“The very best,” Arthur agreed. “Good night.”
Ophelia nodded again, blinking back the sudden tears in her eyes. At least she would no longer have to bear the expectation of Lord Fairport as she prepared herself for the Alps. That was a problem for September and no sooner.
*
Anything to keepthoughts of Ophelia at bay. Anything to keep him occupied so he wouldn’t crash into her house, find her, and ruin her life because he could. More details had arrived about the South American venture from RGS, after all applicants were interviewed.
More assaying of mountains, though no desire for his experience with making topographical measurements. There would be some venture into the interior, but not much, thank goodness. That green hell was home to bugs that laid eggs under the skin. Julian had seen these hatch out of a man’s elbow once, and that was enough to put him off the Amazon indefinitely.
RGS invited him to write an application essay, which occupied his days. Once he’d managed a decent draft, he went to the Society’s building to write out the final copy. He didn’t want any sort of chance that it could wind up wrinkled or smudged. After he had finished it and set it aside to dry, he turned to the provisions list. Any potential investor needed a reasonable estimate of what upfront costs were required to achieve this goal. In fact, his experience in this regard made him an excellent candidate.
Deep in concentration, he didn’t hear the steps behind him.
“Did you do this?” Fairport barked at Julian.
Julian’s head swiveled towards the doorway of the library. Fairport looked positively individualistic as he stood his ground. He seemed somehow taller than before, and if he were any other man, Julian might conclude he was perturbed by something. On Fairport, he seemed merely expressive.
“Do what?” Julian asked, sliding the papers covered in damp ink farther into the middle of the table to protect them.
“Miss Bridewell has postponed our wedding ceremony, and I ask you, is it at your bidding, sir?”
Julian stood, blocking line of sight to his papers, so no other intrepid adventurer might see his work and steal it for his own. He wanted this assignment. Heneededthis next assignment, for his sanity and his livelihood. Besides, there were only so many South American explorers who hadn’t any interest in rubber or the Amazon.
“I have no knowledge of Miss Bridewell’s motivations, nor have I spoken to her.” Much to his shame. He had not been able to bring himself to her doorstep since that fateful day. Instead of finding her on Bond Street and begging her forgiveness for turning in an article that was attributed to him, he hid inside RGS.
If all went well, he would leave London for another decade, have another life in South American. He would return to England to meet the young progeny of his friends once again. Except this time, he would be a proper old man. Englishmen had a tendency to age exponentially in South America, and while Julian escaped that the first go-round, he likely wouldn’t escape the second.
“All those months of negotiating,” Fairport moaned, trudging into the room, as if Julian’s innocence prompted a new conversation. “I thought it seemed odd, that she wanted to go with you. I understand you were her father’s friend, and thus, Paris was you watching after her and all that—”
Julian’s face almost flamed, but he kept a hold on himself. Paris had not been fatherly. His intent on meeting Ophelia there had nothing to do with keeping her safe, but rather with basking in her glow. In being unable to control the pull he felt towards her.
“So naturally I agreed to the terms of you accompanying her to Switzerland when I finally understood the dynamic.” Fairport dropped into the chair next to Julian’s, which obliged Julian to sit down as well.
Julian opened his mouth to protest that he wasn’t going to Switzerland with Ophelia. They hadn’t spoken in months now. There couldn’t be any doubt in her mind that he would not go with her. Could there? But she was quite stubborn. She might see it as his word of honor, and not understand that while men would do insane things to uphold their honor, breaking their heart willingly was often a bridge too far.
“But now she is insisting on putting off the wedding until she returns from that venture.” Fairport put his head in his hands. “It makes me think you aren’t a father figure. Are you or are you not?”
Julian opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure of how to proceed. No matter what he said, he would end up looking like an utter arsehole. Instead, he reached behind him and grabbed the hopefully dry papers. “I intend to be on my way to Argentina this summer, friend. I won’t be going to Switzerland.”
Fairport’s shoulders slumped in relief and he pushed the paperwork back in front of Julian, not bothering to look. “Oh, thank the Lord.”
Julian stared at the papers he’d written. The dates expected, the money he asked for to upkeep himself while away. The numbers jumped out at him. His boat left two weeks before prime climbing season. She would be there in the grassy Alps, her blond hair pinned back in braids, and he would be on a boat, buffeted by the smells of other passengers below deck and then the open sea above.
He didn’t like the emotion those images brought to the fore of his mind. But it couldn’t be helped. His chest was hollowed out; the excision of Ophelia from his heart had taken the rest of him with it. “I had no idea you were so attached to her.”
“Attached? I suppose I am,” Fairport said, musing. “She is a rather odd bird, but intelligent, and very pretty.”
Very prettylike the Matterhorn wasawfully tall.“If you aren’t in love with her, then why are you so anxious to secure this marriage?”
Fairport waved his hand. “Oh, you know how it is. Debts. Need a dowry and all that.”
Julian felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. Hadn’t part of Fairport’s allure been that he didn’t have any debts? Was that assumed because he was so excruciatingly boring that no one wanted to know his personal business? “Debts?”
“Mum has been on me to marry anyhow. Heirs and all that bit. Which is fine, I have no trouble there. Got one by accident some years back, but managed to keep that on the sly. Dear Mama has no idea about him.”
Julian was about to choke. Ophelia was going to marry this wobbling piece of blanc mange? Who had already fathered a bastard? He didn’t think Fairport had it in him, but apparently he was wrong. Did Ophelia know this? Did her brothers? Surely they wouldn’t put her in such a position, or sell her to a man who needed her money?
“And if I marry some untitled heiress, then everyone will know I have money troubles. But I needed to know how hard to fight for this. If it’s just her brother indulging her girlish fancies, then I’ve naught to worry. Say, I’ve a rather good tip on a horse. Whatever you’ve got, we can add to mine, and you can have a cut of the winnings.”
But then, who was he to say? He listened to Fairport prattle on about horses and lineages, and which place was more secure to lay bets at. Was this what Ophelia would spend the rest of her evenings listening to? She was so much smarter than Fairport, so much more interesting. To pair such a flower with this drab shrubbery seemed inhumane.
Did her family know about the mistress and his bastard already? Did Ophelia? No, this was not his business. Not his at all. But surely, he should go visit her and feel it out, shouldn’t he? A woman should not enter into such a situation without knowing she already had competition. Delphine had taught him that.
