Page 12

Nature in everything demands respect, and those who violate her laws seldom violate them with impunity.

—Mary Wollstonecraft

The duke set down his fork, putting that icy-blue gaze on me. “You should be focused on considering an appropriate match for the season instead of gallivanting about with girls lower than your station and listening to wild ideas quite unsuitable for a duke’s daughter.”

“Wild ideas?” I blurted, despite the risk of fanning the fires. Clearly my tongue hadn’t received the message that we weren’t allowing any kind of speech today. “Is it so wild to think that a woman should receive an education beyond what should please her future husband? Even Mama studied astronomy and mathematics.”

“With a tutor,” my father said in a mild tone that was at extreme odds with the layers of ice in his blue eyes. “Not at some foolish finishing school with grandiose ideas.”

“Well, it’s not like a woman can attend Cambridge or Oxford.” My mouth firmed as I bristled. “Besides, I like Welton.”

“People are talking,” he noted.

When I opened my mouth to reply that I didn’t care what any bigoted old fools in the ton thought, my mother beat me to it. Her dark brown gaze flicked to her husband. “Who is talking?” she asked in a soft voice that made everyone sit a bit straighter.

It took quite a lot or certain incendiary topics to get a rise out of my mother, but people gossiping about her family was at the top of the list. We often drew enough scrutiny thanks to my father’s powerful position as a duke and his very vocal duchess who made no bones about fighting for women’s and human rights. As a family, we were well aware of our privilege. My mother had always upheld that those who could help should help, and those who were able should always fight for the weaker and downtrodden.

“Sir Richard,” Papa responded eventually, catching my attention anew as my mother arched a cool brow. “The new Baronet Tenly,” he added in explanation when her nose wrinkled with a lack of recognition.

I, however, instantly perked up at the mention of Lalita’s uncle. I didn’t care about the men in the ton and their asinine opinions in general, but Tenly was a different story. What was he saying? And could his opinions be why Lalita was so cagey all of a sudden? The happy girl who’d been so enthusiastic about the Lady Knights last year had been recently replaced by an uncharacteristic fusspot who questioned everything our small secret society stood for.

I tried to bite back the question burning my lips, hoping my father would continue, but I could not help myself. “What is he saying?” I blurted, drawing my mother’s curious stare as well as everyone else’s, including Rafi’s. Clearly, I hadn’t hidden the urgency of my words.

The duke slanted an impatient glance at me. “That the teacher is unfit to shape the minds of genteel young ladies. Her ideas and methods are…concerning.”

“Unfit?” I sputtered. “Concerning how? And besides, how would Sir Richard even know what shapes a woman’s mind? The man is a fossil from the Dark Ages who believes that women should be seen and not heard, should wait upon a husband hand and foot, should be completely subservient, and should be sold to bolster his personal status in society.” My eyes burned and my fingers curled inward into fists and dug into my palms at the utter unfairness that a man’s selfish command could take away all hope from a woman. From one of my best friends, to boot.

The entire room went dead silent at my outburst.

“Zenobia!” the duke demanded. “What has gotten into you?”

Fists balled, I swallowed, trying to keep my rioting emotions at bay. “Not what, Papa. Who. Miss Ada Perkins. Mary Shelley. Hannah More. Mary Wollstonecraft. Lady Ela Dalvi. The Duchess of Harbridge.” I sucked in a shallow, painful breath, hoarse from my tirade. “They’ve gotten into me.”

My gaze slid to my mother, whose face was unreadable though her eyes shone with something like pride. She canted her head in acknowledgment, though she remained silent, ceding the space to me. She believed in advocating for oneself but would step in if necessary. I glanced over at Ela, gauging her reaction, but she wore an unguarded, fierce look of admiration that slid over me like a warm, comforting blanket.

We, women, had to stick together. Power lay in solidarity.

Even though I didn’t want it to, my gaze flicked to Rafi, too, expecting to see a disdainful expression that I had obliterated decorum at my father’s own table. Instead, I saw interest. Interest and wonder. I didn’t let either of those things affect me too much.

Well, I tried at least.

The duke’s gaze threatened to skewer me, however. “Is this the daughter we’ve raised? To shout over the dining table? To argue in polite company? Perhaps Sir Richard has a point about this Perkins woman, one that I’ve been slow to recognize. One I must investigate myself.”

“Investigate for what?” I replied now that the gauntlet had been thrown, despite the flicker of alarm curling in my belly. Sir Richard might not be commanding enough to shut down a school, but my father would be. His sway and influence were far-reaching.

“For the untoward corruption of young, delicate minds,” he said, and I barely held back from letting out a disparaging snort. The duke was still my father, and I would not disrespect him even if I disagreed with his prehistoric views about female fragility. “Tenly believes we must protect our daughters from the philosophies and teachings of uncultured heathens.”

