Her fingers tingled with the frustration of the conversation, its words opening an old wound, one she wished would heal but that nevertheless stubbornly remained. With a straightening of her shoulders, she returned to her father’s office. “Papa, this was left behind…” She placed the parchment on the desk and hesitated as he studied her. “Yes?”
“I’m proud of you. You stood up for yourself.” He nodded once, removed his spectacles, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I think…I’ve gotten used to it. And I shouldn’t have but seeing you today…unafraid as you rose to the challenge a peer of therealm laid before you with rhetoric, I realized my error.”
Elizabeth frowned. “What error, Papa? If anything, you’ve allowed me license that other women can only dream about, and for that I’m deeply thankful.”
He waved her off. “No, that too often you try to be invisible, and you, my dear, were meant to be seen…and heard. I’m sorry that I can’t give that to you, in this place.” He took a deep breath. “But selfishly, I am glad you do it, so that you may remain for at least a little while longer. You’re a far better researcher than any other students.” He gave a soft chuckle.
“Papa?” Elizabeth questioned, taking a small step toward the desk. “What do you mean, a little while longer?”
Her father’s expression furrowed. “Surely you understand.” His tone took on professorial phrasing as he regarded her. “You are of age, and soon, likely very soon, you’ll need more than these dusty books and halls in your life. You need more than your bees. You’ll want a family, won’t you? You’re not going to find one here, or perhaps you will, but that would be a scandal all its own, which I know you wish to avoid.” He sighed. “Life happens in seasons, my dear, and you’re in a shifting. Surely I’m only telling you what you already know.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, paused, and regarded her as if questioning if she truly did understand.
Elizabeth’s chest tightened, squeezing the air in her lungs as she replayed her father’s words. She forced her thoughts to take a logical route, rather than being ruled by an emotional response, and she considered what he’d said. Logically, there was nothing wrong with his statement. It was a linear thought, however emotionally she resisted it with every fiber of her being.
“Ah…” Her father nodded once.
How she hated when he got that expression on his face, the one that meant he was about to say something annoyingly accurate. She braced herself.
“Humanity…we hate change. Do we not? Still we are constantly forced to embrace it. So, while you resist any sort of change, my dear, remember that it’s our destiny. And a delightful thing happens—we grow.” He turned back to his research, signaling that the conversation was finished.
She opened her mouth, then closed it. What could she say? He was right. A bloody irritating truth of having a father who was a renowned philosophy professor—hard truths and all.
With a sigh, she turned on her heel and left the office. Rather than take the regular route back to the library, she paused and glanced out the window. Normally when she wanted to think through a dilemma, she’d sequester herself in a forgotten alcove, but she needed air. More air than the library held for her, so with a determined step, sheadvanced into the bright sunshine. And wondered if maybe her father was more correct than she originally thought.
Change.
Maybe Cambridge had become more than her sanctuary. Maybe it had also become her prison. The place where she was constantly reminded that what she wanted was out of reach. Maybe she wanted more…needed more than that. With a sigh, she headed for the nearest bridge over the River Cam and decided that a walk was what was needed to get her thoughts in order.
If there ever was such a thing.
The bridge led into a small marketplace in the village of Cambridge. The scent of scones lured her to a small tea shop owned by the family of one of her students. As she walked into the shop, she was welcomed by a friendly smile from the man behind the counter.
“Good afternoon, Miss Essex.”
Elizabeth greeted her student’s father, Mr. Smith, with a warm smile. “A good afternoon it is indeed. But I must say I do think it can be improved further with a spot of tea and one of your wife’s scones.”
“Clotted cream?” he asked.
“Always,” Elizabeth answered as she held out her coins.
“It’ll be out directly, miss.”
Elizabeth turned to the nearly empty shop andtook a place near the window, then stood, frowned, and took one of the few seats outside instead. The warm breeze of the autumn air swirled around her skirts, lifting them faintly as if teasing her with its antics. She watched the people as they milled about the village marketplace, her attention hesitating at the shire house—the local courthouse—as a familiar face paused before the door and entered into it.
It took her just a moment, but recollection hit her with understanding as she immediately recognized him—Lord Penderdale. Odd, why would he be visiting the local magistrate and watchman facility?
An impish thought brought a smile to her face as she considered that perhaps he was paying off a debt to society in some form or another due to his mischievous ways.
“Tea, scone, and clotted cream.” The man set the dishes on the small table beside her and left with a quick bow.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth called out, then lifted the teacup, her eyes flickering back to the office, determined to sit a while and wait. Sometimes patience paid off, and she hoped her curiosity would be satisfied a little as she took a sip of the hot liquid in her cup.
She had eaten nearly half her scone when the person in question emerged from the shire house. She didn’t know him well, but his expression warnedthat whatever he’d sought hadn’t been found, or he’d been dealt additional consequences for whatever action had him visiting the magistrate in the first place. As if sensing her evaluation of him, his eyes met hers, and his frustration melted into a colder expression as he crossed the street toward her.
“Ah, we meet again, Miss Essex.” He bowed and studied her with a calculating expression.
“Lord Penderdale.” She nodded, unsure how to continue. Perhaps he’d just leave.
As luck would have it, he didn’t, instead pulling out the chair opposite to her. However, before he could sit, the shopkeeper came out.
