by Lily Maxton
But life and age and the passing of years had a way of complicating things.
“True,” Sarah said. “But we can’t all be experts.”
“Enough with this talk of insects at the breakfast table,” Lady Lark said mildly. “I daresay you’ll meet Mrs. MacGregor soon enough, Winifred. She visits Sarah now and then.”
“Perhaps you can show her how a proper lady behaves,” Lord Lark muttered.
Win wasn’t sure where he’d gotten this idea that she was a proper lady. He either misremembered, or Eleanor MacGregor was dreadful by comparison.
“I’m looking forward to meeting her,” Win said.
Sarah tucked back into her plate, and Win gripped her teacup a little too firmly as she took a sip.
She wasn’t lying. She was curious about Eleanor MacGregor. But curiosity was currently warring with bitterness. While Win had been making acquaintances in London and finding them all lacking, finding them missing that small, indefinable thing she always, always looked for, Sarah had moved on.
She had a new friend. Judging by the way Sarah spoke of her, the admiration that was clear in her voice even before Lady Lark had mentioned it, they were close. It was a good thing, wasn’t it, that Sarah had made friends after Win had left?
She would be a truly horrible person to resent whatever companionship Sarah had found in her absence.
Win, apparently, was a horrible person.
Chapter 2
“You’ve been quiet lately,” Eleanor MacGregor said absentmindedly.
Eleanor and Sarah were sitting together in the Lark’s drawing room—though sitting with Eleanor in a drawing room did not tend to involve polite conversation—instead, Eleanor scribbled into her palm-sized journal between nibbles of teacakes and sips of tea.
“Have I?” Sarah asked. She hid a fond smile as Eleanor brushed some crumbs away from the page before forgetting the rest of the cake to finish her sketch. Sarah glimpsed a large, shiny pair of mandibles on a ferocious looking beetle. “Forgive me…I’ve been preoccupied.”
“With what?” Eleanor frowned and set the journal aside.
“My friend—the one I told you about, the widow—arrived yesterday.” She still felt a pang in her chest when she thought of the first moment she’d seen Win the day before, shown up to the drawing room like nothing had changed.
Her riot of red curls was the same. And those warm-brown eyes.
But she wore mourning colors now. She had been a man’s wife, and now she was a husband’s widow. And even though she was close enough to touch, she seemed so very far away.
Longing had such a bitter taste.
Sarah should have stopped writing to her, maybe, during those in-between years. Except she hadn’t been able to shut Win out of her life completely, no matter how much she’d wanted to. She’d wanted to know that Win was well, at least, even if she didn’t know anything else.
Eleanor looked confused. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, though the end of that statement wobbled a bit sadly.
“Hmm,” was Eleanor’s response.
“It is wonderful. It’s just…”
Eleanor waited.
“Sometimes I wish my parents had simply sent her a bank note instead of inviting her to stay with us. They said she must be lonely, but I don’t see how that’s our responsibility.” The words rushed out all at once, like water spilled from a cup.
This didn’t seem to be what Eleanor was expecting. “Do you…dislike her?”
“No.” She said it too quickly. “No,” she repeated.
Her friend stared at her, focused, intent—Sarah wondered if this was the sight beetles saw before they were snatched up and preserved with chemicals. “You’re lying. I can tell you’re lying,” Eleanor said.
“Only a little!” Sarah responded, throwing her hands up in an abrupt, defeated gesture.
“I’ve never known you to dislike anyone.”
She didn’t really dislike Win, she realized on second thought. No, a part of her resented Win. For each condescending smile and gesture from before, and for calling her little Sarah, even after all these years.
But it seemed petty, and she didn’t know how to explain it to herself, much less to Eleanor, so she didn’t try.
“She’s not the same now as she was then,” she settled for.
“Her husband died. Maybe she simply needs more time.”
“It was like this before his death.”
“Did she have a happy marriage?”
