Chapter 5
Chapter Five
The full moon shines above me, its light rippling across the sea. Stars twinkle in the clear, dark sky as the vast ocean moves in quiet serenity. I sit in a silence so loud, yet I don’t feel alone.
I look up at the stars—the universe staring back—and think of all of those who have done the same centuries before. I feel the presence of thousands of years of civilizations that crossed this same ocean. And for a brief moment, I feel infinite.
Mainly, I’m relieved that the nausea and unsteadiness I’ve been inflicted with over the past few hours are finally subsiding.
I despise that it took following Mr. Ashford’s advice for the symptoms to ease.
Had I not been so desperate, I never would have considered it, but desperation has a way of quieting pride.
I continue to stare out across the vast ocean, still taken aback that Mr. Ashford offered something genuinely helpful. And without being asked. He offered it to me as if he was being—dare I say—considerate and thoughtful.
But why would he be, when he has never been that kind of man?
With my stomach settled and the dizziness nearly gone, I step away from the railing and lower myself onto a wooden lounger. A chilly gust of sea wind cuts through me, and I wrap the oversized robe tighter around my body.
It’s nearly three in the morning, and I should be in a deep slumber instead of being wide awake, exposed to the dark and cold. I lean my head against the lounger and stare up at the stars, hoping to catch a constellation or spot a shooting star.
Minutes—or hours—might have passed before the soft click of the deck door’s latch jolts me upright. I glance over as the door, a mere few feet away from me, swings open.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure emerges and moves toward the railing across from me.
At first, I can’t figure out who it is. He could be part of the crew or someone from the team.
But as my eyes adjust, I see short, loose curls blowing in the breeze.
Bare forearms brace against the railing as his hands clutch at his head.
Irritation bubbles inside me as I recall how last night’s dinner concluded, but the feeling is soon washed away with curiosity. Why is he awake at this hour? Should I announce myself, so he knows he isn’t alone? Or should I remain silent, in hopes he will go back inside shortly without noticing me?
Before I can decide what to do, Mr. Ashford turns and leaps back when he sees me. “Apologies,” he says once he’s recovered, one hand still pressed to his heart. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone.”
“That’s alright,” I reply, rising from the lounger and tightening the knot of my robe. “I wouldn’t have expected anyone to be out here at this hour.”
I move toward the door, heading back inside to give him—and myself—space and solitude.
My hand reaches for the door handle when he asks behind me, “Couldn’t sleep either?”
Stopping in my tracks, I can hear the apologetic tone in his voice, as if he’s extending an olive branch. Curious, I turn around to face him, shaking my head as a few loose strands escape my braid.
“I’m afraid to admit you were right,” I say, gesturing toward the sea around us. “Took a while to hit me, but once I was ready to go to sleep, the seasickness settled in and caused enough havoc that I couldn’t remain in my cabin. Hence why I’m out here, from following your advice.”
A side smile forms on his face as he nods. “And is it helping?”
I return his smile. “Thankfully, yes. I was worried I would be feeling like that during the entire trip to Katakolo.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. Being ill while on an ocean liner for weeks and months is one of the worst experiences ever to befall. I do not wish it on anyone—friend or foe.”
A silence falls between us. I move closer to meet him at the ship’s railing, standing only a few inches apart as we look out at the ocean. I rest my forearms on top of the cold metal railing and look up at him. “What is keeping you awake during the night?”
Mr. Ashford looks down at me, his face lit by the lantern and moon. For the first time, I see his guard down, a vulnerability I’ve never noticed before. “Honestly? I couldn’t get what you said during dinner out of my mind.”
My heart races as I wait in anticipation for what he has to say. Is he upset I did that, especially in front of everyone?
He turns back to face the ocean liner, elbows resting on the railing, while I keep my gaze on the dark, endless waves.
“I’m having trouble comprehending why the department didn’t give you a spot in the post-graduate program.
” He shakes his head. “It angers me to know that they would let an exceptional and qualified candidate go only because she is a woman. I must apologize for the way I reacted, or lack thereof. I was just…stunned. But that is no excuse for the way I behaved, to sit there silently like a complete unempathetic arsehole.”
