Page 13 of Into the Sky With You (The Ladies Alpine Society #4)

O phelia did not think about Fairport. His existence was of little use to her, especially now that she would not have to marry him for months yet. Instead, she threw herself into planning her second assault on the Matterhorn.

She had not heard from Julian, whose absence perplexed Lady Rascomb. In response to her mother’s probing, Ophelia said, “He’s probably met a woman.”

It was something Ophelia had imagined with a punishing regularity. That being in the arms of a novice in Paris had made Julian yearn for the practiced attentions of Lady DeMarius. No doubt he’d been availing himself of her since his return. He hadn’t even the time to clear up the debacle of her article being printed under his name. That slight would just go on unacknowledged. But Ophelia knew. The knife was still thrust in her, still bleeding.

Despite the pain, she still included him in all her mountaineering plans. He had never said he wasn’t going. And he was the reason she was attempting the deadly mountain a second time. Technically, this was true. His interest is what gave her the excuse. She would go whether he went or not. At least, if they’d the money.

Yesterday she’d gotten a letter from Prudence, offering apologies and well-wishes, and explaining that she and Mr. Moon would not be able to reach Europe in time for climbing season. Their boat was still well past India, and even if they were to get on a boat that very day, they still wouldn’t be able to make the expedition.

It was disappointing to have one of the original members of The Ladies’ Alpine Society unable to go, but Prudence offered a donation to the expenses of the trip. That helped make it sting less.

After all, the largest issue at this point was funding. Technically, her dowry wasn’t hers, it was the estate’s, so she couldn’t use it without Arthur’s permission, but he seemed possibly amenable. Currently, it was tied to the marriage contract with Fairport, but she wasn’t sure if it was a monetary amount, or an account number listed, or lands. She had written out a request to use the dowry as her funding, but had not yet heard back from Arthur on the subject. She didn’t dare ask for anything like this verbally, knowing there needed to be some kind of paper trail associated with it.

Ultimately, if the contract was not settled because she’d insisted on a delay, then it would mean the money was still available. Which could explain the subsequent amount of fretting from Fairport. He was like a child, whining about whether or not she loved him. She knew it was pretense, for she had no illusion that he loved her. But it could be that he loved the promise of her dowry. And she had better uses for it.

Eleanor arrived for an early morning call, which was fine, as Ophelia had not yet finished her letter writing for the morning. Once she started examining topography versus the numerous accounts of other successful ascents of the Matterhorn, she would not relish an interruption.

“I have to be home by eleven,” Eleanor explained.

“I see,” Ophelia said, but her eye was caught by a strange mark on her map of the Matterhorn. It stayed laid out all day now. There was no sense in tidying it away. And was that a new pathway? Could that bypass the columns that had injured her father? Oh, no. It was, in fact, a crumb.

“But I had to tell you, because I owe it to you. I’m afraid you’ll be quite cross with me.” Eleanor hadn’t touched her tea. Ophelia looked at the tea, looked at Eleanor. She did look different. Almost, puffy somehow.

Ah. “You’re pregnant,” Ophelia said. The news struck her with a surprising disappointment. Another member off the team.

Eleanor gasped. “Who told you? I swear I only figured it out myself.”

“No one, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.” Ophelia wanted to be excited for them, but she was selfish. So very selfish. It meant that Tristan and Eleanor would not be climbing with her this summer. It meant Eleanor was embarking on a life that Ophelia could not—would not?—follow.

“The timing is not ideal,” Eleanor admitted.

Ophelia softened, reminding herself that Tristan and Eleanor had both been wanting a family. It wasn’t right that she was making Eleanor feel bad because she’d gotten what she wanted. “The timing is fine.” Ophelia leaned across the small table to put her hand on Eleanor’s wrist.

“Tristan is over the moon about the baby, but he feels terrible about the trip.”

“Don’t worry. I have Justine and Karl to go with me. And Tristan can feel free to gift me the very best and latest equipment as recompense.”

“I’m so glad you aren’t angry with me.” Eleanor stood.

Ophelia stood, shook her head, and stepped to embrace Eleanor. They’d been through so much together. “I couldn’t be angry. I’ll be an auntie.”

