“You have been most kind to me, Mr. Carroway.” She gazed up at him through her dark lashes. “I was hoping…you would come sit by me?”
He was by her side in an instant, heart racing. She faced him and her eyes flicked to his lips.Should I—does she want me to kiss her?He remembered their kiss on the terrace and his blood heated, recalling the silken texture of her lips, the sweet urgency of her touch. Surely a kiss would remind them both of what they had shared.
“I’ve had such a lovely time getting to know you,” she said, her voice breathy. “You’re unlike other men I’ve met. You want to know me for who I am, not because of my father or his title.” Sweat broke out on his upper lip. Did she know how crucial the viscount was to his future success?
“Oh,” he replied, unable to think of anything more profound to say.
“I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with my family. I think my father would be amenable to your suit if you were to present yourself.”
“You—you mean that?” His world tilted. She wantedhim?
A lovely blush spread on her cheeks. “I do. I wasn’t certain I was ready to marry, but…” She fluttered her eyelashes as she met his gaze. “You’ve changed my mind.”
Suddenly she was leaning forward, so close her lips brushed his. His hands went to her shoulders, his palms drifting over the silken fabric.
He felt—nothing. Absolutely nothing. He pulled back slowly. Rose’s lids drooped over her eyes, her skin flushed. The carriage ground to a halt and he heard the door wrench open, temporarily blinding Alex with the sudden shock of daylight, his lips inches from Rose’s, hands still firmly on her shoulders. Fern took one step up into the carriage before stopping with a jolt.
Her jaw went slack as she recognized his proximity to her sister, the flushed cheeks, his guilty expression. “Oh,” she gasped. “I didn't know—”
“I was just leaving,” he said in a rush as he pushed past her, bumping his shoulder against the door as he stumbled into the street. He turned back to the carriage, attempting to salvage some shred of propriety. “Miss Rose, I would be delighted to join your family for dinner,” he said, his voice choked. “Miss Fern,” he murmured in her direction, but she avoided his eye.
Alex stormed up the path to the Bodleian, willing himself not to break into a run. He was gasping for air by the time he fell into a library carrel, realizing he had not even brought his books. Rose Waverly wantedhim, Alexander Carroway. If they were to marry, he would be guaranteed a respectable profession and status in society. He would never want for anything and would be free to pursue the life he had dreamed of, what his parents had imagined for him with every sacrifice they had made.
And he was terrified of it.
Chapter 17
“Thefutureisinthe educated man, my dear,” Lord Redborne’s voice echoed from the parlor as though he were delivering a speech to Parliament. “You should have heard what Whitehurst was telling me about the boy, and he knows what the future holds for Britain.”
“A student, though?” his wife asked, her tone skeptical. “Is a student enough for our daughter?”
“As Strathmore said,” Redborne repeated, “the idle nobility will be a thing of the past by the end of the next generation. A man of learning stands a far better chance of success in this world than one who has done nothing to better himself.”
“But what of Rose’s connections? Who will she socialize with?”
The Redbornes’ sigh reached the hallway through the closed door, where Rose and Fern stood with their faces pressed, one above the other, against the door frame. Salisbury had passed them several times, shaking his head at their behavior but not encouraging them to move along.
“Lily is a countess and Marigold a marchioness,” Redborne remarked. “With sisters of such high station, Rose will never lack invitations.”
“Besides,” Aunt Margaret interjected in a dry tone.“ It would be lovely to have someone intelligent to converse with at dinner.”
“This sounds promising,” Rose whispered, beaming.
“It does,” Fern replied, although she did not share Rose’s enthusiasm.
“It would be perfect, wouldn’t it?” Rose whispered, her eyes cast up towards the ceiling as though she could see the heavens above. She pushed off the wall and grabbed her sister’s hand, pulling them both up the stairs to dress for the evening’s dinner. “I feel like he knows me so well, and I know him, don’t you think?”
Fern had also come to know Alex. Learning how he liked to tease her about her eccentric habits and discovering his teasing didn’t bother her. Admiring his intelligence and his humility. Memorizing the curve of his smile, the way his blue eyes lit up when she said something particularly clever, how his auburn brows furrowed when she said something he wanted to question further. How he listened to her like she was someone worthy of his attention.
Lady Redborne had begrudgingly extended a formal dinner invitation to Alex after Rose convinced her of the value of inviting one of Oxford’s finest minds into their home. Fern had been right in her estimation of her father. Lord Redborne saw Alex as something of an investment, as the viscount’s name would be associated with Alex’s in the future.
Rose wanted the finest of everything. Five courses, including passed canapés over cocktails, stuffed partridge, roast game from the family estate accompanied by pureed vegetables, and the chef’s specialty, berry trifle. The night would be exquisite and, Fern predicted, thoroughly awkward.
Rose was still talking, rattling off a laundry list of Alex’s finer qualities, and Fern shifted in her seat. “He always knows what to say to compliment me, and what to get me as a gift. He knows me so well!” Fern pressed her lips together.He knows you because I told him about you.But she said nothing.
In five days she would need to present her work, which had evolved into something much larger than what she had initially expected. Each revelation brought her deeper into the world of prosody, expanding in depth and breadth as she and Alex discovered together. She had learned how he thought, what questions would coax a deeper revelation from him. He learned how to critique her work and challenge her ideas, and instead of being offended, Fern found it exciting and illuminating.
The first and most significant hurdle—convincing Sylvester to meet with her—was behind them. But guilt haunted Fern every time Alex mentioned her sister’s name. She couldn’t risk telling him the truth about the ball now, for Alex would abandon his efforts to help her.