He pauses. “I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never understood what the world is like for a woman. How asinine, unjust, and convoluted. That became painfully clear last night, I must say.”
“It’s easy to be ignorant when your rights are never questioned, when your actions and opinions are always valued.
It’s always easier to look the other way.
But you’ve helped to remind me that it’s time to stop being nescient and egotistical.
Continuing to be ignorant is placating and allowing unjust situations to keep happening.
It’s shameful that it took until now for me to be awakened. ”
“I know my understanding of the matter means nothing if I don’t do my part as well. I may not be in the House of Lords or Commons, but I’m still a man, and unfortunately, that still has a lot of sway and persuasion in this world.”
I finally peer up at him, studying his face for truth. Can I really believe him? Or am I fooling myself again?
His earnestness is there—I can see it—but years of disappointment make me wary. I want to trust him. I want to believe he is different. But words alone won’t prove it.
For now, I accept his apology, letting it hang between us, but I will not fully believe it until his actions back it up.
“That’s a profound and unexpected statement coming from a man,” I say.
His eyebrow raises.
“But still welcomed to hear,” I continue, giving him a small smile.
“I accept your apology, Mr. Ashford. I cannot blame you for what has been instilled into our society for centuries. I wish it didn’t have to be something we need to fight for, but something that is given because it is just and right. ”
He nods. “I couldn’t agree more, Miss Fairfax.”
“I also want to properly thank you for the advice. I certainly would be sick as a dog in my cabin if it weren’t for your advice.”
A small smile spreads across his lips. “You’re most welcome, Miss Fairfax. I’d feared your first expedition would be ruined by it, and so I had to suggest it.”
I can’t help but return his smile. I have to be careful. I don’t know if I can trust him—he’s not quite the man I thought I knew, and I won’t let myself be fooled.
“I know back at Oxford I came across a certain way…” He rubs the back of his neck, head bowed.
Is he feeling uneasy?
I raise an eyebrow, waiting to see where he’ll go next, curiosity piqued.
Mr. Ashford still can’t meet my eyes. “Arrogant, entitled…”
“Pretentious,” I add, teasing.
His head lifts. My quip brings him to ease. A grin flashes on his face, and he lets out a laugh. “Yes, that too.” His smile is quickly replaced with a pensive look. “But...that isn’t who I am, truly.”
“You see, I was raised in a lower-class family. My father was a shoemaker in Cambridge. And when I was thirteen years old, my parents died in a carriage accident, leaving me alone with no other family to take me in. I became an orphan.” I open my mouth to offer my condolences, but he quickly shakes his head and sighs, stopping me before I speak.
“My father was childhood friends with the Duke of Trent,” he continues, “and when my parents died, he graciously took me in. Sent me to the best boarding school and allowed me to stay with them during their summer holidays.”
“When I expressed interest in going to Oxford for architecture and archaeology, the Duke helped me to get admitted. On my first day at Oxford, I was surrounded by the brightest of minds, along with the aristocrats of the country. I couldn’t help but feel like a fraud being there.
That, despite what my academic history reflects on my intelligence, I still wasn’t enough to be there, all because I didn’t come from a family in the aristocracy. ”
“I will admit I was ashamed of my standing and what happened to my parents. I didn’t want to be looked down upon.
I had to decide who I wanted everyone to think I was.
Either an orphan from a lower-class family that was the Duke of Trent’s charity case, or pretend I was one of them by acting like a pompous aristocrat.
I chose what I believed would propel my future the farthest.”
I pause, considering his words, unsure if I can believe them. But for some reason, I want to.
“And are you still keeping up that charade?” I ask, hoping his answer will reveal who he truly is.
He shakes his head. “Once I got into the post-graduate program, I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I also realized that Henry Ashford, son of shoemaker Arthur Ashford, was worthy enough to be there all along.” A small, proud smile spreads across his lips.
I give him a small smile of appreciation. It takes courage to admit one’s faults and face the shame that comes with them. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for him.
“Well, I do have to admit I’m starting to like this version of Henry Ashford better. The version I knew at Oxford was an acquired taste.” I smirk. “But I look forward to getting to know the real you.”
He glances down at me, matching my smirk. “I look forward to it too, Miss Fairfax.”