He exhaled slowly, allowing his breath to mingle with the cool breeze off the water. He should write to his mother. She had sent a telegram the prior evening wishing him luck. Alex shared precious little communication with her over the past several months, and the fact made him wince with guilt. His father’s dreams for his son had finally come to fruition. Unfortunately, he was no longer around to see it. Alex felt a dullness in his chest, knowing he had successfully cleaved himself from his humble upbringing but had firmly planted himself in a world where his working-class family would never belong.
Alex had not needed his mother or father for well over a decade, but, standing on Magdalen Bridge as a doctor of mathematics, he wondered if he had any space left in his life for the people he loved.
I would love for Fern to meet my mother.The thought came to him so quickly and powerfully that he released a laugh. There was something natural about Fern meeting his family, understanding him completely, and being a part of his history. He imagined taking her to Birmingham, sharing a meal with her in his childhood home, strolling in the gardens and along the canals. Making her a part of his past, and perhaps his future.
And she promised to wait for him.
He pictured Fern sitting at their table, her fingers drumming as she awaited the news. His news, his future entwined with hers, for better or worse.
This was the thought making his legs move before his mind recognized his destination. Alex’s footsteps increased in cadence until he was running along High Street, drawing stares and laughter, but he did not mind for a moment. He was grinning, filled with a purpose he had never experienced before, something greater than mathematics, or academia, or status, or wealth. It was the chance to define himself as something more than a scholar. The chance to build his own family and legacy.
When he passed through the Bodleian’s massive doors, he slowed his steps to an acceptable speed, winding through the ancient hallways until he arrived at their study carrel. He would never be able to see this library and not think of Fern, and the idea made him smile even wider.
Let Redborne refuse to write the recommendation. Alex would find another way, another sponsor for his work in London. Fern was worth it, worth battling all the obstacles standing in their way.
He continued grinning as he strode confidently through the Bodleian, weaving through stacks and down stairwells.I’m going to tell her how I feel,he thought, his heart threatening to leap entirely from his body, as he turned the corner to see their table.I want forever with her, I want—
Their table was deserted. Alex stood still for a moment, then looked around as though she might be hiding. Finally he sat, pulling books from his bag before realizing he had nothing to work on. For the first time in his adult life, he was at rest.
For the first hour, Alex told himself Fern had misjudged the length of his presentation and would be along shortly. He paged through his books, unable to focus on anything. During the second hour, he worried she was unable to get away from home. By the end of the fourth hour, he stood, gathering his books with limp arms.
The cold grip of dread wrapped around his heart.I have something to tell you.The words had seemed insignificant the night before, but in the light of day, they took on new meaning. He had twice now acknowledged he felt something for Fern and she had rebuffed him both times. The physical connection they shared had become incendiary, out of their control. But how could they act on it without destroying everything and everyone around them?
Fern valued her family above all else. Her love for her twin had been the lodestone of her life. How could he possibly ask her to throw her family away? She did not want to pursue a future with him.
He stumbled out of the library in a daze. Not ready to return to the solitude of his rooms, he walked to the mathematics building and paced the familiar hallways, craving something that made sense.
“I understand congratulations are in order.”
Alex blinked hard and focused on the elderly gentleman standing in the dim corridor outside the mathematics offices. “Yes, thank you, Professor Sylvester,” he stammered. “It’s quite an honor.”
The man nodded his head curtly. “Well, welcome to the ranks of the elite, Mr. Carroway.” He began to pass by Alex but stopped. “And I’m sorry I had to cancel the meeting with your student for tomorrow, but we can reschedule for next month.”
Alex’s head was suddenly crystal clear. “You canceled the meeting?”
“Yes, I sent word to Miss Waverly first thing this morning,” he replied, smoothing the cloud of white hair above his ear. “I assumed she would have told you. I was called to Paris and will be at the Sorbonne for the better part of the next month. I’ll have my assistant set up another meeting when I return.”
In one month. After the entrance examinations. After Fern’s time had run out.
“Sir,” he said, his voice rising in intensity, “Miss Waverly is attempting to earn admission to the mathematics program, and her meeting with you—”
“I do understand,” Sylvester interrupted. “But the university is not ready for her, nor will they be for some time. The faculty will not see her as a student, but as a woman, and a well-bred one at that,andthe daughter of one of the university’s most powerful allies. Even if she were to be admitted, what would it be like for her here? It would cause a scandal, especially if her father is against her studies.”
Pressure built in Alex’s chest until he felt smothered. “But if you were to insist on her admission—”
“I understand more than most the sting of rejection for being different.” Sylvester let his words hang in the air. Alex recalled how he had mindlessly accepted the thirty-nine articles of the Church of England as part of his dissertation defense, a standard prerequisite for awarding of the title. Sylvester, a devout Jew who was unwilling to make the religious proclamation, would never receive the highest accolades of academia. Alex outranked him, simply because of his birth.
“But it is also the reality of our world,” Sylvester continued, his features tightening. “I would be happy to meet with her and advise on her work, but I will not risk my position here to advocate for her.” His face softened. “I’m sorry, but the sooner she understands the reality the sooner she can make a different plan for her future.”
Alex nodded numbly.Her dream is over as mine has just begun.
“Perhaps as your wife, she would be your partner in work,” Sylvester said. “It’s not at all uncommon, even if she cannot be credited.”
“She—she’s not—“ Alex stammered.
Sylvester flattened his lips. “I apologize, Whitehurst told me you were to marry Redborne’s daughter, I must have been mistaken.”
“No,” Alex croaked, his voice weak. “I—I am to marry her sister. I was, at least.”
