Chapter Twenty-Five
The silence in the parlor of the Southcott townhouse was, in Kalila’s opinion, of a rather bewildered nature. Dameer stood by the window, absorbed in thought, while Amelia and Caroline sat on a nearby chaise in uncharacteristic silence.
And Oliver—well, Oliver was at Kalila’s side, as he always seemed to be.
For her part, Kalila was quite giddy. Jennings had been punched in his smarmy face, everyone who had been in the great hall now knew who her research belonged to, and her paper was back in her possession.
Had she mentioned that Jennings had been punched in the face?
“Well, Kalila,” Caroline said, “I think it’s fair to assume that you’ve left the scientific community a bit shaken.”
“I can’t believe I was right,” Amelia crowed.
“Right?” Dameer echoed. “Right about what?”
Amelia propped her chin in her hands with a dreamy air. “I predicted that Kalila’s true identity would be revealed to a man who would fall desperately in love with her.”
“That may be true,” Dameer conceded, “but it’s only a minor detail.”
Amelia straightened. “Minor? It’s the most important part of the story!”
“And not worth arguing over,” Kalila interrupted. “I don’t think—”
“I’m inclined to agree with Miss Southcott,” Oliver put in with a cheeky grin. “It is the most important part of the story.”
Amelia clapped her hands together in triumph. “See?”
“As I was saying,” Kalila said, “I don’t think there’s much more we can do tonight.”
Caroline nodded. “I agree. I think everyone could use a good night’s sleep. You’re welcome to stay here if you’d like, Mr. Booth.”
“I couldn’t,” Oliver said. “In fact, I suspect I’m expected back at Rosewood.”
“You are?” Kalila asked, disappointed despite herself.
He nodded, clearly unwilling to elaborate further. “I should, however, like to do one thing before I leave.”
Caroline stood and began to smooth her skirt down. “Which is?”
“I’d like to speak to Kalila. Alone.”
Kalila’s heart dropped to her stomach. She knew what Oliver wanted to discuss, and while she was finally ready to—
She’d imagined having a bit more time.
No more hiding, she reminded herself. It’s time to choose.
“Of course.” Caroline shooed Amelia off the chaise. “Dameer?”
Dameer grumbled as he was herded away from the window. “Fine. But the lot of you make it impossible for me to be a good chaperone.”
“Don’t worry, Dameer,” Amelia said as they left the room, “you were never any good at it to begin with.”
Kalila felt the quiet settle over her shoulders as soon as the door to the room had been shut. It was a quiet she knew well, the one that always seemed to chase her out of crowded ballrooms and noisy gatherings.
“Here we are,” Oliver said. His voice was soft and tender, and she resisted cutting him off with a kiss. “The quiet after a big event.”
Kalila smiled. “I was just thinking that.”
“I told you once that loving someone meant wanting them to share in the quiet, intimate moments of your life,” he murmured. “I find myself proven right, because I cannot imagine being here with anyone but you.”
Kalila nodded.
“We’re at a crossroads, Kalila.” He attempted to give her one of his boyish smiles but was unable to mask the vulnerable uncertainty in his warm eyes.
Choose.
“I don’t think we are.”
“We aren’t?”
She shook her head. “I lied to you earlier. I don’t think I could fall in love with you.”
Oliver frowned and cleared his throat before speaking. “Then I suppose—”
“Let me finish,” she said, heart hammering in her chest. “I don’t have to wonder if I could fall in love with you, because I already am. In love with you, that is.”
“Oh?” he whispered, his entire body relaxing.
“I love you, Oliver,” Kalila said, finally choosing to honor the love over the fear she’d carried in her heart for so long. “I had already fallen in love with you the day the lecture series began.”
He chuckled, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Couldn’t resist, could you?”
She responded with, “No. But now I’ve run into another issue.”
“Indeed?” he asked, sounding more than a little distracted. “What is it?”
“I don’t know what to do next. And I usually know what to do next.”
Oliver seemed to snap out of whatever daydream he’d been caught in. “That issue of yours is easily solved, my clever girl.”
“It is?”
“Of course,” he told her, his dazzling smile true and genuine. “What you do next is marry me.”
Kalila’s mouth fell open. “I—that is not what I meant.”