“I don’t…” Sarah paused. She had no idea what their marriage had been like. “I don’t know.”
Eleanor was staring at her, brow furrowed.
“We didn’t discuss her marriage very often.”
“You couldn’t tell, based on things she might have mentioned in her letters, or, perhaps, not mentioned?”
“No, I couldn’t tell.” She hadn’t tried to decipher anything further than what was written. She hadn’t wanted to think too much about Win’s marriage to Gregory, at all. She certainly hadn’t wanted to delve into its secrets.
Eleanor was studying her. There was something about her expression, so sharp and focused, that Sarah wanted to hide from.
“She was fine, I’m sure. Win knows how to take care of herself.”
Eleanor lifted a shoulder. She seemed to sense that Sarah wasn’t entirely comfortable with this conversation. “Does she have any interest in science?”
Sarah laughed. “Do you want me to recruit her?”
“Well—”
Eleanor broke off when a woman appeared in the doorway. And Sarah’s heart fluttered like yesterday hadn’t even happened, like Win had simply emerged, stepping through time and distance.
Win hadn’t seen Eleanor yet. She was bright-faced from being outdoors, hand tugging impatiently at the ribbons of her black bonnet. She still wore the pearl earrings from the day before, and Sarah’s gaze was drawn to the curve of her ear, the soft tender patch of skin underneath.
“Your servants are still alarmingly easy to slip past,” Win said. She looked up. Faltered, almost imperceptibly, hand frozen in the act of pulling the bonnet from her hair. Then she seemed to take a breath, and continued.
“May I introduce my friend, Mrs. Wakefield?” Sarah said to Eleanor.
Eleanor nodded politely. “How do you do?”
“I don’t think we need to hold with such formality,” Win said brightly, taking Sarah by surprise. “We are both friends of Sarah, which means we should be friends with one another.”
Eleanor, who was a bit reserved with people she didn’t know, didn’t seem convinced, but she said, after a noticeable pause, “You may call me Eleanor, then.”
“And you must call me Win.”
Sarah glanced between them. It was odd to see the two of them together, like watching her past and present collide. Eleanor, neat and plain and unassuming, a strong but quiet presence, and Win, bright and bold and striking, who glowed like flame.
Such different people, and she’d cared so deeply for them both.
Win sat in the armchair across from them, and Sarah rang for more tea. She watched from the corner of her eye as Win peeled off her white gloves, revealing shapely hands, elegant fingers, and short, ragged nails. She still bit at them, then. A nervous habit she’d had as long as Sarah had known her. A glint of gold on her ring finger made Sarah glance away, stomach tightening.
“What were you discussing before I came in?”
You. Sarah wanted to say. You’ve been on my mind since the moment you arrived. But she turned to Eleanor instead. “Eleanor was working on some sketches.”
“Oh, were you indeed? You are an artist?”
“I draw beetles, mostly,” she said.
Sarah cocked an eyebrow at the dismissive tone. Around people she knew well and other entomologists, Eleanor had no trouble taking pride in her work. Around polite acquaintances, she tended to downplay her work or not discuss it at
all. “She’s very good.”
“Could I see them or do you keep them private?”
Eleanor glanced at Sarah uncertainly. Sarah nodded. She might be carrying around some resentment where Win was concerned, but the other woman wasn’t cruel. She wouldn’t dismiss Eleanor’s drawings, or laugh at them.
If Sarah didn’t know much about Win anymore, she at least knew that.
Eleanor reached across the low table in front of them to hand over her pocketbook.
Win flipped through it slowly, face impassive at first, and then she frowned. Sarah felt Eleanor tense beside her.
“Good God, this creature is hideous,” Win exclaimed. She glanced over the top of her book, seeming to realize, a little belatedly, that Eleanor might take that as an insult. “But your drawing of it is exquisite.”
Eleanor’s shoulders eased.
Win finished looking and handed the book back gently. “Sarah was right. You’re very good.”