Eleanor squeezed her back with a sudden ferocity. “But you get up there, Ophelia. Just because I can’t be there doesn’t mean I don’t think you should go. I know there will be some who say you shouldn’t go just because Tristan won’t be there. But you go, Ophelia. Conquer that mountain. Do it for me.”

Taken aback by Eleanor’s outburst, Ophelia nodded in agreement. “I’ll get there,” she promised.

“Now, I have to get home, because I swell very badly if I’m out for too long.”

Ophelia laughed and pushed her along. “Then go, go! I don’t want Tristan to come yelling at me for making his wife puffy.”

“He’s a terror,” Eleanor said with a wide grin. As if amiable Tristan could ever be one.

After her friend left, it was harder to return to her correspondence. She had news of Eleanor, which she would not share until Eleanor gave her permission. And it made her think again of her expedition. If Prudence, Tristan and Eleanor were out, who else was in the party? Justine, Karl, herself, and Julian.

But four was a good number. Enough to take care of problems that might arise, but not so many that the problem could scupper the entire expedition.

After Eleanor’s departure, the afternoon passed slowly. Even Lady Emily lumbered down, now finally in what had to be her last weeks of pregnancy. Ophelia had thought it would have happened already, but apparently, the babe was comfortable where it was.

“Tea. Please.” Lady Emily said, collapsing into a chair.

“I thought you were counselled—”

“Give me tea. The strong stuff. So dark it looks like tar.” Lady Emily was normally genteel, even under these circumstances, but today she looked like a woman pushed too far.

“Of course,” Ophelia said, pouring her a fresh cup and handing it to her because setting it on the table would render the cup inaccessible to Lady Emily. Her belly was nearly a third of her.

Lady Emily drank it down, no sweetener, no cream. She held out her cup. “Another.”

Ophelia poured again, careful not to drip on the rug. Lady Emily drank it down again. “Again.”

Ophelia stood by and poured yet again, until Lady Emily signaled she was ready to slow down. When she did, the teacup rested on top of her belly.

“Do you think it will be soon?” Ophelia asked, unsure of what to say in such a situation.

“I hope so,” Lady Emily said, wincing as she pulled herself up. “I cannot take much more of this. I feel like an over-filled hot air balloon.”

“Sounds dangerous.” Ophelia watched her carefully, noting the puffiness that Eleanor sought to avoid settling in around all of Lady Emily’s features.

“Arthur convinced me not to drink black tea, and now it is all I crave. Someone gave him a fool notion that it would hurt the baby, but if that makes this baby kick its way out, then I’ll take all I can stomach!”

“Of course,” Ophelia said, thinking they needed to more tea at this rate.

“Oh,” Lady Emily said, opening her eyes wide.

“What is it?” Ophelia watched as Lady Emily held her belly and winced.

“It worked. Oh God, Ophelia, it worked. Give me more of that tea.” Lady Emily rattled her teacup.

Ophelia sprang to her feet with the teapot and poured. “Is this a good idea? I’m not sure it’s the best thing—”

“Pour the goddamn tea, Ophelia.” Lady Emily’s voice was low and feral.

Ophelia obliged, pouring down to the dregs. “I will call for some more.” When Ferris arrived to wait on them, Lady Emily was visibly distressed. Ferris became visibly distressed at Lady Emily’s visible distress, and Ophelia was in favor of not being in charge.

She sent Ferris down for more tea, called for her mother, dashed a note off to Arthur, and found some pillows to make Lady Emily more comfortable. The comfort didn’t last long, and soon Lady Emily was up and pacing.

“The pacing is helping, but my goodness—” She bent over in pain.

Ophelia went to her, and Lady Emily squeezed her hand so hard that Ophelia wasn’t sure there was an ounce of blood left in it. “So you need to get your mind off of it?”

Lady Emily stood back up, breathing hard. “I need to talk.”

Ophelia nodded, and Lady Emily began speaking and didn’t stop for a very long time. She covered every topic from dinner menus to her childhood friends.

