Patricia glanced heavenward as if praying for patience. “Exactly.”
“Well, what you find as a positive aspect, I find less enticing. But I’ll likely go.”
“Good. You need to get out of that stuffy library. You’re paler than usual.”
Elizabeth lifted her arm and studied her skin. “I’m always pale. And besides, isn’t that the London fashion? Heaven forbid that a lady should be outside.” She placed her hand on her forehead as if shemight swoon at the thought.
“Tell that to your bees. By the way, we need more honey,” Patricia added.
Elizabeth made the mental note. “I have a few jars left. I’ll bring one to our next class.”
“Thank you. I love the honey, although I’m still trepidatious about the bees.”
“They don’t sting unless you hurt or threaten them. Sometimes I don’t wear gloves,” she added.
“You’re braver than I am. Although we already knew that.”
“On this we disagree, but it’s an old argument I won’t resurrect. I should head back to my father. I need to finish some research.” She twisted her lips, her mind already back at the library, thinking about which book she’d need next.
“Very well.”
Patricia accompanied her toward the college and, as if sensing Elizabeth’s inner musings, didn’t prattle on as usual. As Elizabeth crossed one of the stone bridges over the River Cam, she paused in the middle. Her attention on the water, she watched it lazily flow under the shadow of the bridge. Her chest was tight with anxiety as she considered how the river just kept moving, so much like life, never giving a person a choice to stop and stay in the moment. It was always pushing them forward.
As a teacher, she understood the concept and logically was able to applaud it. After all, if onehad the choice to stand still in time, one likely would, since humanity resists change. Yet it is the very thing needed because the constant change and adaptation facilitate growth. But like physical growth that results in growing pains, growth in experiencing life could also be painful. And that’s what wound around her heart and made it ache. Because she couldn’t always stay where she was. She knew that, and if she had her way, her father would live forever and she’d never stop helping him research as she hid away at Cambridge.
But that wasn’t growing. It was…stagnation. She didn’t want that, nor did she want to face an uncertain future. And all futures were uncertain. Her mother’s untimely death was proof of that.
She blinked at the water and forced herself to leave the thoughts that plagued her on the bridge as she walked toward Christ’s College. Patricia shared a small smile with her, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Elizabeth considered that maybe her friend had many of the same questions as she did.
After bidding farewell to Patricia, Elizabeth took a side entrance to the library, vowing to find the darkest corner and melt into the shadows. She’d face the difficult problem of the future another day. The greatest philosophers didn’t answer all their questions in a lifetime, so she could take another day to try to sort through her own heart.
Nine
Revolutions are not about trifles, but they spring from trifles.
—Aristotle,Politics
As the hour approached for Collin to meet with Michael, a tightness cinched his chest. This was the first real lead they’d had in unraveling the mystery of who was using his name. The hope of finding information was tempered by the realistic understanding that it could be all for naught. They might find nothing, and this might lead nowhere, and as Collin considered that possibility, he nearly sent a missive to Michael to cancel their appointment. Why try if failure was the likely outcome?
He went so far as to sit at his desk and retrieve a piece of parchment, but he didn’t follow through. He’d given up too often in London, all for things far less important. No, he’d try regardless of whether his efforts were likely to end in failure. With a determined step, he went and dressed for the evening. He was careful to select clothes that were of quality but didn’t imply his titled status. Earlier he’d studiedMichael’s clothing and went for a similar appearance, much to his valet’s chagrin. He believed his valet was more pretentious than a duke.
That amusing thought followed him into the night as he hired a hack to take him to Michael’s residence. He stepped from the carriage and was starting up the steps when the door opened.
“Good evening, you ready?” Michael asked, tugging on his coat and adjusting his sleeves.
“Yes,” Collin replied and gestured to the hack.
Michael nodded and then spoke with the driver, giving him several names before stepping into the hack.
Once Collin was seated, Michael addressed him. “I gave the instructions to the driver.”
“Good.”
Michael tugged at his sleeve again, and this time Collin noticed the movement spoke of fidgets. Curious, Collin searched for other indications Michael was agitated.
The man’s knee bobbed a little, and his attention was fixed out the window, his expression knit.
“Do you have concerns about tonight’s plan?” Collin asked, searching for a reason his new friend seemed ill at ease.
