Rose’s face brightened as she looked at him, brilliant eyes sparkling. “But even with all that, I hope you had a nice evening. I certainly did.”
His cheeks warmed, and he wondered if Rose knew he was thinking about her sister. “I’m happy to hear it.”And I never want to do it again.He gazed at Rose in time for her to lean into him and kiss him square on the lips. Alex froze — nothing about this moment, standing in front of this house, kissing this woman, felt right. A gust of wind pushed against him, setting him off balance and pushing him away from her embrace. His heart pounded and blood rushed in his ears. In some form of divine intervention, the carriage emerged.
“My father is traveling to London tomorrow for several days, for…business, I suppose,” Rose said, leaning close. She put her hands on his chest and gazed into his eyes. “I thought perhaps when he returns, you could have a conversation with my father about our future. After tonight I’m certain he will be amenable.”
“I— yes, of course,” he stammered.
She raised on her toes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then dashed into the house.
Alex’s feet were frozen to the spot as he worked to calm his breathing. His relationship with Rose was moving forward, and he was powerless to stop it, dragging him along a path despite it feeling increasingly wrong.
He covered his head with his arm as he stepped towards the carriage, the rain coming down harder with each step. Before stepping into the coach, he looked up at Boar’s Hill one last time. Lamplight illuminated a second-floor picture window as the silhouette of a woman walked towards the glass and sat, opening a book.Fern, he thought.It has to be her.After a moment, Fern turned and looked out at him through the streaks of rain, then gave a small wave. His pulse raced again, but this time he welcomed the sensation as it filled him with a sense of elation he had not experienced all evening, quickly replaced by a profound sadness knowing Fern was all alone, dismissed by her family.
The driver cleared his throat behind him. Alex gave a quick wave back to the figure in the window, then climbed into the carriage as the heavens opened above him. He tried to focus his thoughts on Rose, but he couldn’t stop thinking of Fern, her anguished face, her simple wave.
The ache in his chest did not lessen as he pulled away from Boar’s Hill. Having seen her interactions with her family, Fern’s secrecy about her studies made so much more sense. Fern struggled to find a place where she belonged. She was a misfit in the world of her family and in the world of academia. Alex was her only ally, even more so than her twin. It was natural for him to want to protect her. He was her friend and did not deserve to be treated as an outsider.
If she’s just my friend, then why do I want to run back and steal her away?
Chapter 19
TheWaverlyhouseholdhadbegun to feel the strain of Aunt Margaret’s visit, and everyone eagerly awaited her return to Hampshire. Salisbury had hidden the more expensive bottles of brandy, Lord Redborne suddenly needed to attend to urgent business in London, and Lady Redborne suffered from increasingly debilitating bouts of headaches forcing her to retire early.
Rose was adept at making conversation, but even she had her limits. She begged off shortly after breakfast to ride with her friends, leaving Fern to entertain her aunt, apologizing as she made a dash for the stables. Fern did not mind the situation terribly as Aunt Margaret had proven to be a delightful source of enlightening conversation. Margaret sprawled on a settee in front of the fireplace clutching a well-worn copy of Kate Chopin’sThe Awakening, while Fern sat at one of the large library tables with her notebooks spread in front of her like a fan.
“Have you read this yet, dear?” Aunt Margaret waved the book over her head in Fern’s direction. “It would scandalize your mother and incense your father if they saw you reading it. Therefore, I wholeheartedly recommend it.”
Fern attempted to suppress a smile. Aunt Margaret made Fern feel a bit more like she fit within the family’s genetic code. “I haven’t, but I’ll put it on my list.”
“What are you writing there?” she asked, motioning for Fern to come closer.
She hesitated, then lifted her notebook and came to sit beside her aunt. “I’m working with prosody, the study of the metrical patterns in poetry. Much of the meter is lost in translation to English, but a man from Oxford, Professor Sylvester, has determined how much of the prosody can be maintained by applying the correct algorithm.”
“I won’t pretend I understand what you said nor do I have any desire to do so, but I am impressed by your efforts,” Margaret said, squinting as she looked at the page.
“Thank you,” Fern replied, feeling rather chuffed with her praise.
“This is mathematics, then?”
“Yes, in its purest form. All language is a form of mathematics. Music as well.” Seeing the world as a series of complex systems made it less overwhelming for Fern, and gave her comfort when little was to be found.
Margaret sat back and examined her. “And the man who is courting your sister, he also studies mathematics.”
Fern's neck heated. “He does indeed,” she said carefully.
“And is he the man you are seeing when you sneak out of here?” Fern dropped her notebook. “Don’t deny it,” Margaret waved her hand airily. “You keep pleading a need for new ribbons or paper, but I never see you bring any bags in. You’re not covering your tracks very well.”
Mouth gaping, Fern stared at her aunt. “I—I mean, he—” She steeled herself. If anyone would understand, it would be Aunt Margaret. She exhaled and leaned back against the cushioned seat. “Yes, he is helping me to present this work to Professor Sylvester. I hope to earn a place to study at Oxford.” She felt nearly buoyant having shared the burden of her secret with someone else.
Margaret raised one thin white eyebrow. “Is that a possibility?”
“I don’t know,” Fern said, reluctant to put a voice to the worrisome doubts plaguing her. “I know my work is good, and if I were to apply as a son of the family I would certainly be accepted.”
“But you’re a daughter,” Margaret stated simply. “And a well-bred one at that.”
Fern nodded. For a moment she had let herself hope her great-aunt might have a solution, some possibility Fern had not yet explored.
“That does complicate things,” Margaret said, closing her book and admiring her great-niece. “As does thetendreyou hold for Rose’s suitor.”
