by Rowan Nina
After picking up several books from the desk, she started to walk back to the corridor. He stepped in front of her and closed the door.
Lydia stopped. “Alexander?”
“Why haven’t you attended symposiums and such recently?” he asked.
“I don’t—”
“And why did both those men know you’d rather avoid recognition?”
“I just have something of a reputation for preferring to conduct my work in private. It doesn’t mean anything, Alexander. It’s just the way I am. How I’ve always been.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Why is it that you, a woman with a mind even Euclid himself would admire, are so determined to be anonymous?” Frustration flashed through him at the notion that her talents had been muted… and he’d no idea why. “And don’t use Jane as an excuse. Why did you spend so many years pursuing mathematics if you intended to stop using your talents?”
Lydia pressed her lips together, a mixture of irritation and sadness flaring in her eyes. “I never intended to stop using my talents. Where mathematics is concerned, I’ve always wanted to contribute to its body of knowledge, to see my work published and debated, to write books, to study identities and equations. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
“Prove it.”
“What?”
Alexander stepped closer, the urge inside him intensifying. He hated it, hated the idea that his brilliant, stunning Lydia had been locking herself away for years upon years, that she had been alone with her own thoughts, closed off from a community of academics who wanted her theories, her ideas, her intelligence.
“Deliver a talk for the educational exhibition lecture series,” Alexander said. “The topic will be your choice. Practical instruction in schools, use of the abacus, mathematics and science… I don’t care. Whatever you want. Whenever you want. But do it.”
She was so still that even the air around her seemed to stop moving. She clasped her hands in front of her, her blue eyes guarded.
“I—”
“Deliver a lecture,” Alexander interrupted, “and you will finally have the locket back.”
A smile ghosted her lips. “Another wager?”
“Not a wager. An agreement. The payment for your locket is one lecture. My final offer.”
“Alexander, I—”
“No.” He took two steps toward her and grasped her shoulders. “Do not tell me you can’t. That will be a lie. And we have no place for lies.”
To his shock, a flood of sudden tears swamped her eyes as her fingers curled around his arms. He loosened his grip on her, prepared to step back, but her hold on him tightened.
“Wait.” She swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. “Wait. Alexander, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“You needn’t be sorry, Lydia. You need only do what you were put on this earth to do.”
“You… you believe that?”
“Of course I believe it. You were meant to impart knowledge, Lydia. It’s why you were granted such intelligence.” His mouth twisted. “Though you might have suffered a lapse in said intelligence when you rejected my proposal.”
Lydia gave a watery laugh, but the sound was hollow. She moved closer to him, her grasp so tight that the warmth of her fingers, her palms, burned through his coat and shirt.
“I’m sorry, Alexander. Please believe it’s not… I didn’t decline because I don’t love you.”
Alexander’s breath stopped. He stared at Lydia, her blue eyes clear and direct, her cheeks flushed, the ends of her eyelashes still damp. His heart thumped, an odd, discordant beat that resonated with everything Lydia—her maddening, luscious presence in his life, her naked abandon, her crisp, fresh-pencil scent.
“Then why?” he asked, his voice tight.
She shook her head.
Frustration spiraled through him again, winding into his chest. “I will not tolerate this, Lydia. You have one more week.”
“This is not like solving a mathematical problem, Alexander.”
“Isn’t it? Aren’t you studying this sort of thing, figuring out equations to explain emotions? Love plus love equals marriage, doesn’t it?”
She drew in a sharp breath, a hard tremble racking her body. He tightened his grip on her, inhaled the perfume of her thick hair.
“Say yes,” he whispered, not knowing if he was referring to his marriage proposal or the lecture series, or both.
Lydia stiffened in his arms, her fingers clutching the lapels of his coat. “No.”
Something broke inside Alexander as that single word rose between them. His brother’s words from so many weeks ago echoed in his head.
Do whatever makes you happy. Oh, no, you’ll never do that, will you?
But Alexander had tried. God in heaven, he’d tried.
He let Lydia go as she pulled away from him. She went to collect the books, tucking them into the crook of her arm. He stared at her profile, the graceful curve of her cheek, and the way a loose tendril of hair spilled over her neck.
Determination swelled anew. He wasn’t finished yet. If Lydia still refused to recognize they were meant to be together, he would find another way to convince her. He needed an ally.
Chapter Twenty
Pencil marks, notes, and scribbled equations marred the pages of her notebook. Lydia leafed through them, attempting to muster the desire to pursue her ideas, to prove that Alexander was wrong. She could quantify love. She could explain attraction through a differential equation, could establish patterns of intimacy.
She just no longer wanted to.
She looked at all the notes she’d made about Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Lancelot and Guinevere, Helen and Paris, Petrarch and Laura. Her equations could never explain the one common element of those relationships—the fact that none of them ended well. For all their passion and emotions and desire, none of the couples lived a joyful, fulfilling life together.
So dr/dt = a11 r + a12 j mattered not a whit since, ultimately, it equaled unhappiness. Not to mention a frequent untimely death.
