Chapter Three
“I’ll meet you at the townhouse,” Dameer said, hopping out of the carriage. They had just come to a standstill outside of Willow House in London, where Dameer’s aunt Dalia lived with her husband.
“Tell your aunt I said hello,” Kalila said, heart thumping wildly in her chest. Dameer nodded at her, shutting the carriage door. Kalila felt the vehicle begin to move and allowed herself to relax for the first time in four days.
This was sheer insanity.
But what else could she do? If the walls surrounding the Society were too high for her to climb, she’d have to find another way around them.
She’d attend the lectures in disguise, convince Laurence Comerford to allow women into the Society, and ultimately have her work published under her own name.
And that was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
Simple. The only risk she ran was being completely ruined. Which, granted, was quite a large risk. But Kalila was clever. Whatever she lacked in beauty and charm was more than made up for by her bright mind.
Thirty minutes later, Kalila knocked at the door to a pretty townhouse. The entrance was promptly thrown open, and she was greeted by the sight of Caroline Southcott, her flaxen hair piled high atop her head in an untidy knot.
“Kalila!” she gasped, her face breaking into a wild grin. “Were we expecting you?”
“Not at all,” Kalila said. “I’m here because I intend to take on some rather risky business.”
“Well, you’ve piqued my interest. Come in.” Caroline stuck her head around the door frame. “No Dameer? I thought he’d be attached to your hip as always.”
Kalila giggled as she stepped into the entryway. “He’s at Willow House.”
“I expect we’ll see him soon, then,” Caroline said, moving aside to let the coachman pile Kalila’s luggage by the stairs. “Tell me about this business of yours.”
Kalila opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a delighted squeal. Amelia Southcott came hopping toward her, pulling Kalila into a powdery, perfumed hug.
“Caroline didn’t tell me we were expecting you!” she said, gulping for air. “What a perfectly wonderful surprise! Where’s Dameer?”
Kalila bit back a smile, knowing Amelia was asking for the same reason Caroline had.
Despite her cousin’s stammering and blushing, Amelia was completely oblivious to his obvious affection toward her.
She was usually caught in a daydream and was far too busy being away with the fairies to pay Dameer any mind.
Caroline was Amelia’s opposite, sharp as a knife and as rational and opinionated as anything.
Kalila and Dameer had met them over ten years ago when Khalid and Sami had made a business partner out of their father, Jacob Southcott.
That partnership had soon evolved into friendship, and the families had been closely entwined ever since.
“What happened to your leg?” Kalila asked, referring to Amelia’s wrapped ankle.
“Oh, I sprained it running down a hill.”
“Which is why we aren’t on holiday in France with your family,” Caroline added. “But back to the business you’re here on—”
“Business!” Amelia repeated. She took Kalila’s hands, pulling her awkwardly into the parlor. “Do tell us all about it!”
The three women distributed themselves across a series of armchairs, and Kalila found that she had a captive audience.
“Well,” she said, keeping her voice steady, “I mean to impersonate Dameer so that I might attend a series of lectures put on by the Society of Microscopic Biology.”
There, she’d said it. Now she’d have to go through with the thing, nerves be damned. Not that she had a choice, having written ahead to accept her place in the program. Two pairs of eyes stared at her in stunned silence. She swallowed audibly, prepared for a scolding.
Caroline spoke first. “What a clever idea.”
“Yes, but what if you’re caught?” Amelia asked, sounding thrilled by the prospect of such drama.
“She won’t be,” Caroline said. She gave Kalila a sympathetic nod. “Why should men have all the opportunities? Science is all the rage now, isn’t it? It would be ridiculous to expect us to sit it out.”
“Precisely,” Kalila agreed, relief coursing through her.
Still, she wished she could express that it was more than that, even.
That she loved science with her whole heart and soul.
That she would have found herself doing something drastic to push forward no matter what.
If it hadn’t been this, it would have been something else.
But she couldn’t even begin to articulate such a thing—it was impossible to put words to.
“But—” Amelia began.
