“What’s wrong?” her mother demanded, looking from Ophelia to Arthur.
Arthur gently removed the volume from Ophelia’s grasp. He tsked. “It looks as if this has been credited to Sir Julian Dunstan.”
“He took it,” Ophelia said. “I didn’t think he would do that. But he did.”
Ophelia was hardly the first to pen an academic article and have a man take credit for it. In the small world of academic and unusual women in London, this was a common worry. Some pre-emptively made arrangements with brothers or friends to take the credit while giving the proceeds to the women behind the work. Others took on male pseudonyms if their families were not well known. And others, like Ophelia, naively believed that the protection of the name Anonymous would be enough.
If she couldn’t be the first woman to climb the Matterhorn—indeed, if she could summit this coming summer, she would be the third—she hoped to have an article in the most prestigious journal in the world. And now, Julian had taken it from her. At least on a mountain, it was weather that turned a party around. It was outside forces that thwarted the attempts. But here, it was a man. A man she had trusted.
And a man who had let her down for a second time. That pit yawned inside of her again. Had his month-long silence been his sign that he would not be going with her to Switzerland? That in addition to leaving her in the lurch with his assurances of RGS funding for the expedition, he was also stealing her work? How could he do this? How had things spun out of control so quickly?
“Please excuse me,” Ophelia said, standing.
“Do you want—?” Arthur spun around to hand Ophelia the blue Royal Geographical Society journal.
“I want nothing,” Ophelia said, leaving the room.
She heard them whispering behind her, but she did not care. Nothing mattered anymore.
*
“You must retractthis edition,” Julian argued with Mr. Murray at the press.
“I’ll not retract an entire print run. How did you not catch this when you spoke with Bates?”
“I did, and I insisted that the article be attributed to Anonymous,” Julian insisted. He ran his hand through his hair. He couldn’t imagine what kind of pain this would cause Ophelia. It made him ill thinking she might believe he did this on purpose. He would never take another’s work. Never. Hers especially. He knew how much this meant to her.
“I asked Bates if all was in order, and he assured me it was. If there is anything to be done, take it up with him. Good day, sir.” Murray dismissed him.
Julian shrugged on his overcoat and slammed on his hat. Damn him. He’d walk over to the RGS and hope that Bates was there. As the assistant secretary, he did all of the actual work. The secretary, as the other main positions in the Society, was maintained by only those who were of aristocratic birth and therefore had no actual tasks to complete. The assistants were men of lower birth who did the work that made the Society run.
So fine. Out in the January slog of London he went. At least he’d warned Rascomb, that was something. If the man could keep his inquisitive sister at bay, that would be a small boon. The pain Julian felt was almost visceral. More than anything, he wanted to go to her, hold her and tell her he’d tried. That he was doing his best to rectify the situation, and that he would make it right.
Make it right, make it better. If only he could. He had been a cad of the absolute first order. If he hadn’t, she would be entering marital negotiations with him, and not that milquetoast Fairport. At least, that’s what the gossips had said when he went in for a round of cards at White’s—at a member’s invitation, of course. He didn’t have the money to belong to a gentleman’s club of any stripe. But who was he to say no to free drinks and companionship to occupy his mind?
He’d even grown so desperate as to think Delphine might help him. He didn’t want to rekindle their relationship, but he’d thought that she might give him a perspective on what he could have done differently with Ophelia. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that was an utterly foolish idea. Delphine couldn’t stand competition—she’d said so herself.
The one good thing was that his mind was so obsessed with thoughts of Ophelia that walking in the cold winter of London, he didn’t even register the icy wind. When he finally arrived at RGS, he was able to catch Bates.
“We can’t retract!” Bates said, after Julian explained the predicament and his solution. “And we can’t publish Anonymous. It’s not what the Royal Geographical Society does. After all, how can we verify that the account written is fact if we don’t have a name?”
“I would be happy to vouch for its veracity,” Julian said.
“But that isn’t the draw, you see. We need to see the explorer, that’s what compels our readers.” Bates walked down the hallway, leaving Julian to chase him down.
“I understand, but the way it stands, I’m given credit for something I haven’t done. I’ve never climbed Ben Nevis.”
Bates turned and narrowed his eyes. “Do you remember where you stand, sir? There is a great deal of work being done by men whose minds are sharper and quicker than our figureheads. That is the way it is done.”
“But—” Julian felt his arguments losing ground, but he couldn’t give up yet. Picturing Ophelia’s crestfallen expression killed him.
“It is done, sir,” Bates said, his tone brooking no more protestations.
Julian sighed and sagged against the wall as Bates left him. There was nothing to do. If he told them Ophelia wrote it, the article would be pulled and he would definitely be blackmarked for knowingly submitting it. He pushed a knuckle into his eye where a headache had been lingering all day.
This was beyond the pale. There was nothing to do but call on Ophelia tomorrow and beg her forgiveness. The very idea made his bowels go watery. He didn’t want to face her, but he also longed to see her. How could she evoke both emotions in him?
Because he’d known better than to touch her and yet he had done so gleefully and with abandon. And again. And again the morning after. Had she been amenable to visiting him the next night, he would have just as happily bedded her then. Not because it was a release for himself, but because it washer. Because of all the ways he already missed her. That cleverness and unexpected wit. Her teasing charm and easy smile. The way she made him feel that the ten years he spent in South America were not just unique but worthwhile. That she actuallyenviedhim such an adventure.
