“It breeds familiarity and comfort, something we all must have in order to do well on our venture, for we do not have some of the other benefits that teams like Mr. Whymper’s do.”
“And what would those be?” Ophelia asked. Eleanor watched the furrow between Ophelia’s eyebrows deepen, accented by the shadows of the campfire.
“Speed. Strength. Experience.”
Eleanor felt that criticism to her very core. She had none of those things, and she felt as if Tristan was all but saying she should be sent home. She wanted to melt into the wooden stump she perched on. Could she please just go to bed?
“And you believe exchanging proper names will help this?” Lord Rascomb rumbled.
Tristan shrugged and bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I think it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Lady Rascomb?” her husband prompted. “What are your thoughts on the matter?”
“The risk here would be for Mrs. Cabot and Miss Piper in particular.” She glanced between them. “But given these circumstances, if we returned to formality when we were in town, I don’t see why there would be an issue. I think we could set some of our propriety aside.”
Tristan clapped his hands together and beamed a smile at Eleanor. One that she felt was unwarranted. It hadn’t been her idea. In fact, it had made her uncomfortable to be so overly familiar with Mrs. Cabot on the first day they’d ever really had a chance to speak.
“Some. Not all.” Lady Rascomb raised her eyebrows at her son.
“If that’s all the concerns to be raised for the evening?” Ophelia looked around their group. Eleanor was impressed that both Lord Rascomb and Tristan were able to let Ophelia run discussions and take charge of their camp. It was as if Ophelia was truly in charge of their fates, which made Eleanor feel all the more uncertain.
Shouldn’t she feel better about everything if Lord Rascomb was in charge? He was older, had the experience, and was well, he was a man. And men were in charge of virtually everything.
“Come, my little chickadees,” Lady Rascomb said, standing and shooing them over to their side of the camp. “Our cozy blanket bags await.”
Feeling utterly humiliated, Eleanor followed the rest of the women to their sleeping enclave, where blankets were laid out on the ground. Last night she’d been too exhausted from the train ride to pay much attention to her surroundings, and clouds had covered the skies by evening.
Tonight, however, climbing into her blankets sewn together to create a bag for her body, the sky was peppered with bright lights so numerous that as her eyes adjusted away from the fire, she wondered if this could possibly be correct. Surely she had seen the stars before, but somehow now, tonight, they burned cold and brilliant.
Her body was exhausted and buzzing all at once, and what with this star revelation, how on earth was she supposed to get any sleep at all? Her mind excavated the memory of Tristan ripping the cording from her corset, muttering,This is not how I imagined it.
The other women whispered goodnight to each other, and Eleanor almost forgot to respond. As she examined that very hazy moment again and again, she heard the rhythmic breathing of others drifting into sleep.
So Tristan had thought about removing her corset? She should be offended, shouldn’t she? Or at least disgusted? Wasn’t that how respectable women would think? But it wasn’t as if he were some man in the park muttering it as she walked by. When Tristan said it, aiding her in a time of need, it felt completely... thrilling?
Because it was Tristan. Because he was nice to her, smiled at her, helped her. Which she’d repaid by vomiting on his leg. Not the best way to respond to a courtship. Was that what it was? Or would he have done that for any one of them?
She didn’t know, but she did like the idea of Tristan courting her. Would he think her below him? The Pipers were not noble by any stretch of the imagination. Could he look past that, even if he wanted her father’s money?
The ground dug into her lower back, so she flipped onto her side. It was silly to think so much about Tristan when she should be thinking about how she was going to conquer this challenge ahead of her. It was strange to think that only a month ago she hadn’t wanted to go at all, and thought the whole adventure absurd. Now, after reading the books from other women climbing mountains, spending time with Ophelia and Lady Rascomb, even her time teaching knots at the salons, she desperately wanted to prove she could get up that mountain.
Being a novice didn’t bother her, because she knew how to work hard, but she wished for less scrutiny. Humiliation was never fun, and somehow this seemed worse. Almost as if they didn’t succeed, they would somehow set the cause of women backwards. While men like Mr. Fulk derided the ambition, Eleanor didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of returning to England without accomplishing something.
The idea of Mr. Fulk’s droning patronizing made her tired. The nerve. But she certainly didn’t want to fall asleep thinking of him. Instead, she pictured herself triumphantly putting her boot-clad foot on the very highest rock on some snowy-topped peak. That was enough to let her drop into sleep.
*
The week waschallenging, Tristan would say that. Everyone had their own issues. Eleanor was still the slowest runner, but after discarding the full corset, she was able to run without fainting. They tied ropes and heaved each other over the stones of the ruins and up the sturdy oak trees in the grove. Eleanor showed them a few more knots that might come in handy.
They still observed regular mealtimes and tea time, of course. They weren’t brutes. But Tristan found himself maneuvering to sit next to Eleanor at every stretch. The first few times it was to check on her health. Then it was to get extra help with his knots. She talked freely while he worked on dressing out his knots to perfection, telling him of Captain Smythe and her father’s dockside office. She even confided the times she’d been forgotten by her parents, which was absolutely horrifying.
He’d never been forgotten by his parents, and he was one of four. Far more understandable for that to happen to him. In turn, he regaled her with his mountaineering stories and descriptions of snow. He congratulated himself on not thinking of undoing her corset again, or what she looked like with her thick, wavy brown hair down around her shoulders.
He had once accidentally come around the corner too swiftly in the morning and seen her still pinning up those silky, shining locks before their morning exercise. It stopped him short. Breathless. She’d caught him looking, and he recovered, poorly, but managed to say something inane about the upcoming day.
It was bad enough that he’d taken a second run in the evening while the rest of them relaxed and told stories around the fire before dinner. And it made him think as he ran through the wooded areas, jumping the now-familiar tree roots and dodging divots in the dirt, why couldn’t he court Eleanor, if he wanted?
After they’d climbed the Matterhorn, of course. One did not mess with expedition dynamics, that was a given. Of course, thetimeline for their adventure stretched over two years, so that might be a challenge. As the second son to a nobleman, however, his honor was all he had claim to at this point. And he couldn’t very well court a lady that he was leading. That was unethical.