But it’s what you want.
That much was true—but it wasn’t all she wanted.
“I meant I don’t know what to do with all of this,” she said, waving vaguely at the room while very much aware that her entire body had flushed pink. “The science.”
“Also easy,” he said. “You can have the laboratory at Rosewood.”
Kalila sighed. “That’s very kind of you, but I didn’t achieve what I set out to do. And that’s something even Rosewood cannot fix.”
He reached for her then, cupping her cheek in his hand. “I know.”
“And I did get you removed from the Society,” she mumbled. “It’s a lot to process. And I have a lot to apologize for.”
Oliver tilted her face until she was looking at him. “Don’t apologize. You brought me exactly where I need to be.”
“Oliver—”
“If I promise to give you time to work this out,” he said, “will you promise to think about us?”
Kalila nodded. “I will. And Oliver?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you,” she whispered, “for understanding how important this is to me. It isn’t more important than what I feel for you, and it isn’t more important than the two of us being together, but I—”
“But you’ve worked toward it your entire life,” he said, thumb tracing her cheekbone. “I love you for your passion, Kalila. Not in spite of it.”
She nodded again, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She knew how easily she could be perceived as single-minded, and although she was more in love than she’d ever been, there was still more to her than just being in love.
When she’d chosen Oliver, she’d also been careful to choose herself as well. And that meant minding her work and keeping sight of her dreams.
“It’s late,” she murmured.
“It is,” he agreed. “I should go.”
“You could stay here,” she reminded him. “Caroline clearly doesn’t mind.”
He laughed, pulling her into a comforting embrace. “I’ll be back, don’t worry.”
“I’m not,” she protested, the sound of her voice muffled by his waistcoat. “It’s just that—”
“It’s just that you cannot imagine spending the night without me?”
Kalila untangled herself from his arms. “I’ve changed my mind. You ought to return to Rosewood this very minute.”
Oliver tugged her toward him once more, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Your denial does not fool me, Miss Darwish.”
She gave him a fond shake of her head. “Good night, Oliver.”
God, she loved him.
“Until tomorrow, my love.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her palm. “Will you be counting down the minutes until we’re reunited?”
“Leave,” she giggled, shoving him out of the room.
Once she had finally managed to be rid of Oliver—after another extended goodbye by the front door—Kalila returned to the parlor. She dropped into a comfortable chair, allowing her gaze to travel around the room. Exhaustion crept over her, and she realized that she hadn’t properly relaxed in days.
I’ll just rest for a spell, she thought, allowing her eyelids to slip shut. Then it’s up to the attic—
“Kalila!”
Kalila’s eyes popped open, her hand flying up to shield herself from the sun.
What in—?
Squinting, she saw that Caroline was standing before her, concern painting her pretty face.
She tut-tutted in disapproval. “Did you spend the night here?”
“By accident,” Kalila assured her. “How is it daytime already?”
“Not only is it daytime,” Caroline said, “but you also have a visitor.”
Kalila frowned. “A visitor?”
“Don’t worry,” Caroline told her, “I’ve put him in Papa’s study.”
“Him?” Kalila repeated. “Who?”
“A Mr. Laurence Comerford.”
“What?” Kalila gasped. She stood, almost knocking Caroline over in the process. “You should have turned him away!”
“He was quite insistent,” Caroline said, giving Kalila a quick once over. “You might consider tidying yourself up, if you’d like to have him wait as punishment for dropping by unannounced.”
Kalila marched upstairs to the attic, her mind unable to figure out what Comerford could possibly have to say to her. He had insulted her in every conceivable way, and he had some nerve to insist upon seeing her. She had a right mind to scold him for it.
After completing her morning rituals, she made her way downstairs, the gears in her mind still whirring. Pushing the door to the study open, she caught sight of Comerford examining Mr. Southcott’s bookshelves with great interest.
“Mr. Comerford,” Kalila said, startling him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Comerford whirled around, and Kalila was struck by the weariness that was etched upon his weathered features. “Miss Darwish. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”
“I did no such thing.” Kalila moved deeper into the room. “It was you who insisted on calling upon me.”
He wrung his hands together. “So I did.”
Was he nervous? Kalila could not recall seeing the man be anything but entirely composed.