“Thank you.”
“Win used to be interested in chemical philosophy,” Sarah said.
This caught Eleanor’s attention immediately. “We need more chemists in the society.”
“It was a bit of a phase, I’m afraid. I’m no chemist. I don’t have the mind nor the patience for it.”
The statement, and the flippant way it was spoken, annoyed Sarah for some reason. “Win is smarter than she lets on.”
The frown that had heretofore been reserved for hideous beetles was now directed at Sarah. “What do you mean?”
“You’re intelligent. You only act like you’re not,” Sarah said, a little too sharply. She remembered, very clearly, how Win would giggle at Gregory’s jests, no matter how asinine they were. Win was about a hundred times smarter than Gregory had been—not to disparage Sarah’s cousin, but his charm was in his personality, not his intellect—and yet, she’d never given away a hint of it when the two were together.
“You’re welcome to join the society,” Eleanor said.
“I’ll think about it,” Win answered in the sort of casual, polite way that made it clear she wouldn’t think about it for too long. “I hear that Sarah was a liaison for the society in the early days?”
“Yes, she was.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“It means,” Sarah said wryly, able to speak more bluntly without her parents’ presence, “that the society needed wealthy members to help fund it, and I was better at convincing them to join than Eleanor was.”
“So you charmed them into giving away their money?”
Someone else might take offense, but Sarah only smiled. She’d enjoyed her role in forming the scientific society more than she’d expected. “I was quite good at it, too.”
“Did you ever ask your father for help?”
“No. He made it clear from the beginning that he disapproved.”
Win’s brows drew together. “And yet, you continued on your path?”
Sarah had been cowed more easily by her father’s disapproval when she’d been younger. Now, it didn’t cut quite so deeply. “The older I get, the more I realize that there are certain things I need to do with or without my father’s approval.”
“Sarah wants to travel,” Eleanor said quietly.
“Travel?” Win echoed.
Sarah looked down at her teacup, disconcerted. She had helped with the society against her father’s wishes because it was important to Eleanor. Traveling was something she only wanted for herself. Was it selfish to want something only for herself, against her family’s desires? Sarah didn’t think so, but not everyone agreed with her.
“To the continent,” she finally said.
“Like a grand tour?” Win asked.
“Something like that.”
“I can’t imagine your father would approve of that, either?”
Sarah sighed. “He doesn’t. He’s made it quite clear that the only funding for a trip he’ll provide is if I go to London to find a husband. I’ve been saving up my pin money, little by little.”
It would take some time, to have enough, but Sarah could be patient. She could go without new dresses or bonnets, anyway—it wasn’t like she was trying to impress a suitor. She’d wanted to marry for love, and somewhere along the way, with each suitor she’d failed to connect with in anything other than a superficial manner, she’d given up hope of finding it.
There were only two people her heart had ever beat faster for, and they were both sitting in the drawing room with her. Both out of reach, for different reasons.
“You’ll go to Italy first,” Win said, surprising her. After a beat of silence: “You used to talk about Rome. You showed me books with illustrations.”
“So I did,” she answered, with a little pang. The reminder of all the times she’d gone to Win, eager to share something with her, to share anything at all, hurt, somewhere deep in her soul. It was a reminder of what they’d once been to each other. A reminder of everything they no longer were.
The maid came in, then, with fresh supplies on a silver tray, and Sarah leaned over the table to busy herself preparing the tea.
Win sipped at her too-hot tea, surreptitiously studying Eleanor MacGregor. She wasn’t exactly what Win had been picturing. The woman was quiet and a bit serious, with unremarkable features and plain brown hair pulled back in a severe chignon. Under a dictionary definition of governess, there was probably a drawing of a woman who looked just like Eleanor.
Win hadn’t been sure what she’d expected, though—someone more like herself?
That would have required a level of ego Win didn’t think she had. Though she’d been wrong before.
