If Julian hadnot seen the birth announcement a day later, he might have thought he was being put off. Ophelia had not been available for his visit, and while a footman only said she was unavailable due to a family matter, the wide-eyed shuffling of him made it clear that something unusual was happening.
And now there was a baby girl to celebrate. Lady Agatha. Julian smiled. He liked babies. And mostly, he liked making faces at them and watching them gurgle applause. Their guileless trust in him was pure. Sometimes it was humbling, when he took in the wider ramifications of life: him being an Englishman, and many of the babies he held being several shades darker than he. His countrymen were tearing up the South American continent, and he didn’t know how to stop it. So he climbed his mountains and held babies and gave medicines and gems he’d come across during his surveys. He did what he could do on the small scale.
Perhaps he could try again to visit Ophelia in a few days’ time. Tell her what he knew about Fairport’s money needs, and be firm about not going to Switzerland with her. He’d gotten a note back from the grant team. They liked his proposal and it was down to him and one other explorer.
In fact, they’d invited both of them to a dinner, which would help determine the fate of the expedition. Julian certainly didn’t like the idea of breaking bread with his competitor, but it was likely one of those “gentlemanly” things that were expected of men in London, and so he would do it.
He wrote a letter in return, carefully accepting the dinner invitation and inquiring as to the date and time. And now he was obliged to wait. Wait for spring, wait for Ophelia, wait for his future. Which was dreadfully uncomfortable to him, and typically he walked when he was uncomfortable. So he donned his hat and muffler and went out. There was no mountain to climb, but there were steps, and that was a start.
*
Ophelia slept. Shebathed late at night, after the baby was born. And then, given the luxurious nature of being a single woman with no responsibilities or debts, she kept on sleeping. There were a few moments where she awoke, a maid creeping in and out, but she turned over and closed her eyes and oblivion was once again there to meet her.
At one point, there was a tray at her bedside, but she ignored that, too. When she woke next, it was gone. Finally, it became too difficult to fall into that wonderfully safe velvet dreamscape, and she was awake. But it had been so cozy to be in her big bed, the world bustling about and giving her no reason to move about in it.
She rose from her bed and peeked out a curtain to find the world was still dark. The house sounded silent, so it must have been the early morning. Ophelia pulled on her dressing gown and padded downstairs. Rarely was this house entirely silent. The servants, her mother, Arthur, Lady Emily, someone was always about. Looking at the grandfather clock in the hall, she realized the maids would be up soon to light fires and begin breakfasts.
If she had been a child, all the immense dark quiet might have scared her. But now, it had a calming and soothing effect, especially after the birth of baby Agatha. Lady Emily had joked that her middle name ought to be “Ceylon” after the tea she drank to induce labor. Ophelia didn’t think it was actually the tea. It was probably just time. She’d never been much for superstitions and seeing coincidences as causality. But she understood the impulse.
Sailing through these dark, exquisite rooms gave Ophelia a new appreciation for her life. The casual opulence that decorated every thought and opinion, regardless of if she wanted it to or not. And how that would change whenever she moved to a new household. At Lord Fairport’s, she would live with the dowager countess Fairport, who would not appreciate any of Ophelia’s desires to rearrange the house. Not that Ophelia had many opinions in the way of interior decorating.
She ran a hand over the smooth, well-polished surface of the walnut entry-table. A marble top had been added when she was a child, following an accident where she and Tristan had wrestled in this very room, knocking over a few lit candlesticks. Unable to properly get the burns out of the finish, a cut of marble was added as a surface. The solution to any problem here was to throw money at it.
Being a woman, once she married, she would lose all access to her money. She would not be in a position like her mother, she didn’t think. While the Fairports seemed to have plenty, Ophelia would have to spend years ingratiating herself to her mother-in-law and husband for the kind of freedom Lady Rascomb had. And ingratiation was not something Ophelia was terribly good at.
No, she’d never wanted to be the fine lady, as Portia was, as Lady Emily was inherently. Ophelia could ape the moves easily, and had been primed for it, watching her mother. But where Ophelia was most happy was on an expedition. The planning, the anticipation, even the gathering of supplies and writing of confirmation letters, she adored it. Being in the location, the mountains or the hills below the peak, checking with local guides and seeing to proper nutrition for their health, it was invigorating.
But on the day of the climb, carrying the weight of the pack on her back, sleeping on the ground the night before, pushing herself to the very limits of what she thought she could endure, that was her favorite. The cold bite of mountain air on her cheeks, the wind threading icy fingers through her hair, the sweat that accumulated under her arms or in the crooks of her knees.
It was March now, the time they’d left for Zermatt two years ago. Karl said much had changed in the past two years—more hotels had cropped up, and more tourists wandered the hills, getting into trouble.
Suddenly, Ophelia knew what she would do. Instead of moping about London, waiting for time to pass, she would visit Justine in Augsburg, and then head to Switzerland early. She had letters to write this morning, warning ahead of her visits. And also to Herr and Frau Brunner, Karl’s uncle and aunt who owned the inn they’d stayed in two years prior.
Of course, that meant writing to Julian. Her stomach sank at the feeling. Julian. She both wanted him with her at all times and recoiled from how desperate he made her feel. How unworthy and unwanted. She doubted that had been his intention, but he made her feel that way all the same. Still, she squared her shoulders. He had promised to climb the Matterhorn. The expedition included him, as he’d never formally backed out.
She could be professional and bring him along on an expedition without it causing undo pain. Probably. She could at least pretend it didn’t cause pain, and that was enough.
Light crept through pulled curtains, and the tiptoes of maids sounded as loud as the slamming of books during daylight hours. Ophelia returned to her room to dress quickly, and then went to the drawing room to begin her letters. The room was cold, but Ophelia didn’t care much. She had a thousand things to do, and she wanted to do all of them right now.
As she pulled her writing desk onto her lap, she noticed a note, folded over, with her name on it. She opened it, her heart stopping when she realized it was from Julian. He had stopped by to call upon her and her mother, but she’d been indisposed, helping to bring baby Agatha into the world.
It made her heart lighten, to know that he was still thinking of her, just as she thought of him. She wondered if he thought of her in the same ways. The times when she sighed next to a rainy window, but also the times at night, alone in her room, the ache between her legs pulsing in want.
She could not very well go traipsing over to his flat, but she wrote a note to him, asking him to please come again. It would be easier to update him and get all the details she needed for the Matterhorn trip in person.
The letter to Justine from several days prior was not finished, so she put a fresh date mid-letter and continued on with a recounting of baby Agatha’s birth and her intentions to join her in Augsburg by the end of the month. From there, she would continue on to Zermatt as soon as she heard from Herr Brunner that the inn was opened.
As she folded her letters, a new calm overcame her. This was right. She inhaled a fresh breath, new as the day, new as a just-born babe.