I propose, Miss Kellaway, that you throw your infernal notebook into the fire and leave me the bloody hell alone.
A faint smile tugged at Lydia’s mouth. She snapped the notebook closed and stared at the fire. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the notebook into the flames.
It fell open, pages fluttering in the heat before the paper caught and began to burn. Her writings, her numbers, her equations, blackened and curled in the fire.
She watched until the book burned to ashes. A sense of freedom spun through her. She’d get another notebook—she was, after all, a mathematician to the bone—but no longer would she devote her time and intellect to fictional relationships that ended in tragedy.
Life was too valuable, love too precious, to be measured.
She turned away and swiped at a stray tear. When Alexander had first held the door open for her all those weeks ago, she hadn’t imagined so many subsequent doors would open as well. Without him, she never would have ventured forth again. Not in mathematics. Not in life. Certainly not in love.
She tried to imagine agreeing to his suggestion, presenting her ideas to an audience of her colleagues. Her prime number theorem or the lemma of—
Oh, Lydia. Stop being foolish. What have you been telling Alexander all this time?
Strengthening her resolve, Lydia brushed off her skirts and went upstairs to the schoolroom. Jane stood beside the fern near the window, a metal apparatus in one hand, while their grandmother busied herself organizing Jane’s books.
“It’s looking lovely.” Lydia stopped to examine the fern, which had grown green and lush in the past few weeks. “What is that?”
“It mists water onto the fronds. Lord Rushton told me how to care for it.” Jane put the bell glass back over the plant and turned away. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought we might go over long division again.”
“I’ve
actually got something else to do.” Jane dropped the apparatus onto the windowsill and left the room.
“Is she all right?” Lydia asked Mrs. Boyd.
“As far as I know, yes. Why?”
“I’ve hardly seen her since I returned from Floreston Manor.” Lydia frowned. “You don’t suppose she’s upset that she wasn’t able to come along?”
“I shouldn’t think so.” Mrs. Boyd straightened from the bookshelf and dusted her hands. “I told her she could accompany you the next time you go.”
Lydia’s heart lurched. “What… what makes you think there will be a next time?”
“Of course there will be.” Her grandmother stacked a pile of books on the table, then bent to retrieve several folded papers that fell to the floor. “Lord Northwood didn’t ask you to his country estate because he wished to end your relationship.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did he?”
Lydia’s throat tightened. She shook her head.
“Well, then,” Mrs. Boyd said. She glanced at the papers and replaced them on the shelf. “I must say, Lydia, I never imagined things would come to this when you went to retrieve that locket. Have you gotten it back, by the way?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. All the more reason to keep his lordship’s acquaintance.” Mrs. Boyd’s lips curved into a smile. “Had I known this would happen, I might have pawned the foolish thing years ago.”
She swept the books into her arms and left the room. Lydia went to the window, staring down at the street, where wagons and pedestrians passed.
She couldn’t find it in her to be indignant over her grandmother’s attitude. Despite Charlotte Boyd’s manipulations, she had always wanted the best for Lydia. Like Alexander, her father and grandmother had always believed in her abilities, her intelligence. They believed she had something important to offer the world.
The difference was that Alexander also wanted her to believe in herself. Because he loved her. He loved her in ways she had never been loved before, in ways she hadn’t even known existed.
Longing sliced through her, cutting through thick layers of resistance. She couldn’t stop herself from envisioning what her life would be like if her wishes came true.
She sank into a chair by the window, resting her forehead against her hand. She would be Alexander’s wife, she would stand before a crowded lecture hall to explain her theories, she would pour her heart out to Jane and give the girl everything Lydia never had. She would be free—mind, body, soul.
Perhaps one day…
The little whisper of her heart brought tears to her eyes because her mind knew that one day would never come. Never.
Enough.
Alexander flexed his fingers in an effort to ease the tension hardening his every muscle. He’d worked too hard for everything—the Society, the exhibition, his family, his company—and it was all slipping from his control. He would not allow the same to happen with Lydia.
With unshakeable resolve, he descended the carriage on East Street. The housekeeper answered the door of the town house, her eyes widening at the sight of him.
“Lord Northwood! We weren’t expecting your—”
“Never mind, Mrs. Driscoll. Is Mrs. Boyd at home?”
“Yes, milord, she’s in the morning room.”
“Good. Tell her I am here.”
“One moment, please, yer lordship. Miss Kellaway is—”
“At St. Martin’s Hall. I know.”
“Just a moment, then, milord.” Mrs. Driscoll scurried off.
Alexander waited impatiently before she returned to usher him into the morning room. Mrs. Boyd stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt as she approached. She had an imperial quality that he admired, and he intended to use her calculated interest in him to his advantage.
“Lord Northwood, to what do I owe this honor?”
“Mrs. Boyd, has Lydia spoken to you regarding my intentions?”
“Your intentions?” A gleam of interest appeared in her eyes. “No, my lord. Might I inquire as to what they might be?”
