Page 16 of Into the Sky With You (The Ladies Alpine Society #4)

M arkus had been a godsend. Fueled by his rewarmed coffee, a slice of bread, and some very delicious chocolate, Julian was right as rain by noon. True to his word, Markus arranged a carriage as far as Bern, a horse as far as the mountains, and then a donkey into Zermatt.

Each transfer had been easy and swift, each of them expecting him. Whatever magic Markus wrought, he was second to none. Before night fell, Julian was in Zermatt, and the view did not disappoint.

The white-capped mountains surrounded the bowl of the village with breathtaking clarity. He left his donkey with a Swiss man who seemed to know all about Julian, though he didn’t speak a word of English. Instead, the man motioned over to the Mount Rosa hotel, where men of all ages lined the exterior wall, lounging while enjoying coffee and tea, wine and beer, cordials and liquors. They were all in Zermatt for climbing, as evidenced by their ruched gaiters over their calves, sunburnt chins, and wind-chapped cheeks.

The name of the hotel didn’t ring a bell in his memory, but Julian approached to chat with the array of adventurers. He had Ophelia’s instruction letter in his pack, stowed away carefully. He would have to unpack the whole thing to get them out.

They greeted him and he waved his hand in greeting as well, asking if anyone spoke English, Spanish, or French. The answer was a robust yes from all of them, but the oldest man there spoke French the best, so Julian’s Spanish-accented French was how they conversed.

It turned out that two English ladies were enough of an anomaly that every gentleman knew where they were staying, which was at the inn up the hill. Many of them eyed him with distrust after the inquiry, clearly protective of her and her privacy.

“I’m her climbing partner,” he insisted. That earned him some modicum of respect, but it didn’t matter. Ophelia would have to vouch for him in person before they would trust him. Which was oddly heartwarming.

None of them offered him a seat next to them, so Julian didn’t have to navigate international decorum in declining. He set off for the inn at the edge of town.

Instead of enjoying the quaint shops, the adorable flower boxes, and tidy houses, Julian’s sweaty hands betrayed his nerves. By the time he arrived at the small inn, which sat nestled into the hillside, smelling of fresh hay and fresh-cut lumber, he was nearly shaking from nerves.

Steady breaths while he thought through the topics he wished to bring up to Ophelia, namely his inability to share his inner person, helped calm him. He’d never been this nervous over anything. Not being caught on a peak in a lightning storm, nor having to talk down an angry Spaniard intent on impaling him, nor even a close encounter with an anaconda (which was why he chose to explore the mountains of South America and not its waterways).

But as he was collecting himself, someone called his name. Julian looked up, relieved to see the amiable broad form of Karl Vogel walking towards him. “A messenger came to tell me you were wandering about Zermatt looking for us.”

“Mr. Vogel,” Julian said with utter gratitude. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you.”

“Call me Karl, please. It is simpler. And I am surprised to see you. Does Ophelia know you are coming?” The German man folded his forearms in front of him, likely out of comfort, but it was a powerful display of strength, nonetheless. It reminded Julian of the animals that intentionally made themselves bigger when a rival male entered their territory.

“I don’t believe so, no.” Julian cheeks heated despite the Alpine breeze.

Karl clicked his tongue. “I do not wish to meddle.”

“Good.”

“—But.”

Julian winced and waited.

“She is very upset with you.” Karl looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You have some very big apologies to make.”

“I know I do,” Julian said. “And I am more than prepared to make them. I’ve traveled a long way thinking about nothing but that.”

“Probably you will need to do some begging.”

“No doubt about that,” Julian agreed.

“Also, are you going up the Matterhorn with us?” Karl asked.

It took a moment for Julian to change gears from thinking of Ophelia and his shame to thinking about the ambitious trek. He hoped any residual fitness he had wasn’t completely shorn away by his London months. “Ah, yes. I am planning on that, actually. As part of my begging for forgiveness.”

Karl grinned and clapped him on the bicep. “Excellent. Four is better than three, in my opinion.”

“Any update on when that climb might take place?” Julian asked, wondering how much time he had to make amends enough that Ophelia might put her life in his hands, and his in hers.

The man’s gaze shifted to the mountain tops, as if he could evaluate the snow from where he stood. “Soon, I think. Perhaps five days? The weather seems to be shifting already. It is early for the season, but I think if we wait too long, we will miss our window.”

So Julian had only a few days to put things right. Hopefully all he would need was an afternoon, but he had a feeling it would take much more than that. “I don’t suppose you know if there is a room vacant here?”

Karl grinned. “If you don’t mind sleeping with the goats.”

“Better than where I slept last night.” Julian was too anxious to be tired yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time before his exhaustion took over and he was useless.