“I don’t have much time, sir.”
“Of course, of course,” he replied, waving his hand about. “I’ve come to apologize for last night.”
Kalila, frozen in shock as she was, did not respond. Comerford was not one to apologize. He was far too proud, far too convinced of his own superiority.
Sounding unusually meek to Kalila’s ears, he continued with, “I realize now that I would be impeding science by not allowing you into the Society.”
“Do you mean to tell me you reached this conclusion on your own?” she asked, a single eyebrow raised in apprehension.
He grimaced. “Well, no. Booth played a part in my revelation.”
Of course he did.
“How?”
“He—he called me a terrible scientist,” Comerford admitted. “For standing in the way of progress.”
“And he was right to do so,” Kalila said. “I imagine you don’t understand how much you’ve disappointed him.”
“You’re right,” Comerford murmured. “I don’t.”
Kalila folded her arms across her chest. “If you allowed me into the Society, you would have to agree to allow other women in as well.”
“Naturally,” he said. “If I’m being honest, the Society has never been held in the highest esteem. I doubt my decision will impact its reputation either way.”
“What of your reputation?”
He shrugged. “I’m willing to deal with the consequences.”
Kalila regarded him, unable to understand how one man could be so intensely oblivious.
Words like consequences made it sound like allowing women into the Society was akin to committing a mortal sin, and his comment about the Society’s reputation had her convinced that this conversation would not be occurring if he’d headed a more active, popular group.
All of this, she realized, was because he couldn’t stand knowing that Oliver—that anyone—thought him a terrible scientist.
“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Comerford,” she said finally, “but I’m afraid I must refuse.”
“Y-you refuse?” Comerford spluttered.
“Indeed. Will that be all?”
“M-Miss Darwish,” he stammered, taking a step toward her, “I’m offering you everything you desire. Is that not why you came to London? Why you assumed your cousin’s identity?”
“It was,” Kalila allowed, standing her ground, “but I don’t want the help of someone who needs so much convincing.”
“You must understand, Miss Darwish, that I’m a man of my time,” Comerford said.
“A good scientist always looks ahead,” Kalila told him. “A good scientist is never content to remain of their time.”
“I realize that now,” he said. “Do my actions not prove as much?”
“Look at what we were forced to come to,” Kalila snapped in annoyance. “Look at what Oliver did, what he felt he had to do to make you listen. I cannot accept the mentorship and guidance of someone so utterly wrapped up in their own pride, Mr. Comerford. And I intend for my actions to prove that.”
“But—”
“I will not discourage you from allowing women into the Society,” she added, cutting him off. “But I will not be one of them.”
For a moment, they stood with Kalila’s words hanging in the air between them.
Finally, Comerford spoke. “What will you do?”
Kalila considered this, just as she had last night. Did she even need help from men like Comerford? Did she need the Society—or any existing Society, for that matter?
Perhaps what she needed—what she really needed to push her research forward—was herself.
Perhaps that was all she’d ever needed. The only thing that had been holding her back from realizing it was fear.
Fear and the belief that she needed someone to hold her hand as she crossed this rickety, unstable bridge toward her goals.
But she didn’t need anyone, not really. Either she’d cross the bridge safely on her own, or it would collapse.
And if it did collapse then, well, she could swim through the choppy waters that flowed beneath.
Keeping her thoughts to herself, she said, “That is irrelevant.”
“Then I would make you one more offer.”
Kalila nodded at him to proceed even as a refusal gathered in her throat.
“I’d like to publish your paper in the quarterly journal,” he said. “With you listed as the sole author. What do you say?”
“Thank you, but no,” she responded, aware that she was letting the one thing she’d dreamed about slip through her fingers. “I think I shall keep my research private for now.”
“You’ll let me know if you change your mind?”
“My mind is quite made up, sir. Will that be all?”
“That will be all,” he said, making his way to the door. “Though I must say, it’d be a shame to keep such fine work to yourself.”
A last-ditch effort. And a pathetic one to boot.
“Indeed,” she agreed. “If only it had been given fair consideration sooner.”
The last thing Kalila would remember of Laurence Comerford was seeing him wince in shame.
Because, of course, she was right. And he knew it.