Chapter Twenty-Six
Kalila sat in the parlor later that afternoon, mind in complete overdrive as she sipped away at a cup of tea.
All she needed was a name.
Despite this, she was distracted by all that had occurred over the past two weeks.
It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she’d examined the ewer depicting the Tantal at Heatherden and had made the decision to come to London.
She’d arrived with the intention of achieving a rather ambitious set of goals, and she still intended to accomplish them.
What she hadn’t intended on was falling in love.
Kalila had spent the last nine years believing herself more than a little fearless, only to meet Oliver and realize how terrified she’d been.
And now—well, now she felt as wonderful as she ever had, the result of making a brave decision and sticking to it.
The name! You’re meant to be coming up with a name.
Oh, right. That.
Putting her teacup down, Kalila picked up a pencil and reached for a clean piece of paper. It had to be descriptive, but not too long. Something neutral that proved to all who came across it that Kalila Darwish was not one to discriminate on the basis of—
“Aha!” she said to herself under her breath. She began to scribble, her pencil flying across the paper. Just as she underlined the second word in triumph, a pleasant voice met her ears.
“What are you plotting over there, Kalila Darwish?”
Delight bloomed in her at the sight of Oliver in the doorway. He struck a terribly handsome figure dressed in a charcoal-gray suit—the sharpness of which, naturally, was offset by his tousled hair and boyish smile.
“You’ll never believe who paid me a visit this morning,” she said, placing the pencil down.
Oliver strode toward her and held out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up into a standing position before slanting his mouth over hers, making her forget she had a story to tell.
“A gentleman caller, perhaps?” he murmured against her lips. “Don’t tell me I have to compete for your affections.”
Kalila scoffed. “Not at present, no.”
“That’s a relief.” He grinned down at her. “Who paid you a visit, then?”
“Comerford.”
The smile vanished from his face as his brow knit in distaste. “Comerford? What for?”
“He offered to allow women into the Society,” she said, stepping away from his tempting embrace. “And he offered to publish my paper.”
Oliver gaped at her. “He didn’t.”
“And,” she said, making sure to pause for dramatic effect, “I said no.”
“You—you said no?!” Oliver stammered. “But Kalila, isn’t that what you wanted? What you came here to do?”
Kalila sighed, running her hands through her short curls. “It is what I came here to do. But Comerford doesn’t deserve me or my research. He doesn’t deserve access to the research being done by other women, either.”
“I suppose,” he allowed. “But—”
“And I could never work with someone who has hurt you,” she added. “No matter what they offered.”
Oliver’s features softened. “Kalila—”
“He doesn’t deserve you, Oliver,” she said, smoothing the fabric of his waistcoat. “He never did.”
He placed a hand over hers and pressed it against his heart. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Of course you do,” she said. “He came here because of you, you know.”
The words drew a sardonic chuckle from him. “Because of me?”
“You hurt his pride by calling him a terrible scientist.”
Oliver sighed, releasing his grip on her hand. “He finally listened to something I said, then. Delightful.”
“You were right to say it,” she told him. “Just as I was right to turn him down.”
“That may be,” Oliver said, “but what will you do now?”
An uncontrollable smile pulled at Kalila’s lips. “I’ve come up with a solution of my own. One that does not require me to rely on men like Laurence Comerford.”
“A solution of your own,” he repeated. “Of course.”
Kalila retrieved the piece of paper she had been scribbling on, holding it against her chest. “Brace yourself.”
His amusement was plain. “Consider me braced.”
She handed him the paper and watched as he read the words she’d written. When he looked up at her, she let out the breath that she’d been holding. “Well?”
“The People’s Society for Cellular Biology?”
“Yes!” she burst out. “My own scientific society. One that allows everyone in, no matter their background or identity.”
The idea had occurred to Kalila while she’d been speaking with Comerford.
Weeks ago, she’d been convinced that all she needed to carve out a place for herself in the field of scientific research was a single act of benevolence from a man like Laurence Comerford.
But what she hadn’t realized—what she’d realized only recently—was that there were people who needed her.
More to the point, what they needed from her was a single act of defiant courage.
In carving out her own space, she could easily carve out space for anyone who wished to join her, no struggle necessary.
Oliver blinked at her and, for a terrible moment, Kalila wondered if he thought it a ridiculous idea. But then he spoke.
“Kalila Darwish, you astound me,” he said, the excitement in his voice matching hers. “You brilliant, clever girl.”
“All I need,” she said, unable to contain herself, “is an investor. Do you know anyone who might be interested?”
Oliver laughed, catching on in an instant. “I do. And I even know of a small laboratory where you might start out.”
Kalila’s face fell as her heart sank to her stomach. While Oliver’s kindness was completely and utterly expected, she couldn’t ask him to risk his own peace simply to ensure her happiness.
“Perhaps we ought to ask around,” she suggested.
“Why? We have a perfectly functioning laboratory right at our fingertips. I know it’s a touch small, but it’s only until we—you—find your footing.”
“We,” she corrected. “And it isn’t about the size, it’s—I don’t want your father to make things difficult for you. That’s all.”
“Difficult for me?” His eyes widened. “Christ, I forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
“My mother is here. She came to Rosewood yesterday.”
