Page 83 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

“Kalila—” he began, voice as soft as she’d ever heard it.

“You must talk to Comerford,” she said. “For my sake.”

*

The first time Oliver had seen Laurence Comerford, he’d been giving a seminar on specimen preservation. Oliver had stumbled across it by accident—he’d been floating about town one gloomy afternoon and had been lured into the lecture hall by a well-placed sign. Comerford spoke with passion, had a response for every question, squashed critics with his razor sharp intellect. And Oliver, charming as he was, had easily inserted himself into a conversation with the man once the seminar had come to a close.

For the first time in his life, he’d been listened to. Oh, Hughes listened to him rattle on about all sorts of nonsense, but the way Comerford listened was different. It took no time at all for Oliver to find himself under his wing.

He’d landed himself a mentor and made remaining in his good graces a priority. No matter that Comerford could be stubborn and scathing with his feedback. No matter that he sometimes only half listened.

No matter that he thought himself always, always right.

Oliver had allowed much to slide by because he was good at picking his battles. Or so he thought, anyway. And now Kalila stood before him, cheeks crimson with fury, begging him to pick a battle he felt completely unable to engage in.

“I can’t,” he said, knowing he’d be disappointing her.

“Why?”

“He’ll—he’ll be suspicious,” Oliver explained. “He’ll bring up my rivalry with Jennings, and—”

Kalila raised her eyebrows. “And you can explain to him what it’s truly about.” She shoved her hands in her pockets in a gesture of defeat. “You know he won’t listen to me, Oliver.”

“What makes you think he’ll listen to me?” Oliver shot back.

“You’re clearly his favorite,” she said. Pausing, she narrowed her brilliant eyes at him. “You told me you’d think of something.”

The accusation on her face brought forth a wave of defensiveness. “I told you I’d need time.”

“The only person who can stop this is Comerford,” she said. “And you’re the only person I trust to discuss this with him.”

The only person she trusts?

“He won’t think poorly of you for it,” she added.

At this, Oliver scoffed. “Come now, you know that doesn’t matter to me.”

Yes, it does.

“I think it does,” she said, frowning. “But you can’t have his approval all the time.”

Why not? I need it.

“I don’t have his approval all the time,” he told her.

“No, but I think you seek it.” She fixed him with a look that flooded him with discomfort, one that made him feel as though she was seeing into the very heart of him. “He isn’t your father, Oliver.”

He laughed. “I know that. What sort of fool do you take me for?”

She’s right.

“I don’t take you for a fool at all,” she said, her sudden sadness unnerving. “I just think you might be seeking approval you aren’t able to get from your father. Am I wrong?”

No, she was right. She was right, and his father permeated everything around him no matter how often or how far Oliver strayed from Rosewood. He’d gone and found himself a replacement and was now being forced to reckon with the fact that his substitute was shaping up to be disappointing in an entirely different way.

A way he may not have had to confront had Kalila not barreled into the Society in her suit and wig. It was enough to bring a grown man to tears. Enough, but not quite, because Oliver chose to lean into anger instead.

Anything to blunt the pain.