I laughed. “Miss Perkins might be a tad unconventional, Papa, but she is not a heathen. You say that as though she’s going to come with an army bearing pitchforks to unseat the aristocracy. To lead a rebellion against your precious patriarchy, which would keep my fragile, useless sex coddled and swaddled so that we can hardly breathe to form any opinions.”

“Zia.” That soft warning came from my mother, and I bit my lip at my nickname, sensing that I might have gone a step too far. Even Keston was watching our father carefully. Not that Papa would ever lay a finger on me, but words could hurt as much as strikes. The duke was stuck in his ways, especially having been brought up swathed in the privilege and influence of a birthright that came with being male, wealthy, and titled. He had changed since marrying my mother, but Rome hadn’t been built in a day, as the saying went.

Inhaling deeply, I bent my head in contrition. “Apologies, Papa. I only feel very strongly about my purpose in society. I’m more than what has been expected of girls of highborn birth in the past.” I cleared my throat. “You and Mama have always told Keston and me that we should never be held back by mediocrity. Keston has followed his heart, and we all know he will make an exceptional duke when the time comes. Is it wrong to want more than what high society expects of me?”

A muscle leaped in my father’s jaw, but when his eyes met mine, the ice had been tempered with some degree of understanding. “No, it’s not wrong, my dear.” A rare smile cracked his austere features as he peered over at my mother, who wore a similar look of affectionate forbearance. “I suppose I should not be surprised. You have your mother’s intelligence and ambition, along with my intractability and resolve. An explosive combination.”

I knew my father too well not to expect that more was coming.

He signaled for the footman to bring him a refreshed coffee. “But there’s a huge difference between teaching approved literature and disseminating inciting or misleading information that may have terrible consequences.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to argue which men got to decide what literature was “approved,” but the quiet warning in my mother’s eyes stopped me. If there was one thing my mother excelled at, it was getting what she wanted with minimal resistance. It wasn’t just about using honey, it was also about when to use it. And right now, even though the duke was somewhat placated, pushing him could have a much worse outcome…for me, anyway.

“I understand, Papa.” Tamping down my agitated feelings, I took a bite of my now-cold toast, turned to my brother and Ela, and forced myself to change the subject. “How go the wedding plans?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” Ela said with a wide smile as my brother stared adoringly at her. “The license has been obtained, the banns finally posted, and I’m being fitted for the dress. You must come soon so that you can be measured as well since you’re one of my bridal attendants. The dresses will be so lovely!”

I’d been honored when Ela had asked me to be a bridesmaid. There were a few others, including Lady Rosalin and Ela’s friends from Hinley, the seminary she’d attended for three years. Her mentor and guardian, Lady Felicity, the Countess de Ros, was going to act in the stead of Ela’s late family. Church, as she was affectionately called, was both elder sister and mother to Ela and loved her as if they were of the same blood. It also turned out that the countess and my parents had apparently known each other for years before she’d vanished from London. She owned the school in Cumbria that Ela had been sent to. That story was one of the most interesting things I’d ever heard, how she and Ela had both saved each other.

Love took so many forms.

“I can’t wait to see,” I said.

“You will love them, I promise! Truly, the colors are to die for!”

Suddenly, I frowned as a thought occurred to me, and I narrowed my eyes at her looking much too innocent, those hazel eyes sparking with mischief. “Wait. You’re not going to make me wear some atrocity, are you?”

“Why of course!” Ela pronounced with a straight face. “Seven pounds of mustard-yellow tulle have been ordered for each of you, and enormous bonnets with feathers dyed to match.”

“Don’t forget the faux fruit,” my odious brother put in, unable to hide his smile.

“Ah yes,” Ela said dreamily. “Grapes and cherries galore.”

“I pray that you are jesting. Your face is entirely too serious.”

“The dress you wore to Rosalin’s season-opening ball inspired me.”

My expression at the recollection of that off-white monstrosity must have been obvious, because Rafi chuckled. Ela turned her amused stare on him.

“Oh, don’t you think you’re getting away, Sir Bridesman. You will be dressed in matching tails and trousers in a gorgeous shade of olive green.” She sighed. “Green is such a marvelously versatile color, is it not?”

“No,” he spluttered, and for once, we were united in absolute horror.

I shook my head. “Sunshine yellow. Buttercup yellow. Even butterscotch yellow is preferable to mustard. That just looks like cat’s spew. And olive green? You might as well call it goose-shit green.”

“Zenobia,” my mother chided, though there was no heat init.

Ela burst into laughter. “Do tell us how you really feel, Zia.”

Her laughter was contagious, and even my father broke into a terse smile.

“You are a rotten wench,” I told her, and then reached across to give her a sideways hug. “But I would endure the abysmal yellow cat’s spew just for you.”

Ela chortled. “I know. Don’t worry, we are all in a lovely champagne color. My dress will be adorned with marigolds to honor my mother, and the bridesmaids will wear ones embroidered with chaconia to honor your mother.” I blinked. The chaconia was a scarlet flower only native to Mama’s island of birth. I met my mother’s eyes, and they were brimming with tears. She hadn’t known.