“I am teasing. I’ll find you something. Ophelia is with Justine on a trail that direction.” He pointed. “You can leave your things with me, if you like. Or you can wait for their return here.”

Julian was ready to dump his pack and dash down the trail, but then doubt assailed him. “What do you think is the best thing to do?”

Karl frowned as he thought. “I am not certain. They have banished me from all conversation for several days, so I do not know how she is feeling.”

“I don’t want her to feel like I’m ambushing her,” Julian said.

“No, no. Perhaps I find them, tell them she can meet you at a tavern and discuss?”

Julian sighed. He did not want to go sit in a tavern for an undetermined amount of time. “I don’t think I am able to, I didn’t sleep last night.”

Karl gave him a strange look.

“I would need a nap first.” Indeed, this entire conversation had him quickly deflating. “Perhaps you could point me in the direction of the goat shed?”

“Come,” Karl said, wrapping his thick arm around Julian’s shoulders. “Let’s get you to a room, a nap, and perhaps a wash-up. I’ll tell Ophelia that you have arrived, and she can figure out if and where she would like to speak with you.”

“Brilliant,” Julian said, suddenly barely more than staggering on his feet. It turned out that Karl’s uncle ran the inn, and Julian got an excellent rate and a good room. When he opened his pack to get his shaving kit, he saw a small unfamiliar box packed on top. He plucked it out and examined it, finding a note scrawled across a piece of paper tucked in the string that held it closed.

Forgiveness is easier with chocolate.

Julian smiled and set it aside. Another gift for Ophelia, then. He bathed, shaved, made himself presentable, and then fell asleep on top of the covers in his spartan bachelor room.

*

A knock on the door woke him from a dead slumber. Julian glanced at the window, noting that night had already fallen. He’d slept through dinner, which had not been his intention. He sat up, thinking it might be Karl, to tell him to come down and speak to Ophelia, or perhaps the uncle, Herr Brunner, who seemed a very nice fellow.

“Coming,” he croaked. A wave of dizziness hit him but passed quickly. His mouth was dry, and his eyes felt scratchy. He hadn’t gotten enough rest, but that was no matter. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to press on with little physical strength. He was determined that Ophelia understand him, that at least if she couldn’t forgive him, there could be that.

When he opened the door, his jaw dropped open because it wasn’t Karl.

Ophelia stood there, in her evening dress, a light blue chiffon-like drape around her shoulders. She was stunning, and his mouth didn’t seem to work any longer. He’d forgotten how truly beautiful she was. The more fool him.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” she said.

“I did,” he said, which was possibly the most idiotic thing he could have said. They stared at each other. “Would you like to come in?”

Ophelia shook her head. Which made sense. He was inviting her into his room, after all, and that did signal an intent that he was well aware was not appropriate.

“A walk perhaps?” he asked.

She gave a slight nod, and that beautiful golden hair caught the low light, shining like a beacon of old. He should be grateful she would bother to even give him five minutes, let alone a walk.

“I’ll grab my coat,” he said, stepping back into his room and letting the door slowly swing closed. He took a deep breath and gathered his jacket and hat. This was his chance. If everything blew up in his face, it was his only chance.

He saw her gifts sitting on the small dressing table. Should he explain first, and give gifts later? Yes, that was best. Otherwise, she would be carrying them on the walk, and that was cumbersome.

He stepped outside, catching a glance at her unguarded face as she gazed down the passage. Before she registered his presence, Julian saw despair. She was thinner, making her face appear narrower. He didn’t know if her emotions were tied to the place, and she was experiencing grief over the loss of her father, or if it was fear regarding the Matterhorn, or worse—it was because of him.

“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing down the hall, towards the stair, and ultimately, the front entrance.

She gave him a tight smile and set off down the hall. Her steps were short, measured. The evening dress wasn’t restrictive, so it didn’t require such a small gait. But she held herself tightly, taut like rope stretched so thin it begins to fray.

They walked out into the warm night. Julian offered his arm, but Ophelia didn’t move toward him. She kept the distance so large between them that he was afraid he might have to shout.

“If we walk toward the village, there will be light to see by,” Ophelia said.

“Of course,” Julian said, following her lead. The tension between them was full of ache and sodden hopes. Julian didn’t know where to even start. What could he say to her to make up for what had happened in the last months? When he was able to finally pull himself together enough to speak, she spoke at the same time.

“I apologize, go ahead,” she said.

“No, please, I don’t intend to talk over you.”

She gave him a devastating look and asked lightly, “Don’t you?”

It landed like buckshot, humiliation scattering inside him. “I don’t. I’m here to apologize to you at the very least.”