It was more than Ophelia had heard Lady Emily speak in all the time she’d known her. By the time Arthur arrived home, many hours later, Lady Emily was ensconced in her room, in the thick of childbirth with a midwife in attendance and a physician on his way.

And it was some hours after that when the baby finished making its way into the world. Ophelia stood by Lady Emily every step of the way, breathing and sweating and fetching more bedding and swapping out food trays, and always tea, Lady Emily swore by the tea. Lady Rascomb stayed out with Arthur, and so Ophelia also gave swift updates, as she was the go-between for servants as well.

Somewhere in the clamor, in the intensity, Lady Emily had gripped her hand and said, “You are better than anyone I’ve ever met at—” and then the pain ripped through her, and Ophelia was left to wonder what she was better at.

But Ophelia didn’t question it. She took care of everyone’s needs, helped with the physician and the midwife, as both were called in, and neither of them wanted to share the patient. At one point, she was told she had a visitor, but Ophelia was too tired to accept the note or see anyone.

By the end of the process, she was elated and tired. Watching Lady Emily hold her baby was magical to see, and then witnessing Arthur do the same was heartbreaking. It was one thing to see Lady Emily or Portia hold her baby, and Ophelia had seen plenty of young mothers holding their children, but it wasn’t the same kind of revelation to her as it was to watch her brother’s face shift from shock to joy, as he fell in love with a tiny person in a fraction of a second. And soon, Tristan would also have the experience.

Ophelia smiled. And it was all thanks to a strong cup of tea.

*

If Julian had not seen the birth announcement a day later, he might have thought he was being put off. Ophelia had not been available for his visit, and while a footman only said she was unavailable due to a family matter, the wide-eyed shuffling of him made it clear that something unusual was happening.

And now there was a baby girl to celebrate. Lady Agatha. Julian smiled. He liked babies. And mostly, he liked making faces at them and watching them gurgle applause. Their guileless trust in him was pure. Sometimes it was humbling, when he took in the wider ramifications of life: him being an Englishman, and many of the babies he held being several shades darker than he. His countrymen were tearing up the South American continent, and he didn’t know how to stop it. So he climbed his mountains and held babies and gave medicines and gems he’d come across during his surveys. He did what he could do on the small scale.

Perhaps he could try again to visit Ophelia in a few days’ time. Tell her what he knew about Fairport’s money needs, and be firm about not going to Switzerland with her. He’d gotten a note back from the grant team. They liked his proposal and it was down to him and one other explorer.

In fact, they’d invited both of them to a dinner, which would help determine the fate of the expedition. Julian certainly didn’t like the idea of breaking bread with his competitor, but it was likely one of those “gentlemanly” things that were expected of men in London, and so he would do it.

He wrote a letter in return, carefully accepting the dinner invitation and inquiring as to the date and time. And now he was obliged to wait. Wait for spring, wait for Ophelia, wait for his future. Which was dreadfully uncomfortable to him, and typically he walked when he was uncomfortable. So he donned his hat and muffler and went out. There was no mountain to climb, but there were steps, and that was a start.

*

Ophelia slept. She bathed late at night, after the baby was born. And then, given the luxurious nature of being a single woman with no responsibilities or debts, she kept on sleeping. There were a few moments where she awoke, a maid creeping in and out, but she turned over and closed her eyes and oblivion was once again there to meet her.

At one point, there was a tray at her bedside, but she ignored that, too. When she woke next, it was gone. Finally, it became too difficult to fall into that wonderfully safe velvet dreamscape, and she was awake. But it had been so cozy to be in her big bed, the world bustling about and giving her no reason to move about in it.

She rose from her bed and peeked out a curtain to find the world was still dark. The house sounded silent, so it must have been the early morning. Ophelia pulled on her dressing gown and padded downstairs. Rarely was this house entirely silent. The servants, her mother, Arthur, Lady Emily, someone was always about. Looking at the grandfather clock in the hall, she realized the maids would be up soon to light fires and begin breakfasts.

If she had been a child, all the immense dark quiet might have scared her. But now, it had a calming and soothing effect, especially after the birth of baby Agatha. Lady Emily had joked that her middle name ought to be “Ceylon” after the tea she drank to induce labor. Ophelia didn’t think it was actually the tea. It was probably just time. She’d never been much for superstitions and seeing coincidences as causality. But she understood the impulse.

