Portrait of a Scotsman (A League of Extraordinary Women, #3)

by Evie Dunmore

“Stop saying that word,” he said, his impatience flaring back to life. “You’re not stupid; you’re anything but.” Her smile was achingly sad. “But I have heard that word, in various guises, for half my life,” she said. “I know it isn’t true, but I don’t feel it. I worry for myself. I have realized that outwardly, I’m well accomplished, but inside, I harbor a version of me still at boarding school, full of old insecurity, and I recognize it now as a breeding ground for odd behavior, for me saying and doing things I don’t mean, for turning to other people’s opinions before consulting my own too often, for feeling unnecessarily hurt because I mix an actual issue at hand with old, still bleeding grievances. I know a few women with such a split disposition—they successfully run a home, but they can’t even make a simple decision without their husbands. Or they insist on controlling meaningless details just to feel in control of something. And what chance did they ever have to be different? We pass seamlessly from father to husband with no opportunity to know ourselves without interference. We are kept childlike in our dependence, in our small world, and in our continued focus on others, and those others keep telling us what we are. But I’m still young. It’s not too late, I can still learn. I already care much less for the opinions of people, and I want more.