Chapter Sixteen
A sigh of relief escaped Kalila’s lips as the landscape outside of the carriage became familiar once more.
The ride had been quiet and understandably so.
It didn’t take a scholar to recognize that the delectable kiss she had shared with Oliver had not had the intended effect on either of them.
The air in the small space they shared crackled with tension, and she had noticed a hungry desperation flicker across his face more than once.
It was enough to make her squirm.
But now that they were in London proper, she could escape to the townhouse, and—
“Rosewood?” she asked as the carriage rolled to a stop. “Why are we at Rosewood?”
He tilted his head in apparent confusion. “We have to dissect the fish.”
Oh, right. The fish.
They had managed to track down the carp after the storm, long expired on the bank of the lake.
Finding it had been a blessing, considering Kalila was quite sure she could not have handled another bout of fishing with Oliver so close by.
At present, it sat in a crate next to the coachman, waiting to be dissected.
Kalila drummed her fingers against her thighs in agitation.
It wasn’t as if they had discussed how to preserve the thing, and she couldn’t risk having it spoil.
And there was no scenario in which she would abandon this project, no matter how badly she wished to hide from the emotions that were invading her every sense.
You can do this. Men are not allowed to interfere with science, she reminded herself.
She nodded. “Fine.”
“Good,” he said, opening the door to the carriage. He stepped down and offered her his hand.
Kalila ignored it, hearing a quiet chuckle escape him as she hopped onto the pavement in front of Rosewood.
Accepting the crate from the coachman, they headed into the house.
Hughes greeted them at the door, his mouth falling open at the sight of Kalila’s natural hair, which had dried into a tangled mess.
“I take it fishing was a success,” he managed.
“Indeed,” Oliver said. “Might I introduce you to Miss Kalila Darwish?”
Hughes bowed. “Miss Darwish. A pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Kalila said. “But we’ve met before, sir.”
In a clear attempt to feign innocence, he asked, “Have we?”
“We have,” she confirmed flatly.
Hughes cleared his throat. “Of course.” He gestured to the tangled wig she held in her free hand. “Would you like me to take care of that, miss?”
Kalila handed it over. “I’m not sure it can be saved, but you’re welcome to try.”
“We’re off to the laboratory,” Oliver said, sounding unnervingly chipper. “To take care of the fish.”
“Of course.” Hughes moved out of the way. “Do let me know if you need anything.”
Nodding, Oliver led Kalila up the stairs and to their destination.
As he rummaged around for tools, Kalila lifted the fish out of the crate and placed it on the bench.
The usually well-lit room was painted with the colors of the sunset, and she found herself grateful for the electric bulb that sat nearby.
Taking the knife that was offered to her, she took a deep breath and made a sharp, precise cut into the fish.
Only for eggs to spill out.
Kalila gasped in delight, her awkwardness forgotten. “Eggs!”
“Eggs?” Oliver repeated, peering over her shoulder.
“This is perfect.” Kalila bent to examine them. “Comerford will never expect eggs.”
When Oliver did not respond, Kalila looked up to see that he had perched himself on a stool across from her and was staring at her with a lazy sort of smile on his face.
“What?” she demanded.
“You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met, Kalila Darwish,” he said, fondness plain in his voice. “Are you sure you aren’t for me?”
“Don’t tease,” she admonished, glad that the weak light hid her crimson cheeks. “And I am like every woman you have ever met. The only difference is that I was lucky enough to be well-loved, encouraged, and provided for. That alone has brought me here.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Oliver said, eyebrows raised in surprise at her response. “But I do think—”
A loud, terrifying pop interrupted him, sending the both of them flying away from the bench and onto the floor. A beat later, Kalila opened her eyes.
Her heart was still hammering in her chest when she spoke. “What in God’s name was that?”
Oliver clambered to his knees to assess the state of the bench. “The light bulb’s exploded.”
“Oh.” Kalila broke out in nervous laughter. “Thank goodness. It sounded like a gunshot.”
“I suppose we’ll be sticking to gas lamps a while yet,” Oliver remarked, coming to sit by her on the floor. “You didn’t get hit by any glass, did you?”
Kalila shook her head and leaned against the bench, waiting for her pulse to return to normal. “No.”
They drifted into silence, both of them focused on the sunset that was just visible through the window. As Kalila began to wonder why exactly her heart was still beating in an insistent rhythm, Oliver spoke.