“I requested her hand in marriage when she visited Floreston Manor.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened, her hand going to her throat. “Oh, Lord Northwood, I had no idea. Lydia never said anything to me.”
Alexander paced to the windows and back. “Perhaps because she refused the offer.”
“She refused?”
“Yes, but she gave me no satisfactory reason for doing so.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” Mrs. Boyd’s fingers trembled a bit as she brushed a lock of white hair from her forehead. “I’ve no idea what to say, except that clearly my granddaughter has behaved in a very foolish manner.”
“Quite contrary to her usual nature,” Alexander agreed. “And I must explain that I told Lydia she can continue her work, that she will lack for nothing. You may be assured I will take both you and Jane under my protection as well.”
“I’m deeply obliged to you, my lord. I… May I ask if the offer still stands?”
“For one more week, yes, though Lydia gives no indication of changing her mind.”
“This is why you’ve come to me?”
“I hope you might be able to talk some sense into her.”
“My lord, please have patience. Lydia is… different, you know. She always has been. She did not have a normal childhood, though of course she would make an excellent wife and do nothing to—”
Alexander held up a hand. “You needn’t vouch for Lydia, Mrs. Boyd. I am well aware of her qualities.”
He paused as the truth of the statement struck him. Everything about Lydia complemented him—her intelligence, her wit, her passion. Even her stubbornness suited his nature, as if it were a gentler echo of his own inflexibility. And her genuine goodness, her kindness, reminded him with every heartbeat of what he should strive to be.
“Lydia has many traits that I deeply admire,” he continued. “However, my offer does not stand much longer.”
“Of course not. I’ll speak with Lydia straightaway, my lord. Thank you ever so much. You honor our family with your consideration.”
Alexander took his leave and returned to the foyer. As he was putting on his coat, he stopped and glanced toward the stairs. Jane stood on the bottom step, her hand curled around the newel post.
Alexander straightened and buttoned his coat.
“Did you mean it, my lord?” Her voice quavered. “You really want to marry Lydia?”
He nodded and approached her. Her green eyes swam with tears, which made him uncertain what to do.
“You dislike the idea of me marrying your sister?” he asked.
Her tears spilled over. She shook her head.
“Then what is it?”
Her chest hitched as she swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Alexander gave her shoulder an awkward pat, discomfited by her reaction. He suspected Jane couldn’t imagine someone taking Lydia away from her, that the very idea caused her pain.
“You would continue to see Lydia as often as you like,” he said.
She sniffled.
Alexander reached into his breast pocket and removed the locket. He took Jane’s hand and put the necklace in her palm, closing her small fingers around it. “This belongs to you. Lydia always intended for you to have it. If she does accept my offer, I’ll be most pleased to have you as a sister-in-law.”
Jane’s fingers tightened on the locket as a fresh course of tears spilled down her pale cheeks.
“It’s not that I dislike the idea of you marrying Lydia.” She gulped. “It’s that I don’t want her to marry you.”
She turned and ran up the stairs, leaving Alexander staring after her in utter bewilderment.
Chapter Twenty-One
He told me you refused.” Her grandmother’s voice shook with anger. She stood beside the windows of the drawing room, her hand clutching the knob of her cane. “Why would you do such a thing?”
Lydia twisted the folds of her skirt. Mrs. Boyd had been waiting for
her when she returned from a brief meeting with Talia at St. Martin’s Hall. Her heart ached at the discovery that Alexander had gone to her grandmother without her knowledge, even as she could not deny a thrill at the evidence of his persistence.
The man wanted her to be his wife.
“You know quite well why I refused,” she told her grandmother.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Lydia! Have you forgotten your position? That you were responsible for ruining your own future? That once Jane leaves this house and begins her own life, you have nothing?”
“I could… I couldn’t agree to his proposal without telling him the truth.” Lydia forced away the tears beginning to fill her chest, to choke her throat. “He has… has a reputation, I know, his family does, but he’s a good man. He has a good heart. And if he were to take a wife who…”
“A wife who what? Who is a mathematical genius? Clearly he finds that an asset rather than a detriment. And have you thought about what this could do for us?” Mrs. Boyd moved closer to Lydia. “Everyone with whom I have spoken has been conciliatory about the viscount. Oh, several have mentioned the scandal, of course, but really, Lord Northwood is not to blame for that. His own reputation remains intact, as long as one does not punish him for the sins of his parents. Which I am not inclined to do.”
“And what of my reputation?”
“You have no reputation, Lydia, not in such lofty circles. That is why Lord Northwood chose you—he doesn’t want a titled woman who fears the scandal will reflect upon her family. With you, the man has a respectable woman who is admired for her intellect and will prove a good and honorable wife.”
“I am not honorable.”
“You can be.” Her grandmother thumped her cane hard on the floor. “Idiot girl! This is your only chance to better yourself, Lydia, to better the pathetic life you lead. You don’t even have your work anymore, do you? Not the way you’d wish for it to be. Do you want to spend the next twenty years hiding, wasting away to nothing?”
“What makes you think marriage to Northwood would prevent that?”
