She’d fought most of her youth and adult life to find equal footing with anyone. It was always the same. Aside from Patricia, Elizabeth had always felt a step down and out of order from everyone else, as if she were constantly trying to prove herself, over and over.
Collin hadn’t realized it, but he’d given her a gift in those words, even if he hadn’t meant them exactly as she’d interpreted them. He had bid her good afternoon once they’d returned to her house. He’d kissed the air above her wrist, his cool breath along her skin making her shiver with a delicious feeling. It was dangerous ground, yet she kept willingly walking on it.
She wondered if after he left, he went to find Mr. Finch. Elizabeth chose a chair next to the low-burning fire in the room and sat, releasing a pent-up breath at the thought of Mr. Finch.
The truth was, she wanted to feel something for him. It would be easy, effortless, and could be done without risking her heart. But those were all the wrong reasons and a disservice to him. She’d not toy with his heart or leave him in suspense. She needed to talk to him, and soon, as much as she wished to avoid it. The last thing she wanted was to refuse her best friend’s brother, but what other option did she have? Lie to him? No, he deserved better than that.
She’d check the honey’s progress, read a little, and, contrary to what she’d said to Collin, she would go to visit Patricia, hoping to find a moment to talk with Mr. Finch in the process.
Drat.It was going to be difficult to spend time over there after this, she mused. Awkward, at best. But such was the price, and the sooner she addressed the situation, the sooner they could all move past it.
Elizabeth rose and took the stairs to the lowest floor where the kitchens were located. The scent of bread baking and the soft hum of the cook’s and scullery maid’s voices gave a welcome, homey feeling. She entered and greeted the women, her attention turning to the frame of honey in the bucket.
The golden liquid was settling down in the bottom, so it was time to suspend the frame over the bucket to remove the bottom cells, still full of honey. She laid a broken broom handle across the bucket, then threaded string through the honeycomb so it would hover over the bucket. The bottom cells of the comb began to trail into the bucket. Elizabeth nodded at her handiwork.
Next she lifted out the second comb of honey she’d brought and repeated the process of slicing open the cells with the sharp knife and allowing the honey to flow into the same bucket, now nearly half-full. She’d need to suspend the second frame this evening, but for now, it would suffice.
“Molly told us you’d given her leave to see about the tea,” the cook said to Elizabeth. “We were curious and brewed some. It’s not bad, surprisingly.” She lifted her cup.
Tea was precious and quite expensive. It was a treat for the cook to have freshly brewed leaves that hadn’t already been brewed once or twice.
“It appeared to be of good quality, so I’m not surprised,” Elizabeth answered.
“If I weren’t concerned about being caught, I’d happily buy it myself, but it isn’t worth the trouble. I’ll take the leavings,” the cook said.
“Indeed, I agree,” Elizabeth stated. “Enjoy your tea.” She quit the kitchens and went back to her room, checking over her dress for smudges of honey. She considered changing, but the dress was none worse for wear. She made her way to the small library, picked up a copy of the latest gothic novel, a guilty pleasure she didn’t often indulge, and in rather unladylike fashion flopped into a chaise.
Several chapters later, she heard the clock chime. With a reluctant heart she closed the book and set it to the side. It would nearly be time for her father to return, and then she’d visit Patricia.
No sooner had she thought of her father than the door opened and she heard his familiar voice. She made her way into the hall to greet him.
“Hello, Papa.” She smiled, then halted at the expression he gave her. His gray eyes were sad, hisusually perfect posture stooped. “What’s wrong, what happened?” she asked, searching him over, determined to see if there were any injuries, praying it was news and not something physically wrong with him.
She could survive bad news.
She couldn’t lose another parent; she’d not recover from that.
Her father set his hat on a hook and regarded her with a long breath. “Would you accompany me to the study?”
Elizabeth nodded, not trusting her voice. Following his familiar form, she waited until he sat, then took a seat across from him, watching his every move. “Papa, please, tell me what’s wrong. Did something happen at the college?”
“Elizabeth, my dear…” He paused, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “There was a decision reached, and I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to alter it.”
“What decision?” Her heart was beating a painful rhythm as she waited.
Her father continued. “Cambridge is closing its doors to you.”
She blinked, slid back in her chair. She’d always known it was a possibility. No, that wasn’t fair. She’d known it was a probability, she corrected herself. It was bound to happen, and she’d known she couldn’t stay there forever, doing her best to blend in and beinvisible. However, a part of her heart had hoped that she would overcome the odds. Apparently not.
“I…understand, Papa. It was an unconventional situation at best, and I’m of an age where—”
“I tried to sway them, dear. But…the truth is, I worry about you.” Her father closed his eyes. “You study more than most of my students. And it pains me to know that if you were a lad, you’d be welcome. It’s unfair, I know. And yet—” He paused.
“It isn’t fair, Papa. But I knew that, and I certainly know that now. It’s unfortunate and frustrating. However, I can either let that destroy what I have and all I’ve learned, or I can use what I’ve been given to move on. Change is inevitable, and how we progress through it is vital, is it not?”
He nodded. “It is, and I want more for you than what you have, my dear. At the college, you’re collecting bread crumbs, but you deserve the whole loaf of bread.”
“Food metaphors are my favorite,” she said, trying to ease her father’s distress. She needed to be honest. “It’s been difficult, and as much as I tried to be invisible and keep to the dark corners of the library or your office, I think I’m ready for more. I just wish I knew what ‘more’ was.” She hitched a shoulder.
