“This one seems to be important,” Nicholas said, turning as if he might peer over Julian’s shoulder to read it as well.
Julian thanked him for the prompt notification and headed up to his rooms to read it in private. It was the formal, expected offer from Lords Bordsterth and Costovin for the Argentinian silver expedition. They included a ticket for the ship sailing on June 15th, and information on lodging arrangements upon arrival.
It was all set. His life could continue on, as if there had been no bump. No change. As if the man who’d returned from South America and the one that existed now were the same.
He wished for his mentor again. The only man he would have been able to speak with about such a difficulty. Who could he turn to now? None of his acquaintances here would be discreet enough, and there was no one who could be discreet enough that wouldn’t immediately side with Ophelia out of principle.
But he was nearly forty. It was time for him to grow up, think for himself. He didn’t need a sounding board to do what was right. For months he had dodged the responsibilities of an honorable man. He would start with what he could fix.
*
“This is sopretty!” Ophelia said, again, and again, and again, as Justine walked her around Augsburg’s squares. There were fountains in almost every single one, and it made the burgeoning spring weather all the more pleasant. There were many people sitting on benches reading, which seemed to be an excellent way to spend an afternoon. The sunshine on one’s face, a good book, the sound of a burbling fountain to add to the pastoral yet urban scene.
Justine’s expression was almost dreamy. “The only thing missing in Augsburg is you.”
Ophelia pulled her elbow tighter, which pressed Justine in close. “London is lost without you.”
Justine snorted. “You mean bored. What do they talk about now that they can’t talk about me?”
“They are bereft,” Ophelia said with mock mourning.
“They are vultures. But no matter. I am having my revenge—perfectly married and perfectly respectable as a merchant’s wife.”
It was Ophelia’s turn to snort.Merchantwas technically true, but it didn’t encompass her friend’s large house with intricate architectural details that she was still noticing upon third and fourth looks. While nothing they wore or displayed was opulent, Ophelia knew well the difference between average cloth and exceptional craftsmanship. Justine’s dresses were modest, as befitting her status as a married woman, but there were of the best quality. Seams so small they were invisible.
Inside her home, everything was polished and tidy. There was not a fraying cushion or deflated pillow. The art was nicely framed and not too crowded on the walls, giving the entire house a bigger feel. Not that it needed to feel bigger when it was already more than ample. Their dinners were excellent, and the pastries were to Justine’s exacting palate: not too sweet. Ophelia could eat apfelkuchen every meal and be happy.
“Karl is too busy for us this evening. The big market is happening next month and he and his father are frenzied,” Justine said, moving them along past the Augustus fountain.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Ophelia said. She’d met Karl’s father, a lovely man who looked very much like his son, only not quite as tall, and half as broad. While Karl looked like a mountain guide, which he’d been when they’d met him, his father looked precisely like what he was: a prosperous merchant.
She wondered what Julian would think of Augsburg. Would he have insights about the fountains or the architecture? Would he know of the mythologies of Mercury and Hercules? Ophelia pushed the idea away. In front of her and Justine walked a man and a woman, arm in arm. They were easy and familiar in their movements, comfortable in a way that made Ophelia believe they were married.
That sucking sensation in her chest started again. The hollowed-out feeling that she had fought so hard against, that only helping Lady Emily through her labors had cured. That the primal arrival of life made insignificant. The only thing that could keep her feelings at bay was that balance.
The need to walk up a mountain sang through her blood. She needed the Matterhorn to fix her broken heart. Even if the man who had broken it was right alongside her, matching her step for step, it didn’t matter. So much of mountaineering was pushing until there was nothing left but one’s own pulse of life against the uncaring monolith of stone.
She’d sent a footman with her missive to his place of residence, hoping to receive a note in return, but when her man returned, he said that Sir Julian was gone to Wales for an extended venture with no forwarding address. So she waited to reach him, hoping for a note, or for him to show up during calling hours. But that didn’t happen. She put off leaving as long as she could, still stupidly waiting, believing that he would come.
But he didn’t. The hope that had buoyed her for those weeks popped, as insubstantial as a soap bubble. So she’d written the most professional letter she could manage, because she was beginning to suspect he didn’t want to climb the Matterhorn with her.
She didn’t doubt his willingness or desire to climb the mountain. The part that was making the trip untenable for him was her. And that hurt so much. Much more than she believed possible. The hurt generated that sucking maw in her chest. The one that whispered how unlovable she was along with every beat of her heart.
Ophelia clung to Justine, pushing those whispers down and away. Justine loved her. And that would have to be enough. But could it sustain her from now until eternity? She shuddered.
Justine glanced over with concern and pulled her close. “I’m always here. I will kick Karl out of his own house if that will make you happy.”
Tears clouded Ophelia’s eyes. Why did it hurt more to have someone love her? “No need. But thank you.”
“You’re first. He’s second.” They walked together, skirts swaying in time. “A distant second.”
Ophelia laughed, and it allowed her to pretend the tear escaping was from joy.
*
Julian kept himselfas busy as he could. Planning, writing a new article, taking in all of London because he planned on never returning. He went to the opera, to plays, to chamber music. He walked along the Serpentine, and visited the British Museum. It was on one of his walks in Hyde Park that he ran into Delphine.
She was on horseback, a groom on a horse behind her. Julian raised his hand in greeting, using the movement to sweep his hat off in a gallant bow. The smile that spread across her face was genuine. Julian returned his hat to its perch on his head and waited for her to halt her horse.