Caroline interrupted her. “But nothing. Women have been doing brave things for centuries. Kalila is no exception.”
“I’d very much like to publish work under my own name,” Kalila said softly, sitting back in her chair. “And I think I might be able to convince Mr. Comerford—he runs the Society—to allow women to join.”
“How?” Amelia asked, voice tinged with wonder.
“I must simply make a case for it,” Kalila said, sounding more confident than she felt. “As a man, of course.” She turned to Caroline. “I wonder if I might take advantage of your sewing skills.”
“You’ve no need to ask.” Caroline stood with a great burst of energy. “Amelia, go fetch a pair of Papa’s trousers. Dark ones, if you please. And a white shirt.”
“Caroline—” Amelia attempted.
“And a waistcoat.” Caroline eyed Kalila. “Green, if he has it.”
Amelia disappeared from the room with a sigh, this time balancing on a single crutch. Caroline trailed after her, returning with a box of sewing supplies and an old crate.
“Won’t your father be upset at us mangling his clothing?” Kalila asked, taking a pair of trousers from a newly returned Amelia and beginning to fiddle with her bodice.
Caroline pulled the curtains over the windows. “I doubt he’ll notice.”
If Mr. Southcott hadn’t taken these clothing pieces with him to France, Kalila reasoned, then it was unlikely that he had any particular attachment to them. She hoped he didn’t, at least, because they were about to go missing from his closet in a rather permanent way.
“You know,” Amelia said, having perched herself on the edge of a chaise, “this might turn out to be a wildly romantic adventure, Kalila.”
“How do you imagine?” Kalila asked, stepping onto the upturned crate. Caroline went to work, pushing pins through the loose fabric.
“Lucky that you’ve no bosom to speak of,” Caroline said through a mouthful of pins.
“Indeed,” Kalila agreed dryly. She turned her head back to Amelia. “How could this turn out to be wildly romantic?”
“You’ll be surrounded by intelligent, well-read gentlemen,” Amelia said dreamily, dangling one leg off the edge of the chaise.
It was clear that she’d abandoned her previous attempt at being the voice of reason.
“And you’ll have the most intimate conversations—they’ll think you one of their own, you see—and, at the most inconvenient time, you will be revealed to one of them and he’ll fall immediately in love with you, fascinating creature that you are. ”
“The point is to not be revealed,” Caroline muttered, almost poking Kalila in the ribcage with a pin.
“Exactly,” Kalila said. “Still, it has the makings of a fine novel, Amelia. You should write it down.”
Because it certainly won’t be happening to the likes of me, she thought. Kalila was in London for scientific purposes. And besides, her last romance had ended in a poor and rather eye-opening fashion. She was in no hurry to relive any part of it.
“I should, shouldn’t I?” Amelia chirped, though everyone in the room knew full well she wouldn’t. “We really must find you a wig, Kalila.”
A maid stuck her head around the half-open door, her mouth dropping open at the sight of Kalila on the crate.
She quickly rearranged her face into the picture of perfect composure.
“A Mr. Dameer Rafiq has come to call, miss,” she said, and Kalila couldn’t tell if the quiver in her voice was due to shock or held back laughter.
“Do let him in,” Caroline said, actually poking Kalila in the side this time.
“Careful!” Kalila squeaked. Once the threat of the sharp end of Caroline’s needle had been thwarted, she paused to think on Amelia’s suggestion. “I didn’t think about a wig.”
“I can pop down to the wigmaker’s,” Amelia offered. “I’m sure he has no shortage of curly blond wigs.”
“What’s this about wigs?” Dameer asked, strolling into the room. The women froze, and Dameer’s eyes darted between Kalila, who was being fitted into a linen shirt, Caroline, who had a mouth full of pins, and Amelia, who had at least one of her ankles bared for all the world to see.
“Hello, Dameer,” Caroline said, a pin falling out of her mouth.
“Oh, no,” Dameer said. “No.”
“Oh, yes,” was Caroline’s calm reply. “Now be a dear and come hold this pincushion for me.”