Elizabeth’s chest tightened, squeezing the air in her lungs as she replayed her father’s words. She forced her thoughts to take a logical route, rather than being ruled by an emotional response, and she considered what he’d said. Logically, there was nothing wrong with his statement. It was a linear thought, however emotionally she resisted it with every fiber of her being.
“Ah…” Her father nodded once.
How she hated when he got that expression on his face, the one that meant he was about to say something annoyingly accurate. She braced herself.
“Humanity…we hate change. Do we not? Still we are constantly forced to embrace it. So, while you resist any sort of change, my dear, remember that it’s our destiny. And a delightful thing happens—we grow.” He turned back to his research, signaling that the conversation was finished.
She opened her mouth, then closed it. What could she say? He was right. A bloody irritating truth of having a father who was a renowned philosophy professor—hard truths and all.
With a sigh, she turned on her heel and left the office. Rather than take the regular route back to the library, she paused and glanced out the window. Normally when she wanted to think through a dilemma, she’d sequester herself in a forgotten alcove, but she needed air. More air than the library held for her, so with a determined step, she advanced into the bright sunshine. And wondered if maybe her father was more correct than she originally thought.
Change.
Maybe Cambridge had become more than her sanctuary. Maybe it had also become her prison. The place where she was constantly reminded that what she wanted was out of reach. Maybe she wanted more…needed more than that. With a sigh, she headed for the nearest bridge over the River Cam and decided that a walk was what was needed to get her thoughts in order.
If there ever was such a thing.
The bridge led into a small marketplace in the village of Cambridge. The scent of scones lured her to a small tea shop owned by the family of one of her students. As she walked into the shop, she was welcomed by a friendly smile from the man behind the counter.
“Good afternoon, Miss Essex.”
Elizabeth greeted her student’s father, Mr. Smith, with a warm smile. “A good afternoon it is indeed. But I must say I do think it can be improved further with a spot of tea and one of your wife’s scones.”
“Clotted cream?” he asked.
“Always,” Elizabeth answered as she held out her coins.
“It’ll be out directly, miss.”
Elizabeth turned to the nearly empty shop and took a place near the window, then stood, frowned, and took one of the few seats outside instead. The warm breeze of the autumn air swirled around her skirts, lifting them faintly as if teasing her with its antics. She watched the people as they milled about the village marketplace, her attention hesitating at the shire house—the local courthouse—as a familiar face paused before the door and entered into it.
It took her just a moment, but recollection hit her with understanding as she immediately recognized him—Lord Penderdale. Odd, why would he be visiting the local magistrate and watchman facility?
An impish thought brought a smile to her face as she considered that perhaps he was paying off a debt to society in some form or another due to his mischievous ways.
“Tea, scone, and clotted cream.” The man set the dishes on the small table beside her and left with a quick bow.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth called out, then lifted the teacup, her eyes flickering back to the office, determined to sit a while and wait. Sometimes patience paid off, and she hoped her curiosity would be satisfied a little as she took a sip of the hot liquid in her cup.
She had eaten nearly half her scone when the person in question emerged from the shire house. She didn’t know him well, but his expression warned that whatever he’d sought hadn’t been found, or he’d been dealt additional consequences for whatever action had him visiting the magistrate in the first place. As if sensing her evaluation of him, his eyes met hers, and his frustration melted into a colder expression as he crossed the street toward her.
“Ah, we meet again, Miss Essex.” He bowed and studied her with a calculating expression.
“Lord Penderdale.” She nodded, unsure how to continue. Perhaps he’d just leave.
As luck would have it, he didn’t, instead pulling out the chair opposite to her. However, before he could sit, the shopkeeper came out.
Small favors, she thought to herself. Perhaps now the lord would take his leave.
“Ah, miss, did you care for a spot of honey? I happen to know it comes from a very highly recommended source.” The shopkeeper smiled, offering the little jar that she knew all too well.
“Thank you for offering, but I am quite satisfied with just cream at the moment.”
He nodded, then turned his attention to Lord Penderdale. “Are you in need of anything, my lord?”
“No.” He sighed and helped himself to the seat across from her.
The shopkeeper gave a wary glance to Elizabeth and excused himself.
“No honey? I think it could be used to sweeten you up, no doubt.”
Elizabeth just stared, tempted to rise to the bait, yet wondering if deflecting the comment and extricating herself from the situation as quickly as possible was the wiser of the two choices. She hadn’t invited him to sit with her; he’d invited himself. She glanced down at her scone, half-eaten, and sighed. It was too good to abandon, and she wasn’t going to waste it. Resigned, she lifted a piece to her lips and took a bite.
“Do you know how many bees it takes to make one small spoonful of honey?” she asked after she swallowed, taking the deflection route.
He leaned back in his chair, the portrait of ease, and shrugged. “I have the distinct feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“I suppose it doesn’t surprise me.”
“What, that I don’t know the exact details of any random creature on earth?” he accused.
She lifted a shoulder, taking a sip from her teacup. “You’ve already decided you don’t care, and that is worse than not knowing, or not wanting to know. Not caring. Because it’s beneath you or not important.” She set her teacup down with a soft clink.
Lord Penderdale leaned forward, his eyes constricting. “I repeat my first sentiment. Perhaps you should partake of the honey to gain some sweetness, because if I ‘don’t care,’ as you say, then the judgment placed against you is that you are hiding.”
Her eyes widened. “Hiding? What? What could I possibly be hiding from, and why would you care anyway? I’m uninteresting, invisible, and far more intelligent than anyone of my sex should be. Therefore, I’m already written off. Why waste the time in judgment?” She leaned back and folded her arms, not caring if she appeared petulant.
Lord Penderdale smiled, his eyes taking on a light of mischief. Her belly grew warm, and though she wanted to turn away, she couldn’t.
“If you would stop your condescension, you might give me a moment to say something revolutionary.”
“Of that, I have high doubts.”
“You have a low opinion of anyone other than yourself.” He shrugged. “But that’s because you’re naive. I have high hopes that life will educate you in ways the walls of Cambridge have neglected to teach you. And one of those lessons I will give.”