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Lady Balfour, her stepmother, would find a way to end her rebellion sooner or later, she was sure of it, but until then, she would do all she could to keep her freedom.I won’t let her win, Mama,she thought, rolling over to look at the portrait of her mother that hung above her bed.
It was the only painting of her mother left, the only one she had managed to save from her stepmother’s rummage when she had first become Lady Balfour and had insisted upon redecorating every one of her husband’s residences so that it could become her own.I won’t let any of them change me.
Chapter 2
Philip Radcliff, second son to the Earl of Elgin, ought to have been listening to his professor drone on and on about the inner workings of the heart; he ought to be copying down the equations and studying them as all the other dutiful students around him were, but instead, he found himself gazing out of the floor to ceiling window.
He was not taken by the glossy green lawns or the bees buzzing about the flowers sitting in the window pot. Instead, he was gazing at a young woman.
He had often seen her on the grounds of Oxford University, mainly watching her from open windows as she sat upon the marble benches or even walking the gardens alone. There was something odd about her, something oddly fascinating, and whenever he looked out of a window and found the benches empty, he was sorely disappointed not to find her there.
She was a beautiful woman with long flowing strawberry blonde locks that she always wore plaited or pinned up though even ribbons and pins seemed unable to entirely tame her curls, and several of them often fell around her heart-shaped face. Though they had never had the pleasure of meeting, and he only ever admired her from a distance, he could tell her eyes were dark and intense.
Once, he had looked long enough to see a glimpse of them, though he had quickly looked away, fearful that she might believe him to be inappropriate for staring. If he had to admit it, he might well believe himself to be inappropriate, though whenever he saw her, he could not stop doing so.
Who are you? What are you doing here?he often wondered, wishing he could ask her the questions directly. From her gowns, the golden thread holding them together, and the gemstones that often decorated her hair, he was sure she had to be a lady, though he couldn’t imagine why any lady would find herself so often visiting the grounds of a university. Yet whenever he saw her, she appeared content, smiling as though she merely enjoyed being.
Today, Philip would have much preferred to be sitting upon that bench with her, speaking to her about anything and everything rather than listening to his professor prattle on. He couldn’t even hear what the man was saying anymore. In fact, everything else around him seemed to melt away the longer he stared out the window.
“Mr Radcliffe … Mr Radcliffe, are we disturbing you?” He barely heard the professor’s words. “Mr Radcliffe … Mr Radcliffe!”
It wasn’t until Philip heard the snickering of several other students close by that he finally took note that the entire class was staring at him.
“Mr Radcliffe, please can you enlighten the class on what I was just saying,” the professor suggested, looking at Philip with a raised eyebrow over the rim of his wire-framed spectacles.
“I umm …” Philip stammered. Forcing his gaze away from the window, he met the professor’s gaze, unable to recall a single word that the grey-haired man had uttered during his time in the classroom. Out the corner of his eye, he saw movement across the courtyard outside the window and his chest tightened at the thought that the young lady would once more be gone before he could exit the classroom to speak with her.
A part of him longed to introduce himself, to merely ask the questions that had been pervading his mind since the first time he spotted her on the grounds. Yet she was always gone before he could do so. Whenever he rushed from the building, he would find whichever bench she had been seated on empty, not a single sign of her anywhere.
She was a ghost, a beautiful and mesmerising apparition that left him unable to think of anything else throughout his time at school. At twenty-seven, he should have known better than to spend his time thinking on such mundane things as a woman sitting upon a bench; he ought to have been concentrating on his education, and yet here he was utterly speechless in the face of his professor and the rest of his class.
With some embarrassment, he admitted, “I am afraid I am unable, sir.”
The professor’s expression darkened, and he crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Philip almost as if he were the man’s father. Philip was only glad that he was not. If he had been, he might well have had his hide tanned. Even at almost thirty years of age, he was no stranger to feeling his father’s boot. He could only imagine the kind of scolding he would receive if his father were to learn of his ignorance in class.
“Mr Radcliffe, do you truly wish to be here?” the professor asked. Although Philip opened his mouth to respond, the professor continued before he could, “Because I am sure there are many others who would jump at the chance to take your place. Perhaps I should walk down to the gates and see if there is a beggar who would like to take your place?”
Philip pursed his lips against the urge to snap a sharp retort. As the second son of an earl, he was well within his rights to remind the man of his father’s kind donations to the university over the years, and yet he could not bring himself to do so. He would not be like the other pompous and entitled noblemen in his class, those who believed they were above the gentlemen and merchants’ sons among them.
“I do wish to be here, sir,” he said instead, nodding and refraining from meeting the man’s eye, hoping he would return to his lecture.
At that moment, the raucous sound of the bells ringing throughout the university caused every class member to jump in shock. A single glance at the clock hanging above the doorway told him it was the end of this particular class, though not a single member dared to move, clearly anticipating that the professor would have more to say on the subject.
“Then perhaps tomorrow you will give me the courtesy of listening to what I have to teach you.” The professor snarled, glaring at Philip for a moment longer. It wasn’t until several of the young men in the class began to murmur among themselves that the professor finally gave a silent gesture of his hand to dismiss them all. He continued to glare at Philip as all the young men collected their things and began to make their way from the classroom.
Philip remained in his seat until almost the last person had left the room. He met the professor’s eyes again, seeing that he hadn’t budged an inch, and didn’t dare stand up from his seat until the man finally nodded.
He was halfway to the door when the professor called him back. “Mr Radcliffe, mark my words. You may be an earl’s son, but that does not excuse your behaviour.”
Philip paused at the door and looked back over his shoulder with a nod. “Yes, sir, I understand.”
It was better merely to agree than risk the professor sending word to his father that his teaching was not going well. His elder brother would likely love to rub it in his face if he were to get a scolding from the earl.
“Hey, Pip!”
The moment he exited the classroom, he was accosted by his oldest and truest friends. Edward and Stanley Sherman were the sons of a wealthy Oxford businessman, and although they did not have a noble title, they were just as entitled to education as the rest of them, just as content and happy in the knowledge that their lives were laid out before them from school to what they would do for the rest of their days on Earth.
Edward clapped Philip on the shoulder as Stanley demanded to know, “What was that all about in there?”