“Oh, my dears,” she said, pressing a hand to her breast. “How thoughtful and lovely.”

Keston threw his hands into the air and waved her off. “Don’t look at me! It was all Ela’s idea. I would never have come up with something so unique.” He jerked his chin at Rafi. “As it is, because I have no imagination whatsoever, the bridesmen shall be wearing black with white cravats and ruby stickpins to match the ladies.” He grinned fondly at Ela. “But all the credit must go to my beautiful future marchioness.”

“Thank you, good sir.” Ela beamed up at my brother, and even I could feel the warmth emanating from her.

The way my brother looked at her like she was his whole world made my heart swell. Even my father was regarding them with a softness that resembled affection. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him reach for my mother’s hand, and that act alone was one of the few that made me adore my father, even when he was being fractious and hard-bitten, which was 95 percent of the time. And especially when it came to my future.

My eyes slid to Rafi, who hadn’t said a word. We didn’t have a history as Ela and Keston did, only recent interactions. And a secret, scorching kiss that he had clearly already put from his mind. The ambivalence rubbed…and not in a good way.

“Mr. Nasser, you’re awfully quiet,” I said, not knowing why I was poking the beast. Or perhaps I did. I wanted him to be rattled as much as I was. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Sometimes it pays to listen, Lady Zenobia,” he said. “Observation is a fond pastime of mine, one I find offers great insight into things.”

I kept my expression neutral. “Like what?”

“Think about a mouse in a maze. If given its freedom, where would it go?”

With a frown, I studied him, but he was perfectly serious. Could he be in his cups this early in the morning? I glanced around the table. Ela and Keston were in low conversation with each other as were my parents. No one was paying any attention to us. “I don’t understand.”

“The mouse is free to go anywhere as long as it’s inside the maze,” Rafi said, and then I realized what he was talking about. The mouse was me. The maze was…social expectation. He’d taken my earlier conversation with my father and created this strange metaphor. Not that I was a mouse. I was the furthest thing from it.

“But what if the mouse loathes the maze?” I said. “Because the maze is restrictive and tedious, and everything the mouse has ever seen before day in and day out. Shouldn’t the mouse be granted its escape if the maze was somehow bested? If there was a loophole the mouse found.”

Appreciation shone in his hooded gray gaze. “So, what then does the mouse want?”

I stared at him and shrugged. “What does any creature want? Freedom to choose their own path, even when those choices might have unforeseen consequences.”

Like someone catching said mouse in action.

That last part was left unsaid, but the meaning was real, stretching between us like a sticky web between two warring spiders. “The mouse isn’t foolish,” I added.

“No one said it was,” came his cool reply.

Suddenly, I became aware of two pairs of eyes watching our heated volley across the table. Thankfully, my parents were still in deep conversation. The last course had long been cleared, but I’d barely noticed, so engrossed I’d been in the intense debate with Rafi. The servants brought in dessert, usually my favorite part of a meal. But I barely took notice of the mouthwatering soursop cream ice…a real treat considering how expensive and difficult ice was to keep in most households. And the soursop itself was not a fruit native to English shores.

“What are you two talking about?” Ela asked, her eyes absolutely full of interest as they swung back and forth between Rafi and me. Gracious, I didn’t need her to read anything into this, and I knew she would because Ela was annoyingly perceptive. She’d learned to read people quite well when she’d returned to London, even ones who were valiantly hiding things. I kept my face blank, a polite half smile visible and my fingers busy fiddling with my spoon.

This was it. This was the moment when he would expose me, give me up to my family because he, too, thought I should be controlled and kept within the maze. Rafi and I stared at each other, the passing seconds burdened with tension, and I wiped my sweating palms against my skirts. Would he?

“Philosophy,” Rafi said, and I exhaled audibly.

“One of my favorite subjects,” Ela said, taking a bite of her dessert, but I could see she was hardly convinced that there wasn’t more to our debate.

At the same time, Keston let out a sound of boredom. “Not mine, and my brain is in need of a long rest.”

“What was the discussion?” Ela asked.

“We were discussing mice in a maze,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t let it go. “To which Mr. Nasser contended that unless there was a dearth of cheese, the mice would not care for anything.”

She looked disappointed. “Oh.”

“And other mice for company, don’t forget,” Rafi added with a sidelong wink when Ela was paying attention to her bowl. I stared at him. What did that mean? That misery loved company? That he’d expose my friends? That he was going to hold my secrets over my head forever?

“Don’t let your treat melt,” he said, gray eyes catching mine. “It’s your favorite.”

But it was only after I’d cleared my dish of the creamy, sweet, tangy, icy goodness that I realized what he’d said—this flavor of cream ice was my favorite. How had he known?

Or better yet, why would he have known that tiny fact? About me?