Page 112 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

He wrung his hands together. “So I did.”

Was he nervous? Kalila could not recall seeing the man be anything but entirely composed.

“I don’t have much time, sir.”

“Of course, of course,” he replied, waving his hand about. “I’ve come to apologize for last night.”

Kalila, frozen in shock as she was, did not respond. Comerford was not one to apologize. He was far too proud, far too convinced of his own superiority.

Sounding unusually meek to Kalila’s ears, he continued with, “I realize now that I would be impeding science by not allowing you into the Society.”

“Do you mean to tell me you reached this conclusion on your own?” she asked, a single eyebrow raised in apprehension.

He grimaced. “Well, no. Booth played a part in my revelation.”

Of course he did.

“How?”

“He—he called me a terrible scientist,” Comerford admitted. “For standing in the way of progress.”

“And he was right to do so,” Kalila said. “I imagine you don’t understand how much you’ve disappointed him.”

“You’re right,” Comerford murmured. “I don’t.”

Kalila folded her arms across her chest. “If you allowed me into the Society, you would have to agree to allow other women in as well.”

“Naturally,” he said. “If I’m being honest, the Society has never been held in the highest esteem. I doubt my decision will impact its reputation either way.”

“What of your reputation?”

He shrugged. “I’m willing to deal with the consequences.”

Kalila regarded him, unable to understand how one man could be so intensely oblivious. Words like consequences made it sound like allowing women into the Society was akin to committing a mortal sin, and his comment about the Society’s reputation had her convinced that this conversation would not be occurring if he’d headed a more active, popular group.

All of this, she realized, was because he couldn’t stand knowing that Oliver—that anyone—thought him a terrible scientist.

“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Comerford,” she said finally, “but I’m afraid I must refuse.”

“Y-you refuse?” Comerford spluttered.

“Indeed. Will that be all?”

“M-Miss Darwish,” he stammered, taking a step toward her, “I’m offering you everything you desire. Is that not why you came to London? Why you assumed your cousin’s identity?”

“It was,” Kalila allowed, standing her ground, “but I don’t want the help of someone who needs so much convincing.”

“You must understand, Miss Darwish, that I’m a man of my time,” Comerford said.

“A good scientist always looks ahead,” Kalila told him. “A good scientist is never content to remain of their time.”

“I realize that now,” he said. “Do my actions not prove as much?”

“Look at what we were forced to come to,” Kalila snapped in annoyance. “Look at what Oliver did, what he felt he had to do to make you listen. I cannot accept the mentorship and guidance of someone so utterly wrapped up in their own pride, Mr. Comerford. And I intend for my actions to prove that.”

“But—”

“I will not discourage you from allowing women into the Society,” she added, cutting him off. “But I will not be one of them.”