Sailing through these dark, exquisite rooms gave Ophelia a new appreciation for her life. The casual opulence that decorated every thought and opinion, regardless of if she wanted it to or not. And how that would change whenever she moved to a new household. At Lord Fairport’s, she would live with the dowager countess Fairport, who would not appreciate any of Ophelia’s desires to rearrange the house. Not that Ophelia had many opinions in the way of interior decorating.

She ran a hand over the smooth, well-polished surface of the walnut entry-table. A marble top had been added when she was a child, following an accident where she and Tristan had wrestled in this very room, knocking over a few lit candlesticks. Unable to properly get the burns out of the finish, a cut of marble was added as a surface. The solution to any problem here was to throw money at it.

Being a woman, once she married, she would lose all access to her money. She would not be in a position like her mother, she didn’t think. While the Fairports seemed to have plenty, Ophelia would have to spend years ingratiating herself to her mother-in-law and husband for the kind of freedom Lady Rascomb had. And ingratiation was not something Ophelia was terribly good at.

No, she’d never wanted to be the fine lady, as Portia was, as Lady Emily was inherently. Ophelia could ape the moves easily, and had been primed for it, watching her mother. But where Ophelia was most happy was on an expedition. The planning, the anticipation, even the gathering of supplies and writing of confirmation letters, she adored it. Being in the location, the mountains or the hills below the peak, checking with local guides and seeing to proper nutrition for their health, it was invigorating.

But on the day of the climb, carrying the weight of the pack on her back, sleeping on the ground the night before, pushing herself to the very limits of what she thought she could endure, that was her favorite. The cold bite of mountain air on her cheeks, the wind threading icy fingers through her hair, the sweat that accumulated under her arms or in the crooks of her knees.

It was March now, the time they’d left for Zermatt two years ago. Karl said much had changed in the past two years—more hotels had cropped up, and more tourists wandered the hills, getting into trouble.

Suddenly, Ophelia knew what she would do. Instead of moping about London, waiting for time to pass, she would visit Justine in Augsburg, and then head to Switzerland early. She had letters to write this morning, warning ahead of her visits. And also to Herr and Frau Brunner, Karl’s uncle and aunt who owned the inn they’d stayed in two years prior.

Of course, that meant writing to Julian. Her stomach sank at the feeling. Julian. She both wanted him with her at all times and recoiled from how desperate he made her feel. How unworthy and unwanted. She doubted that had been his intention, but he made her feel that way all the same. Still, she squared her shoulders. He had promised to climb the Matterhorn. The expedition included him, as he’d never formally backed out.

She could be professional and bring him along on an expedition without it causing undo pain. Probably. She could at least pretend it didn’t cause pain, and that was enough.

Light crept through pulled curtains, and the tiptoes of maids sounded as loud as the slamming of books during daylight hours. Ophelia returned to her room to dress quickly, and then went to the drawing room to begin her letters. The room was cold, but Ophelia didn’t care much. She had a thousand things to do, and she wanted to do all of them right now.

As she pulled her writing desk onto her lap, she noticed a note, folded over, with her name on it. She opened it, her heart stopping when she realized it was from Julian. He had stopped by to call upon her and her mother, but she’d been indisposed, helping to bring baby Agatha into the world.

It made her heart lighten, to know that he was still thinking of her, just as she thought of him. She wondered if he thought of her in the same ways. The times when she sighed next to a rainy window, but also the times at night, alone in her room, the ache between her legs pulsing in want.

She could not very well go traipsing over to his flat, but she wrote a note to him, asking him to please come again. It would be easier to update him and get all the details she needed for the Matterhorn trip in person.

The letter to Justine from several days prior was not finished, so she put a fresh date mid-letter and continued on with a recounting of baby Agatha’s birth and her intentions to join her in Augsburg by the end of the month. From there, she would continue on to Zermatt as soon as she heard from Herr Brunner that the inn was opened.

As she folded her letters, a new calm overcame her. This was right. She inhaled a fresh breath, new as the day, new as a just-born babe.