“I want to thank you again for finding my microscope,” he said. “Nobody has ever done anything like that for me before.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t. You deserved to have it returned to you.”
“And the butterfly?”
“I would have taken it home no matter what. It’s hard for me not to feel sorry for unremarkable things.”
“I’d like to help you rewrite your paper,” he said, voice low. “If we can’t track it down, I mean. And only if you’ll allow it.”
“Are you angling for a second author credit, Booth?”
He chuckled. “I assure you, I am not. It’ll be all you.”
“But you’ve nothing to gain.”
“No. But I’d like to help you, because—because those theories of yours make you light up from the inside, Kalila. It’s one of the first things I noticed when we met at the university. It would be a shame if we let that spark of yours go out.”
You could love him. Isn’t that terrifying?
Kalila bit her lip, unsure how to respond. She had never in her life been spoken to like this. His tone was almost reverent and so sincere that it almost brought her to tears.
“The kiss didn’t work,” he said abruptly.
A sigh fell from her lips. “Yes, well.”
“Was it your first?” he asked. “Kiss, I mean.”
Unable to control herself, Kalila snorted. “Please. I’ve done far more than kiss.”
Oh, well done. Why not tell him the whole sordid tale?
Oliver brightened with incredible speed. “Is that so?”
Why not tell him the whole sordid tale? What harm would it do? The waning light was comfortable, and she so wanted to tell someone. She had held it inside her for so long, and there had never been the right time—or the right person to tell it to.
And, like she had told him in the shed, she was tired.
“Yes,” she whispered. “With Edward Morris.”
The story tumbled out of her in soft, sad tones.
She’d met Edward the summer of her nineteenth year.
He’d been twenty-two, visiting his grandparents from town.
Kalila had just received her first microscope for her birthday and had been desperate to excitedly and unabashedly share her knowledge with anyone who would listen.
Edward had always listened and with great patience.
“Catch of the village that summer, then,” Oliver said with a frown.
“I thought so,” Kalila murmured. “I thought myself so in love with him, so I did whatever he asked. I dressed and did my hair to his liking and gave my affections to him freely. Very freely. And I kept it all a secret, so it wasn’t as if anyone knew.”
“A secret?” Oliver repeated. “Why?”
Kalila shrugged. “It made everything all the more thrilling. I did plan on telling my family, once everything had been decided. But for all of Edward’s patience, he soon tired of me. He wanted to temper me, and I did my best to please him. But some things just can’t be tempered.”
Oliver sighed. “Kalila—”
“It’s fine,” she said, the words coming out harsher than she’d intended. “And tired or not, he did propose, eventually.”
“Oh?”
“But something he said—that he’d allow me time to practice microscopy once we were married—suddenly I was wide awake. I didn’t care a whit about the other things, but science was—is—everything. I couldn’t be—”
“Stifled,” Oliver said. “You said you didn’t want to be stifled. At Regent’s Park.”
He remembered.
“Precisely. Of course, he’d been stifling me all along. It was only once my work was threatened that I realized what he’d been doing.”
“So you turned him down,” Oliver said. “Clever girl.”
“I turned him down. And I swore I would never risk being stifled again. But it seems so often to come hand in hand with love, doesn’t it?
For women, I mean. Edward told me as much, that I would always be expected to choose between science and my role as a wife and mother.
It’s the one thing he told me that I cannot help but believe. ”
“But—do you want to fall in love?”
“I think I do, sometimes,” she admitted, vulnerability sitting heavy on her chest. “I sometimes wonder if I even know how. I am so distracted with my work now that it seems impossible I should allow myself to fall in love. Edward once told me that my passion for science was nothing short of alienating, and I—have you ever been that passionate about something?”
He stared at her for a long moment, gaze never wavering as something foreign to her ghosted across his face. “I think so.”
Kalila was struck by how different she felt now, sitting on the floor of Oliver’s laboratory. So much lighter, so much closer to the young woman she had lost all those years ago. So much more aware of what that young woman had needed.
“I cannot promise myself to anyone ever again,” she said, the declaration falling from her mouth before she could stop it. “It will always end with me being asked to choose, and I refuse to do that.”
“What if you weren’t asked to make any promises?” Oliver said, slow and measured. “What if you could see potential attachments through without any expectations? Would that be something you’d want?”