Page 17 of Into the Sky With You (The Ladies Alpine Society #4)

O phelia stared at Julian’s hands. His thumbs now rubbed gently over her knuckles, but the lump in her throat made it impossible to talk. She felt beyond surprised. This was so far past any expectation she’d had of him, and it made her realize that she had gravely misjudged him.

He cared about her. He had used the word “love,” even. This wasn’t some passing fancy, or him taking advantage of her na?vete. Did she love him in return? How would a person know such a thing?

There was a tiny voice in her mind, one she’d never heard before, that squeaked, You already love him.

But listening to voices was for the abjectly insane, and not a very practical person like herself. She realized that she was beginning to tremble.

Worse, Julian noticed. “Are you not feeling well?”

Her first impulse was to snap, I feel fine! But she didn’t. Far from it—she felt hot and cold all over at the same time. Her mind was whirling like a too-fast carousel. “I’d like to go back, please.”

“Of course,” he said, and this time when he offered his arm, she took it.

Was it because she felt ill? No, she didn’t feel that ill. But perhaps it was that he melted her. That all she wanted was to fall into him, weep about how much she missed him, how lonely it had been planning this trip without him. But experience had taught her to be wary, so she kept herself apart as much as she could.

Leaning on him as she was meant she could smell him, and remember how achingly perfect everything had felt with him. From laughing in the drawing room in London, to the group dinners and his hotel room in Paris. Being with him felt right. Sort of like being home. Was that love? She’d have to think on it.

They walked on in silence, Ophelia’s head unspooling thread after thread of possibilities behind them. Once they returned to the inn, Ophelia expected to be descended upon by Justine or someone. But even the front desk was vacant. Julian reached over the desk to retrieve her key, and escorted her upstairs.

At her door, she turned to him, wondering if he would request a kiss or explicit forgiveness. To her surprise, he requested nothing.

“Do you need me to fetch someone to help you?” he asked. “Or perhaps I can have some tea sent up?”

She looked into his pitch-black eyes and saw the warmth there, human and open and willing. It was so different than how he had seemed those months ago in Paris.

“I think I’m fine.”

He unlocked her door and handed her the key, opening it so she could step through. “If you aren’t too poorly, I would like to bring you something before you retire for the night. It’s in my room, if you’ll allow me to fetch it.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

He gave her this crooked half-smile that made her heart flip over. As if she needed reminding that he was attractive. He’d developed a white streak of hair in one eyebrow that she liked. It made him seem unusual, or perhaps a bit mysterious. She stripped off her hat, gloves, and overcoat, then poured herself some water from the dressing table ewer to steady herself.

She needed to be honest. She had forgiven him for not telling her about this woman back in Paris. He was correct, that she’d asked the question out of a desire to connect, but if he had been truthful in that moment, who was to say that she wouldn’t have gotten jealous? Perhaps she would have. But then it would have been her decision. Her choice. And she could even forgive him for leaving so abruptly. She’d been so mad at him that next morning.

The knock on her door came quickly, and when she answered it, his hair was a bit askew, as if he’d taken the stairs three at a time. He was even a bit out of breath.

“Here you are.” Julian handed her a white box tied with string and a blue book. The RGS journal, embossed with gold. She opened the book and its spine creaked, the binding tight and unused.

There, in the index, the reprint of her article, with her last name next to it, and an italicized apology for printing it under the wrong name. The lump in her throat appeared. There it was. Her life’s work. Tears welled in her eyes and she had to look up so they didn’t fall and damage the table of contents. She let out an embarrassed huff. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“I know how much it meant to you.” Julian looked down. “I had been careless with your feelings. I didn’t understand. But I’d like to think I do, now.”

Ophelia smiled and looked down at the box. “And these?” She fumbled with the string.

“Those,” Julian said, swaying with an emotion she couldn’t place. Mischievousness? Embarrassment? “Those are a gift from my new friend Markus, who helped me when I tried to walk through the night from Zurich to Zermatt.”