She considered it, and he was desperate to hear her next words. “And at the very most?”

He swallowed hard, not wanting to open his entire chest for her evisceration. “To summit the Matterhorn with you.”

She nodded, and it was obvious that this was an inadequate answer, but he didn’t know why. His brain shook like a gold panner.

“I know I have several things to apologize for,” Julian said, not sure where to start. “And the first is for leaving you in Paris, without saying goodbye.”

“Is that the first chronologically, or the first you’re saying?” Her tone was light and delicate, and it panicked him.

Whatever his answer was, he knew it was wrong. “The first I’m listing. In a long list.”

She stared at him, unblinking and expressionless.

“Very long list,” he assured her. He cleared his throat. “Ophelia. I want to tell you—er, if you want to know, that is. I want to answer the question you asked me, back in Paris. The question that I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know that you were really asking to share myself. I didn’t understand that it wasn’t a question rooted in jealousy, but rooted in a desire to know me. I pushed you away, and that hurt you. I see that now.”

“Then why did you leave Paris?” Ophelia asked.

“Because I knew I had disappointed you. Your coldness unnerved me. And I knew that I had done something wrong, but I thought that I had dishonored your father’s memory by going to bed with you. It was silly to think more about a dead man than you, who were right beside me. It didn’t occur to me that in fact, the connection between us should have been honored. And I didn’t do that.”

Ophelia eyed him, and he could see her skepticism floating between them, despite the fact that moonlight was the only illumination. Finally, she looked down, as if she had taken his measure completely. “What would you say now if I asked that question again? If I asked you about your past lovers?”

Julian cleared his throat. “I would remind you that I am a decade your senior. That the ten years in which I lived outside of Europe were spent as young men are wont to spend their unattached times.”

“Which means you cavorted with actresses?”

Julian cringed. Even hearing the words out of her mouth felt awful. “No, because those kinds of women were... unhappy?” He finished. How to explain to a lady the state of some of these women? Taken from their people, or their lands already flattened from disease and clear-cutting? He shook his head. “No, I took a lover. A woman I thought I would marry.”

“Oh,” Ophelia whisper, the surprise evident in her voice.

“I realize now how na?ve I was. She was the daughter of an indigenous woman and a Spanish man and spent time in the village where I based many of my surveys. I kept rooms there, and offered her a place to live while I was away. Which was frequent. And when I would return, we would live together. She’d made the place her own in my absence, and it made my scant rooms feel like a home. I was foolish enough to believe she felt something bigger about me, and not that she had a very nice place to stay where I was rarely there to bother her.”

“What happened next?” Ophelia’s voice was soft. She clasped her hands together, letting them bounce off her legs as she walked.

“She left.”

“I bet it still hurt.”

“It hurt my pride, yes,” Julian admitted. “And I thought I loved her. It took falling in love with you to understand that it was different.” The words were out of his mouth, falling in love with you , but she didn’t seem to notice. Did she understand how difficult it was for him to offer up his past like this? To be open and vulnerable to her derision or worse: disinterest.

Ophelia looked at him, her expression serious and thoughtful. “You wanted a home.”

Julian nodded. “My parents died when I was young, and I kept on living at school. I didn’t really have a home.”

“Is that still the same now? You want a home?”

Her question was like a rock thrown into a pond. His mind had his immediate answer, but then everything fell into place as the ripples cast outward. “No.”

She frowned. “Then what do you want?”

Julian smiled because he felt his chest expanding, as if he’d been wearing a too-tight waistcoat for a decade, not knowing how to take a full breath. “I want you, Ophelia. I want your friendship, I want your respect. It may be too much to ask, but I also want your love. I haven’t loved since my parents died. I’ve been alone. And I’d forgotten how big a person can feel when one loves someone.”

Ophelia caught her breath and stopped walking, so he did as well. “Those are quite the demands.”

“They aren’t demands. They are offers. Ones you aren’t obligated to take.” Julian held out his hands, hoping she might put hers into them. She didn’t, but he kept his outstretched, just in case. “I wronged you, Ophelia. I hurt you, yes, by the way I treated you in Paris, and by leaving. But I also wronged you professionally. You know that I would never purposefully take credit for someone else’s work.”

Ophelia’s features smoothed into cool detachment.

“So I have, in my room, the reprinted edition of the latest RGS journal. They retracted my name, and credited your last name, Bridewell. Someday, perhaps you can take full ownership of that work. If not, everyone will think it was Tristan. But people who know you, even a little bit, will understand that you wrote that article. Your achievements are wondrous, and belong to you.”

She slid her hands into his, but didn’t meet his eye. But that was fine—he could wait. He would wait until eternity dawned for Ophelia Bridewell.