Chapter Three
He’d made thepapers. Not for his insightful articles, not for his triumph or a topographical map. Not even for his excellent dancing. The scandal sheets loved hisshoulders. It was embarrassing. Nicholas had brought up the papers specifically to call Julian’s attention to it.
“I think it’s a rather good thing,” Nicholas protested when Julian showed his dismay.
“Of all my accomplishments, it is my shoulders upon which my value sits?” Julian huffed.
“I think it’s nice anyone notices you at all,” Nicholas said, his face screwed up into a doubtful frown.
“Thank you, Nicholas, for your ringing endorsement.” Julian pulled on his waistcoat. He wished he were pulling on his hobnailed boots instead, setting up another isolated slope with his equipment.
“I only meant that some of us never get mentioned at all,” Nicholas said, handing him his jacket.
Julian accepted the apology and allowed the man to take a brush to his jacket. Today he was attending a lecture by another explorer about his venture into the Amazon jungle itself. He was curious how the man had fared, given his own experiences dallying around the edges. It was so unlike anywhere else in the world, he couldn’t imagine how to accurately prepare for a sojourn such as that.
And given the death toll of the expeditions that disappeared into the green hell, as it was named by adventurers, Julian had no interest in that sort of exploration. After the morning lecture, he would stop by the Rascomb house to convey his impressions to Lady Rascomb and Miss Ophelia. They were not invited to attend these talks, as the RGS did not extend membership to women. Another grievous oversight by the men in charge.
When he first returned to London, his visits to the ladies were purely out of a sense of duty and mourning of his mentor and friend. Now, though, he and the Rascomb set seemed to circulate amongst the same people, and he found himself encountering them at dinners and parties and other sorts of soirees. It was always a great excuse and pleasure to dance with Ophelia or dote on Lady Rascomb. Few debutante mamas were interested in pursuing him given his meager pockets, but a great many widows of all ages were happy to listen to his stories. He’d been summoned to dinners that he thought were parties, only to arrive and find a tete-a-tete was arranged.
If he were a younger man, he might not have minded, but now he found that he didn’t care for those, as it made him feel as this whole shoulders business did. As if he were an exotic prize, or a notch on a merry widow’s bedpost. He supposed this was how actresses and opera dancers felt. Not that he’d ever engaged with one of those. He slurped down the last bit of tea and stuffed the last bit of crust from his buttered toast in his mouth and headed out. He hated to be late, and yet he was chronically so.
As he was about to enter the lecture hall, he was approached by Lord Fairport. The tall, bland man now only existed in his mind as the one who had first asked Miss Ophelia to dance. It was almost as if even while speaking, the man blended into the background noise of faceless Englishmen.
“You seem to be good friends with Lord Rascomb,” the man said after giving a polite and equally forgettable greeting.
“I was,” Julian said, thinking of his mentor. “And I visit his family regularly.”
Fairport blinked. “Ah yes, the former Lord Rascomb, you mean. Yes, I am more friends with the current one.”
Fair point to Fairport, Julian thought. He waited as the other man collected his thoughts. Other RGS members started to gather, passing them as they entered the small lecture hall.
“I suppose I mean to say, do you think Miss Ophelia would be open to being courted? I know she makes no effort on the marriage mart, and I know about her failed expedition that killed her father, which is quite the odd thing. But if I made a suit, would she be receptive, do you think?”
Julian frowned. Fairport seemed to imply that Miss Ophelia was responsible for the death of her father, which could not be correct. She had not yet confided in him the specifics of the mission, but it didn’t seem appropriate to press for details. Fairport must be incorrect or have heard the worst of the gossip and believed it.
Aside from his obviously erroneous assumptions, the man seemed far too uninteresting to think of marriage with Ophelia Bridewell. He was only a bit older than Miss Ophelia, surely younger than Julian himself, who would be better suited to courting Lady Rascomb than Miss Ophelia. He’d known her as a child after all, and that didn’t sit well with his sense of decorum.
But this man? “I am not certain,” Julian confessed. “She has been deep in mourning for her father. If you wish, I could bring up the subject to her, in a gentlemanly manner, of course. I mean to call upon them today after the lecture.”
“Should I accompany you?” Fairport asked, his face open in milky hope.
“No,” Julian answered sharply. “That is, if she were to decline, it would be most awkward. They have asked me to convey the proceedings of this lecture to them. They are very curious.”
“Curious!” Fairport laughed, as if Julian had made a pun, that the women were both of curious minds and possessed of a curious—meaning odd—spirit. “Curious but beautiful.”
Damn the English language, that’s not what he had meant. A man like this would never have made it in South America. Never would have made it out of port. He used the filling seats of the lecture hall to make his escape. “Looks to be starting. Shall we?”
“Ah yes, right, right. I’m interested to hear about the cannibals of the deepest jungle.” Fairport moved in front of Julian.
This was precisely what he hated about the RGS. Instead of having open curiosity, Fairport had already digested the fictional and sensationalist accounts of the region. And Julian sincerely doubted that these men had reached the deepest jungle, for the Amazon was deep enough to swallow hundreds of Englishmen whole. There were entire expeditions that disappeared without a trace.
*
“And then?” Opheliawas so far on the edge of her seat, she might fall off. But Sir Julian’s stories were so riveting, it was worth a bruised bum.
He laughed, pleasure so evident in his handsome face. “Then I dug a snow cave on the side of the mountain and hoped I wouldn’t freeze to death.”
She shook her head in amazement, both impressed and envious. “That sounds incredible. I would love to do that someday.”