Ophelia gasped. “It’s much too far to walk!”

Julian nodded. “As I found out when I encountered Markus, who works at—” He waited for her to finish untying the string and opened the box, revealing beautiful square chocolates. “Markus works at a chocolate factory. In Horgen.”

“They smell divine.” Indeed, her mouth was watering.

“You should have been at the factory,” Julian said.

“May I?” Ophelia felt like she was committing some kind of trespass by eating one. As if each confection held secrets, and biting into one would let the whole world know the truth.

“They are yours Ophelia. You could throw them out the window. Though, I would hope not.”

She dipped into the one at the corner, for one did not just pick from the center. It wasn’t orderly. The chocolate shell was hard and perfectly bitter and dark, and the middle soft and almost warm. “These are exquisite. Have you had one?”

Julian nodded, his eyes taking in her every feature. His attitude should have alarmed her, but instead, it made her feel loved. Seen. Cherished.

“These kinds of treats are all the more delicious when shared.” And she meant that. But she meant more than that too, she just didn’t know how to say it. All she could do was talk about the chocolate.

“If you’d like to share, I certainly won’t say no,” Julian said, taking one from the opposite corner, and not from the middle because that was the only proper way. Ophelia relaxed her shoulders, not realizing until that moment how upset she would have been if he had taken from the middle.

The bite of chocolate was the only thing that pried his gaze from her. “Oh, my, that is exceptional, isn’t it?” He stared down at it, rolling the chocolate in his mouth, just as she had.

Ophelia put the lid on the box, and shifted her weight, causing the door to bump her hip. Julian finished his chocolate. She didn’t know how to say all the things she felt, nor did she know if she was even ready to say them, let alone feel them.

“Tomorrow morning we’re having a meeting after breakfast to discuss our route and the weather conditions on the Matterhorn, if you’d like to come,” she said, instead of thanking him for the chocolates, the apology, and travelling across Europe. “Though, you’d have to prove you can acclimate quickly since you haven’t been with us these months, training.”

But his smile was wide, as if he understood that she was saying all of that during that invitation. That it was a gentle teasing. That she was forgiving him, shepherding him back into her life. “I might be out of shape for myself, but I think I could manage to not be desperately behind. I would love to attend the meeting, and perhaps verify my fitness with Karl tomorrow afternoon.”

Ophelia nodded, suddenly feeling shy and nervous and not at all like herself. Forcing herself to look up at him, she realized that she felt almost desperate to kiss him. Heat seeped into her cheeks instantly. “Thank you—er, see you tomorrow.”

She was already closing the door, when his low, gentle, “Goodnight, Ophelia,” rumbled across the threshold. Not recognizing her fumbling self, she leaned on the back of the door, listening to his footsteps down the passage and then to the stairs. It was then that she realized she was crushing the chocolate box against her. Her journal. Her chocolates. And possibly? Her hope.

Her first impulse was to find Justine and tell her everything. But then, her cooler, rational mind took over, and she realized she wanted to keep this to herself for a little longer. Because though he had not yet asked, it dawned on her that Julian would be the man she would marry. And she was Ophelia Bridewell, and once she made her mind up, there was no force on earth that could prevent her from doing what she thought was right.

*

“Are you glowing?” Justine said as Ophelia sat down for breakfast.

Ophelia touched her cheek. “Am I?”

Justine elbowed Karl. “What do you think? Is that a glow?”

Karl looked up from the meat and cheese layered in slices on his plate to his wife first, then to Ophelia. He chewed quickly, swallowed and nodded once. “Glow.” Then he went back to his breakfast.

Ophelia shrugged, a smile creeping onto her face that she couldn’t stop. There was a pot of tea on the table, and a buffet of traditional Alpine breakfast foods on one end of the room. While she couldn’t stomach the amount of food that Karl ate in a single sitting, she appreciated the sheer variety of sliced meats and cheeses, types of bread, honey, oats, berries, and fresh yogurts.

