Ahead, Justine shook snow from her skirt before it had a chance to melt. “I hate this.”
“Clothing in general, or just that particular piece?” Ophelia teased, seemingly unperturbed by any discomfort.
Eleanor suspected that her boots were likely also about to fail in the face of the dampness of melting snow.
“See? It isn’t me,” Justine insisted. “It’s everyone else twisting my words to make them scandalous.”
“I believe you, Justine,” Prudence announced. She was in the same boat as Ophelia, gleefully tromping along.
Compared to Eleanor, she was practically running. Indeed, her lack of fitness was showing as she lagged behind the rest of the company. Lord Rascomb took his position as last seriously, but it meant he would stop and let Eleanor pass him before starting up again. She felt less like the invincible woman from earlier and far more like a wayward duckling.
“Not much farther,” Ophelia called from uphill. She’d stopped, her hands on her hips as she rested, waiting for Eleanor and Lord Rascomb to catch up with the group.
Eleanor wondered what “not much” meant. Did that mean two more hours? Two more yards? Two miles? Lord Rascomb fell into step with her, matching the rhythm of her steps. Her ankles began to ache from the unfamiliar exercise.
Clouds covered the sun, and the relief from its brightness was at first welcome. Then a chill set in, once they lacked its powerful rays. On Eleanor plodded. She knew she couldn’t stop to rest, for if she did, her protesting ankles would not want her to begin again.
“May we chat as we climb?” Lord Rascomb asked her, using his walking stick to help pole him upwards. Eleanor should have requested one but had wanted to fit in with the others, who hadn’t wanted any aid for the Ben.
“Of course, my lord,” she huffed, her throat dry as she choked out the words. She willed her observations to tunnel in, so that instead of thinking of the mountain and their party, and the snow and sun, all she thought about was the next step, and all she listened to was Lord Rascomb.
“You seem reluctant to speak with me,” he said, not unkindly.
“To be fair, m’lord, I can’t speak at all right now.” Eleanor should have been embarrassed by her impertinence, but she was too busy trying to breathe.
He chuckled. “And I suppose the rest is merely intimidation?”
She nodded, not wanting to waste her energy on talking.
“Do you think that is something that could change when you marry my son?” he said the words so casually, as if it were a known quantity.
“Pardon?” Eleanor squeaked, almost stopping in her shock, but managing to push forwards.
“Well, once we are family, we have Sunday dinners together when we are all in London. It’s a lovely time, and I would bemost disturbed to know if you wouldn’t attend for some reason; I dearly hope it wouldn’t be because of me.”
Ahead there was a whoop. Eleanor’s head snapped up. There were just a few more steps and they were there. Ophelia and Justine were already there screaming at their success. Tristan was there too, unslinging the water canteen. Prudence then achieved it, clapping her hands at their victory.
Eleanor looked over at Lord Rascomb, who wore the most impish grin she’d ever seen on a man over the age of thirty-five.
“I had to distract you somehow so you wouldn’t give up,” he said.
Eleanor shook her head. “I wouldn’t have,” she croaked.
“Then it’s still a valid question.” He winked and pulled himself up to the plateau of Ben Nevis, extending his hand to her.
She shook her head. She didn’t want a hand up. With the final push, the backs of her legs burning with the effort, she reached the top.
Chapter Thirteen
The water canteenhad made its rounds, and Eleanor got her hands on it, greedily drinking down the ice-cold water. Ophelia and Justine approached the edges of the plateau on all sides. Some approaches were steep, others were not.
Ophelia oriented herself with a compass she had looped around her neck. Eleanor wasn’t sure, but she believed it to be south. South towards London, towards their families.
Then Ophelia screamed wordlessly, her fists balled at her sides. Eleanor startled, but then listened as Ophelia’s voice echoed in the valleys below. Justine ran over and screamed too.
“Take that!” Ophelia screamed again, her face red. “You cheese-faced donkey-fuckers!”
Justine laughed, but then yelled the same.