Kalila gasped, all thoughts of her society leaving her mind. “She did? That’s wonderful.”
“It is,” he said. “She brought a fair few things to light. My father told her that I wanted nothing to do with her, for one.”
“That’s awful.”
He nodded in acknowledgment before saying, “She told me something else. Something that will change things for us entirely.”
“Go on.”
“Rosewood,” he said, “is mine.”
*
The fact was that Oliver would have loved to spend the night at the townhouse. Even if he had been holed up in whatever room sat farthest from the attic, the townhouse felt more like home than Rosewood ever had.
But that was about to change.
And in an effort to ensure that said change would take place, he’d returned to Rosewood to check on his father’s progress and see how they might go about preparing a space for his mother.
The exhilaration that had come after he’d asked William to leave had long fizzled out, leaving only hurt and the sense that he’d betrayed him in its wake.
It was difficult, Oliver realized. It would always be difficult, and it would never not hurt to acknowledge that his own father had not known how to love him.
But what Oliver knew with certainty was that he could not teach his father how to love, and he could not save him from himself. And so he remained steadfast in the decision he’d made to remove him from Rosewood.
Kalila stared at him, lips parted in surprise. “Yours?”
“Indeed,” Oliver said, desperate for her approval. “My mother’s uncle passed it on to her, and she decided to pass it on to me.”
“Just now?”
Oliver shook his head, a half-hearted smile on his face. “When I turned twenty-five. Eight years ago.”
Kalila frowned. “Oh, Oliver. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” he said, knowing full well it wasn’t.
“Did he know?” she asked, the question hesitant. “Your father, I mean.”
“Yes,” Oliver told her, “he did.”
At his response, Kalila’s hand flew to her chest, her brilliant eyes brimming with sympathy and love. “My God.”
“I did what I should have done all those years ago,” he croaked, pushing past the tears that threatened. “I told him to leave.”
Kalila slowly lowered her hand. “That must have been difficult.”
“It was,” he agreed. He paused, then asked, “I-I—you don’t think that was cruel, do you?”
She ran her fingers along his jaw with a sad, small smile. “There are some things that cannot be fixed,” she said, voice gentle. “And I trust your judgment.”
Oliver exhaled in relief. “Right.”
“You could never be cruel,” she murmured. “You simply aren’t capable of it.”
“I just—couldn’t have him there,” Oliver said. “Not when I want you there instead.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Me?”
He had told her he loved her, but there was more. So much more. And she had to know.
“Kalila,” he said brokenly, “I have spent my entire life living in fear. It started out with my being afraid of the fights my parents would have. Then it evolved into being scared of my father. Being scared of reaching out to my mother, even. And then it turned into being scared of allowing myself to fall in love and turning into my father.”
Kalila nodded, her expression serious even as she remained silent.
“But I’m done with all of that,” he said. “And I want to tell you with certainty, standing before you, that I could never be afraid of what I feel for you.”
She whispered his name, trailing off as though she couldn’t respond further.
“And you may have been made to feel that you’re too much, but I want you to know that you’re perfect as you are. If anything, I’m the one who isn’t quite up to snuff. But I promise to try to be.”
“But you are enough!” she burst out, almost startling him with the force of her words. “You’re clever and kind and far more sensitive than I could ever hope to be. And you’re so, so brave.”
Oliver’s heart swelled in his chest. How could he have been so averse to this? This feeling, this complete and utter devotion he had for the woman standing before him—it was everything. Gently, Oliver took Kalila in his arms, unable to tear his gaze away from those dazzling, ethereal eyes of hers.
“I will never stifle you, Kalila,” he assured her. “And you’ll never have to choose between the things—and people—you love.”
Her agreement came out on a gentle exhale. “You’ll never stifle me.”
Oliver cupped her face in her hands, pressing his forehead against hers, aware of every breath that passed through her body. “Please, Kalila. Marry me. I cannot bear another moment without you.”
“I will.” She pushed herself up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Of course I will.”
He pulled her against him, very much the way he had the day they’d danced at Willow House.
She kissed him wholeheartedly, looping her arms around his neck and dragging him closer to her.
He picked her up, pressing their bodies together, kissing her until he was sure she understood how fully she possessed him.
Finally, as he lowered her to the ground, he said, “Now, about that Society of yours—”
“We’ll use Rosewood, of course,” she said, hands still gripping his shoulders.
“Naturally. And I assume that, as sole investor, I’ll have full control over the accompanying journal?”
Kalila raised an eyebrow at him. “What are you getting at?”
“It’s just that there’s a certain paper by one Miss K.D. that I have some—thoughts about. Do you think she’d be willing to discuss them with me?”
Kalila prickled, as he expected she would. “Discuss? If you think you’re going to be allowed to leave even one comment—”
“Ah, it seems I’ve touched a nerve,” he said. “Perhaps this debate is one that would be better held in private.”
“In private? How much more private could we—” Understanding dawned over her features, followed by a dusting of rosy pink across her cheeks and nose. “Oh.”
“Oh is right,” he said with a grin. “What do you say?”
“I say Miss K.D. would be happy to discuss in private,” she responded, breath hitching in her throat. “But only if you’re prepared for a spirited debate.”
He laughed. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”