Chapter Eighteen
“Justine!” Ophelia called.
“I believe that is my cue,” Julian murmured, his hand slipping around Ophelia’s waist for a brief moment.
She looked him in the eye, in love with him, the mountain, the world. And his dark eyes mirrored her emotions, understanding what it was for her to stand here, and why she needed Justine at her side, too.
He stepped off the summit, ushering Justine to join her.
Justine immediately turned in a circle, while Ophelia guarded her with her arms, hoping she wouldn’t step off the edge. But then Justine threw her arms around Ophelia. “We did it,” she whispered. “Oh, Fee, this is amazing.”
Ophelia wrapped her arms around her friend in return. “We did it,” she repeated, the years of work and effort, the fundraising, the excursions, the hardship. It culminated here. They were at the top.
“I wish Prudence and Eleanor were here,” Justine sniffed.
“Me too,” Ophelia said, happy to let the sun blind her eyes for longer. It would have been quite a triumph for all four of them to be up here, but she understood. Prudence had never had the bug the way the rest of them did. And Eleanor was starting her family—something she hadn’t believed she would ever do. They had priorities that came before this mountain, while Ophelia didn’t.
After a few more minutes of embracing Justine at the summit of the Matterhorn, wishing for her mother, her brother, her friends, and her father most of all, Ophelia was ready to face the next challenge. Justine wanted a few more moments at the top, so Ophelia stepped away carefully to let Karl join her.
Ophelia stepped down and into Julian’s arms. She felt as if she could die right then and be content with her accomplishments. Not that she wanted to, but her goals had been achieved. She had published an article in a prestigious journal, and she had summited the lethal Matterhorn. To add to the incredibility of it all, she was in love.
Since Justine and Karl’s backs were turned, Ophelia dared to lift her face to Julian’s. She studied his dark eyes, suddenly certain that his love was no false play, no vanity, no push for money or status. “Would you kiss me?” she whispered.
He grinned and leaned down, stopping his mouth mere millimeters from hers. “Are you certain?”
She gave him a look of utter impatience and made up the distance herself. Both of their faces were cold, while the sensation was pleasant, there was not enough feeling in her lips to kiss him properly. “I think we should marry.”
*
Julian coughed insurprise. Right then, Karl and Justine stepped off the summit, cutting short their conversation. But Ophelia didn’t seem to care if they knew, so she looked at Julian expectantly.
“Do we need to, er,” Julian coughed again. “Isn’t there someone we have to talk to?”
She looked around, and seeing only their four-person expedition, she asked, “Who would we talk to?”
Julian’s eyes widened. “Your brother? A lawyer? The Queen? You are a viscount’s daughter. I don’t know what the protocol is.”
Ophelia waved her hand. “I’m sure it’s fine. We’ll figure it out.”
“But—Lord Fairport—” Julian couldn’t believe he was actually saying the man’s name. That awful, money-grubbing liar.
Ophelia made a face that made it clear she felt the same way. “Never liked him very much. Shall we start down?”
Julian blinked. Was the matter settled? His protests were merely ones of protocol. He didn’t want to entangle her in a family squabble that could have been avoided if they’d exercised patience.
The others were already picking their way down as he stood there, thinking.
“Coming?” Justine called back over her shoulder.
Julian obeyed the summons and started down as well. Down climbing was clearly far more difficult and exhausting than the ascent. They made it through the fog of clouds, as if they were descending back down to earth. It was easy to see how deaths occurred as they skidded down the scree fields and bands of snow. Julian held his breath watching Ophelia take the large steps that sunk into the soft scree pebbles. He didn’t understand how she wasn’t terrified.
The ground stretched out below them for miles, and the sense of gravity was far more intense, pulling and gripping them. He’d never had these thoughts before—something about his feelings for Ophelia had awakened him to the dangers of the mountains. But she acquitted herself nimbly.
They came around boulders, the snowy expanse that had taken the lives of the four men on the Whymper expedition. Julian’s left foot slipped.
Perhaps he was too busy looking over the cliff. Perhaps the noon sun had gotten in his eyes. Or melted the snow.
He scrambled to regain balance, leaning back only to land hard on his arse. Before he could even register the pain of the landing, he had already slid past Ophelia, whose eyes widened as she saw him falling.