Here, there was no luncheon, as one was expected to be out on the mountains. It made Ophelia want to fill her lungs with the crisp and clean Alpine air. She loved this place. It felt as familiar and home-like as her brother’s Berringbone estate or the townhome in London.

Julian entered the dining room, and the feeling expanded. There was no place she’d rather be, and no one she’d rather be with.

“Ohhhhh,” Justine said softly.

Ophelia meant to shoot her a look of stern crossness, but instead, her residual smile stayed as she glanced at her friend. Even Karl glanced over his shoulder as Julian approached.

He looked handsome this morning. His frock coat flared out from his waist, the length brushing his knees. The buttons were polished and he looked well-rested and fresh-shaven. His dark hair was brushed so it shone like a raven’s wing. And when he looked at her, she could see the same joy and contentment in his heart that matched hers. “May I?”

Ophelia gestured to the seat next to hers. “Please.” She knew that across the table, the couple shared a look, and she didn’t care. In fact, she was glad. Because their joy was hers, and vice versa.

“You look like you finally got some sleep,” Karl said to Julian.

“Yes. And not in the shadow of a chocolate factory,” Julian quipped, looking over to her.

She was caught in his gaze, unable to speak or move. Then Justine cleared her throat.

“Will you be climbing the mountain with us?” Karl asked.

Julian tore his eyes from hers, and she blinked. The room suddenly felt hot. She poured herself a cup of tea, offering Julian one as well. He declined.

“Yes, I will. What an achievement, to be someone who has stood on that summit.” One of the servers came over when Julian signaled and poured coffee into his teacup. “And Ophelia, as expedition leader, has made it clear that I must pass a fitness test.”

Karl grunted. “Today is an off-day for a few guides. I plan to go down to Mont Rose and see what conditions are on the mountain. I heard Anderegg was attempting it yesterday with a party of Americans. I’d like to see if they were successful. You can prove to me your abilities this afternoon.”

“And if they were successful?” Ophelia asked.

“Then I’ll ask about snow pack, and we will make our attempt in the next few days. The weather has been good. I don’t want to miss the window.” Karl settled back into his plate.

“There’s a possibility we could be climbing the Matterhorn in a day or two.” Ophelia felt the spark she’d always had when discussing mountains. To be on top of the Matterhorn would be incredible. She wondered how far she might see. What it would look like up there.

*

Julian felt more awake than he’d ever been, and it wasn’t the imported coffee. After his quick—literally quick—hike with Karl as they’d run up steep trails, his body felt lighter, the air was cleaner, and the snow-capped mountains brighter. Julian had acquitted himself better than he would have thought, but he’d never struggled with altitude changes as others did. And ten years of doing nothing but mountaineering apparently took more than a year to wipe away.

But it wasn’t that which kept him basking in the Swiss sunshine. The way Ophelia looked at him this morning gave him hope more than any words she could have spoken.

Sitting outside was a pleasure here. The faint clanking of bells around the necks of cows and goats reached him from up in the hills. Hillsides surrounding the valley were awash in yellow flowers. The smell of the grass, currently being scythed in organized swaths, filled his nose. Peace had never so forcefully presented itself to him, not even when hiking alone in South America. There he’d had an objective and a goal.

Here, this was leisure at its most opulent. Joy was a flower that he could pluck daily. Julian laid down and let his eyes float shut. After the Matterhorn, he would ask Ophelia to marry him. Perhaps he ought to ask her brother first, as she was the daughter of a viscount. Sister of one now. He could wait.

Still, he imagined her golden hair flung across the white pillow in Paris. Her blue eyes widening as he had told her about her article publishing. His mind remained fuzzy and drifting until he heard his name being called. Julian sat up, propping himself on his hands, trying to pinpoint the sound.

Karl came striding up the mountain like a Valois goat. “Julian, let’s go.”

Julian raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Conditions are good. We leave tomorrow. The ladies are sorting gear. We need to get our packs prepared.”

Julian was on his feet, bounding down after Karl, happy and content. Ophelia was about to get her dream, and he would get to be a part of it.