.

Theodosia smiled a bit at the memory. His mother had always been a small force of nature pinned into one tiny woman. Theodosia had met her twice since then, but this first meeting left quite an impression upon her. Edwina had been quite overjoyed to see her only son out and about with a lady of good standing and background, but when she was told that they were merely friends, her attitude changed. The Widow Blencowe was possessed of a sharp tongue and an even sharper cane with which she repeatedly poked her son. After a long reprimand about carrying on the family name and settling down (“You’re forty-one years old for Heaven’s sake, Bartie! You are most certainly not going to get any younger, and as your one and only mother I demand a grandson or two before I die of a broken heart. Is that what you want, Hobart? Do you want me to die because of you?”), Edwina finally left them in a huff. Theodosia’s ears were still ringing long after the woman was out of sight. Instead of apologizing for his mother’s behavior or making some sarcastic remark about the incident as Theodosia would have expected from him, Hobart simply acted as if his mother had never run into them. He resumed their course towards the opera house without so much as an eye twitch. Theodosia, however, suspected that the slight hint of red on his cheeks wasn’t from the summer heat.