They chatted a few minutes longer before Eleanor stood to leave, and Sarah followed, stopping at the doorway.
Win heard Eleanor murmur something to Sarah—an invitation to an event? She caught the words night and telescope and her own name. Perhaps Eleanor was inviting them both?
Sarah spoke, and then Eleanor said something else, something that made Sarah smile. She touched Eleanor’s elbow, very briefly, and there was an expression on her face that made Win’s skin prickle.
It was admiration, yes. But Win already knew that Sarah admired the other woman. This was something else. Something else, entirely.
A softness. An awareness. A glance that lingered just a little too long.
She’d seen the expression before but never on Sarah’s face.
It was infatuation.
Sarah didn’t just admire Eleanor MacGregor, she was enamored with her.
Chapter 3
Ten years earlier
The sun was warm on Sarah’s closed eyelids. She clutched a lemonade glass, wet with sweat, and drank from it now and then when she could work up the energy to do so. Bees droned in the nearby roses as the sweet, lethargic heat of summer sank into her bones.
Then, her perfect peace was broken. She heard a noise, a scuffle, and a sworn oath. She blinked awake. At least that was how it felt—like she’d been sleeping and now she was not.
A girl with dark eyes peered over the wall that divided the yards of the two houses and said, in a hushed whisper, “Would you like to see something extraordinary?”
Sarah was briefly confused. Did they know each other?
But the girl was staring at her expectantly. Maybe they’d met, and she just didn’t remember. Though some part of Sarah knew this was a girl she couldn’t have forgotten. There was something about her, indefinable and indescribable…like the way the imprint of the sun stayed on your eyelids, long after you looked away.
“All right,” she said, voice emerging timidly.
The girl frowned and waved her forward. “Well, come up, then.”
She wanted her to climb…over a wall?
She waved again. And Sarah did, as though she’d been commanded. She stepped up to the wall, found a crevice to lever her foot, and then she pushed, up and up, arms stretching…and the girl grabbed her and helped to haul her over.
Sarah dropped ont
o a strategically placed crate and then onto the ground, swaying with a sudden rush of anticipation and worry.
What was she doing here? Who exactly was this girl? And had she just climbed over a wall? Sarah didn’t climb things. Her mother, long ago, had told her it wasn’t ladylike, while she let Sarah’s brothers run around screaming and hitting each other with sticks, which Sarah pointed out wasn’t fair because boys yelling and striking each other wasn’t very gentlemanlike, was it?
Her mother had told her life wasn’t fair, which Sarah didn’t think was an argument so much as an avoidance, but it had effectively ended the discussion.
The girl didn’t seem too perturbed about the climbing (or maybe her mother had just never told her not to). She rushed along a winding path, slippers crunching on the gravel, and pushed into the house.
Sarah, like she was being led on a string, followed her into an empty kitchen, where a lit wax candle and blank sheet of parchment perched atop a central chopping table.
“I was going to do it by myself,” the girl said solemnly. “But then I decided something like this really requires an audience. What do you know about chemical philosophy?”
“Chemical philosophy?” Sarah echoed.
“Chemistry is the study of matter.” She lifted her hand—index finger pointed ceiling-ward to add emphasis. “It is the science of change.”
“You look like my governess,” Sarah said. She did, too. Her governess would hold up her hand to make pronouncements about topics she was fond of—which, boringly, were always different facets of etiquette. A lady (hand up) always, always wears a bonnet outdoors!
The girl lowered her hand. “Are you insulting me? I saw your governess…she’s ancient!”
Sarah was too busy protesting to realize the girl must have taken notice of her before today. She would think about it later, though, when she remembered the soft rose musk on a summer breeze and a strange girl asking her if she wanted to see something extraordinary. “No…no…that wasn’t what I—I meant the gesture was—”
“It’s fine. I was only teasing you. Now,” the girl said grandly, unperturbed, “back to the experiment.” She lifted the parchment and showed it proudly to Sarah.