“It’s why I’m quite certain that we can’t expect much help from her.”
The real reason for her reluctance to even try was of course Charlie. The Middleton town house was an emotional crime scene. Memories lurked in the corners. Lady Middleton would have portraits of Charlie all over her walls, and she would look back at Catriona with Charlie’s moss-green eyes . . .
Lucie clapped her hands. “Nothing wagered, nothing gained,” she said. “Call on her, Catriona!”
She could have just kept her mouth shut. It would have been so easy.
“Hattie,” she said. “Are you still planning to return to London today?”
Hattie’s face brightened. “I am—on the eleven o’clock train. Do join me.”
Unless she left with a friend, she would not leave St. John’s at all; the plan had come about too sudden, and the destination gave her chills. If she accompanied Hattie, however, she could be in London in time for the afternoon slot reserved for social calls.
“She might see me already today—our families used to be close.”
“Let’s go together,” Hattie said and clapped. “We shall have so much fun.”
She put the back of her hand against her forehead. Surprisingly cool. Her breathing could be worse, too. Interesting. Perhaps her experiments with Elias had made her more robust after all.
* * *
—
Back at St. John’s, she quickly packed her largest valise with her smartest dresses.
“I should like for you to stay here,” she told MacKenzie while she piled clothes and cosmetics into the compartments.
MacKenzie handed her a stack of neatly folded chemises. “Staying with the Blackstones, are ye?”
Her gaze slid away. “Aye.”
She would have dinner with the Blackstones. She would probably stay at her own house, however; not the Campbell town house, but her house, where she didn’t even keep regular skeleton staff. The more she had thought about it on her way to St. John’s, the better she had liked the idea of burrowing for a couple of days.
“It’s no trouble for me, going to London,” MacKenzie said. She smoothed her red hand over the fine undergarments before she placed a corset on top.
Catriona picked up her hairbrush. “I have kept you away from Applecross long enough.”
MacKenzie was watching her with narrowed eyes.
Catriona stuffed the brush into a side compartment. “I want you to be well,” she said. “Your leg seems improved, and I’d rather you rested now instead of rushing around the city with me. Hattie is a married woman. Her company suffices.”
MacKenzie relented; despite their unconventionally close relationship, the only authority in Catriona’s life was Wester Ross, and he shone with his absence.
A porter brought her valise and hatbox to the college’s main doors. Catriona stepped into the lodge to leave a note for Elias. Barely through the doors, she halted as abruptly as though the ground had split before her feet: the man in question stood right there at the reception desk, chatting to porter Clive. He promptly turned his head toward her and their gazes clashed. Electricity crackled through the small room; it seared through her body and her knees sagged as though they had melted. Elias wore a finely cut wool jacket in dark navy, a perfectly respectable color and yet it made him look like a rake. It wasn’t the jacket, of course, it was her awareness that behind closed doors, he had the hands, the mouth, and the audacity of a rake.
He politely dipped his head. “Lady Catriona.” His voice was neutral. Impersonal.
Her stomach twisted.
“What a coincidence,” she said. “I meant to leave this for you.”
She awkwardly waved the envelope. He glanced at it with slanted eyebrows.
“Since you are right here,” she went on, “I can tell you in person, obviously—I’m leaving for London. I shall be away for a couple of days. I trust you are well acclimatized by now.”
His body had gone still. “So am I,” he said. “Going to London.”
There was, in fact, a large valise behind him, still on the porter’s handcart.
“I left a note for you, too,” he added.
It was true, an envelope was sitting in the Campbell pigeonhole.
Her poor heart was torn between sinking and somersaulting.
She turned back to Elias. “Are you taking the next train, by any chance?”
His colorful eyes flashed, confirming her suspicion.
A high-pitched noise rang in her ears. Was it destiny, laughing at her? Judging by the resigned look on his face, he was hearing it, too.
Fifteen minutes after the train had left Oxford’s railway station, Catriona was ready to jump from the small compartment to escape the chaos radiating off Hattie. Her friend was sighing, fidgeting, placing her hands on her rosy cheeks.
Finally, Catriona fixed Hattie with a dark eye. “Go on. Out with it.”
The freckled face was pure innocence. “Out with what.”
“Whatever it is that is trying to burst out of your mouth about Mr. Khoury.”
They were alone in the coach, which seated six, their travel veils thrown back. Elias was in the next coach, safely out of earshot. Still his presence was so present, he might as well have been seated right next to her. Had she really thought she could escape him by changing location? While he was so snugly ensconced under her skin? Hattie’s eyes had near popped out of her head upon spotting him in their platform section. He had patiently answered all her questions—Where are you staying? The Oxbridge Club in St. James’s . . . For very long? Not too long, I should think . . . Oh, you must come to dinner! I would be delighted, ma’am . . . He even had put his old smile back into place and it had felt glorious, like the sun breaking through November clouds.
“I have nothing at all to say about him,” Hattie said.
“Clearly you do.”
Hattie shook her head. “My body wants to chatter. I don’t.”
A relatable conundrum—Catriona’s muscles were trembling from holding in all the turmoil. Part of her wanted to drag it into the open and rake it over with Hattie until the pressure in her body eased, but since it wouldn’t lead to any conclusion, she kept choking it back down. She put a hand over her stomach and turned her attention to the landscape outside the window. She was seated with her back to the direction of travel, and the gentle summer-green hills of Oxfordshire were flying past as if in retrospect. Hattie took a novel from her pocket, a penny dreadful that probably had a happy ending.
“Hattie,” Catriona finally said, her eyes on the green. “What do you do when something is pointless and yet you still can’t seem to put it aside?”
Hattie lowered the novel, looking alarmed. “I think,” she said after some contemplation, “if it keeps popping up, perhaps it isn’t all that pointless.”
Catriona scoffed, clearly in contempt of herself.
Hattie’s gaze weighed on her. “You really like him, don’t you.”
The gentle, knowing tone loosened the knot blocking her throat.
She blinked rapidly. Next to the railway tracks, the shrubbery was a blur.