In the daylight, he was chiseled like the mountains that surrounded the valley they occupied. Even his nose seemed rough-hewn, as if he’d been marked out of rock, and never polished into full man-form. He wore what Justine considered undress for a man—an open shirt, uncollared, with no cravat to cover that expanse of skin where a notch cratered between his throat and his chest.
He had blue eyes that were deep blue, not the light sky-blue that Ophelia had, or the gray-blue that Prudence sported. They were blue like a flower, or a lake after a storm. Why was he sitting at their table? If he worked for the innkeeper, he should be shuttling plates or brushing down horses or unloading something very, very heavy.
He gestured with one arm, and Justine did not understand how the seams of his clothing did not shear away from the strain against the width of his shoulders. He glanced over at her, an eyebrow cocked as if asking what she was doing, sitting at the table.
“Mr. Vogel, let me introduce the rest of the team. My daughter, and leader of this expedition, Miss Ophelia Bridewell.” He gestured to his daughter, his obvious pride swelling in his voice. It was one of Justine’s favorite things about him. He was generous with his daughters as well as his sons. He let all four of his children explore the world in their own ways, supportingthem for their choices, not shoving them into pre-ordained pigeonholes whether it suited them or not.
Her own father would not have allowed Justine to lead an expedition to climb the Matterhorn. Then again, Justine was not really suited for leadership. She was there for cheering everyone along, and for dragging all of them outside for a second run whether they wanted it or not. She knew they had to be prepared for altitude, and that meant working their hearts as best they could at sea-level London. But organization was not her strong suit.
Then Lord Rascomb gestured to Justine. “And this is Miss Justine Brewer, also on the expedition. Miss Brewer, this is Mr. Karl Vogel, our lead guide on the expedition. He’s successfully ascended the Matterhorn once before.”
“Twice,” Mr. Vogel corrected in a voice that should have sounded arrogant, but didn’t. It sounded factual, not hint of braggadocio she would have expected.
Lord Rascomb nodded and murmured his apologies for his inaccuracy, and proceeded to introduce Prudence and Mr. Moon, and when Eleanor and Tristan showed up, them as well. But the introduction rang in her head: lead guide. Lead guide. Mr. Karl Vogel, lead guide.
“Since we are all here,” Ophelia said sometime later as empty plates were being cleared by a woman, and not the innkeeper’s nephew, “let’s begin our expedition meeting early.”
Justine looked up from her plate where she’d pushed a sausage around in circles, not thinking, only remembering and cringing. Their lead guide now knew that she didn’t sleep, she prowled around in the dark, alone, and couldn’t handle her liquor. Wonderful. Though it made sense now why he spoke such good English. The British were the ones who went after these mountains more than anyone else. At least, she thoughtso? Maybe the French, too. Or the Americans. It didn’t matter why Mr. Vogel spoke English. He did. And very well, too.
Ophelia began with the timeline. Lady Rascomb opened a valise that must have been set near her chair and began producing paper—the timeline written down. Maps of terrains. Climbs they would do before the Matterhorn. Weather patterns and requirements for them all to look for as spring melted into summer.
“At this stage,” Ophelia said, looking at all of them, “there are two things we must do. The first is that we need to acclimate to this altitude. That’s why we are here so early in the season. Even if we do nothing but walk around Zermatt, we are acclimating. The second thing is to keep ourselves in good health. We still require our training regimes, our knot-tying skills. So, we will be venturing up nearby peaks to understand the tools we will need for our attempt. It will help with our rope skills, as well as build Mr. Vogel’s confidence in our abilities.”
Ophelia’s face was hard, and Justine knew the next part was something that made her angry. Ophelia’s anger was rare, but when it existed, it was white-hot rage. So whatever it was, Justine flinched. Justine’s temper was easier to flare, but also easier to cool.
Lord Rascomb cleared his throat. “You all know that I have utmost faith in you. Our summit of Ben Nevis was proof of that. However, many people don’t believe women have the stamina for climbing mountains.”
Justine laughed out loud. She couldn’t help it. The absolute nerve. She looked at Karl Vogel and crossed her arms. Had he never heard of giving birth? Marriage? Ask her mother what those were all about, and she would saystamina.
Lord Rascomb looked at Justine not with annoyance, but with pleading. “Therefore, Ophelia has agreed, and I have given my word and a monetary stipend to reinforce this, we will allowMr. Vogel to be the final say on who climbs on the morning of our Matterhorn attempt.”
“I beg your pardon?” Justine exploded. Now she leaned forward, elbows on the table, as rude as could be. Thank goodness her mother wasn’t here. She pointed at the blond ox, who sat calm as the Devil himself. “He has no idea of our capabilities.”
“But he will,” Ophelia said. “Mr. Vogel will be helping us with our training and leading us on our associated climbs. I expect him to be fair and impartial, judging us not on our womanliness, but on our abilities.”
Justine’s head pounded again, almost as if outrage cued a hangover. “There is no man who can look past our womanliness.”
Lord Rascomb cleared his throat. “I’d like to think I don’t hold your abilities in account of your sex, Miss Brewer.”
She crossed her arms. “Fine. You don’t, but you're Ophelia’s father. But this man?” She glared down the man who had put cold snow on the nape of her neck when she’d needed it. But also the bloke who hadn’t warned her about drinking spirits at high altitude.
“We cannot ask him to be impartial if we cannot be impartial, Justine,” Prudence said from across the table, living up to her name. Why was Prudence as level-headed as Ophelia? “Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“If Lord Rascomb believes he is honorable, then I will trust him,” Eleanor said. Of course she would side with her new father-in-law.
Justine narrowed her eyes at Tristan, waiting for him to ally himself with his father and now his wife as well. But Tristan wisely kept his mouth shut for once. He even lifted his hands in a give-up gesture as she stared him down. Finally, she looked backto Ophelia, who chewed the inside of her lip. She didn’t like it any, either.
“Fine,” Justine blustered and stared down this Karl Vogel. This mountain of a man who held her fate in his hands.
Ophelia clasped her hands and put them on the table. “Then our final order of business is to discuss our upcoming week. You will have the rest of today off to walk and explore the village, which will acclimate you to the elevation. Tomorrow, we will start with our first run. Mr. Vogel, I cede the table to you.”
He nodded and gave a side glance to Justine. She frowned. What did he mean by that?
“The training run for the expedition team will begin promptly at one in the afternoon. For those of you who wish to work more, I also begin my day at six in the morning. You may come with me before breakfast, if you wish.”
Justine narrowed her eyes. He didn’t look at her, but she felt the challenge in his voice. He got up and worked at six in the morning? Then she would be downstairs, dressed, and ready to go fifteen minutes before that.
*
