For a long stretch, the squeak and rattle of the train wheels filled the silence between them.
“Aye,” she whispered at last. “I really, really like him.”
For once, Hattie’s impish face was somber. “Catriona, what will you do?”
Catriona shook her head. “I don’t know. What do you do when your feelings don’t match your options?”
Hattie made a self-deprecating sound. “You try to not go mad,” she said.
The frenzied encounter on the commode flashed before Catriona’s eyes. She was quite past the point of sanity. She rubbed her thumb over her index finger in a repetitive, soothing motion. She had had a clear plan in place for her life: Become a professor. Help fellow women realize their aspirations. Live in peace. Emotional turmoil was but a blip; every woman knew longing, and most learned to live with it. The misery of an unrequited crush had long been a familiar constant for her and in a way, it had been better than feeling nothing at all. Look here, I do have a heart, said that pain. But now . . .
“It’s funny, isn’t it,” she said, “how we feel rather certain about something, and then it turns out we simply lacked a piece of crucial information that changes everything.”
Such as finding out that unicorns like Elias existed, and that they might desire her, even if they felt that way despite themselves.
Hattie moved her lips while she pondered that. “I suppose we must never be too certain of any one thing.”
“I like certainty,” Catriona said. “I want certainty.”
Hattie squinted at her. “Do you?”
“I thought that was obvious.”
“Hm. You always struck me as quite open to changing your mind.”
“Hardly.”
“You are. It’s true that you are a little on the rigid side, but look around—so many people won’t change their stance on anything, regardless of evidence to the contrary. You do. No, it’s true; I remember you having this conversation with Annabelle, how to know when an academic paper is finished, when there might be some evidence or a case you overlooked. You always search for more.”
Catriona considered it. “I think,” she said, “I think there is a difference between academic papers and people.”
“Well, I hope so.”
“The mind expands the more it errs and tries again. A heart just keeps breaking into smaller and smaller pieces.”
Hattie’s amused little smile slipped into an uncomfortably compassionate expression. “Oh, darling. I would hug you,” she said, “but I know you don’t like that.”
Unexpectedly, a grin tugged at Catriona’s mouth. “I feel well hugged right now, my friend.”
After a pause, Hattie asked: “May I invite both you and Mr. Khoury to the same dinner at some point?”
She thought about it, her gaze flicking rapidly to keep up with the landscape rushing past. She nodded slightly. In just a few hours, she would see him at the railway station. A soft, erratic sensation fluttered in her belly, an emotion had just been let out of the cage again and stretched its wings.
He was already on the platform by the time Hattie had managed to open their unwieldy coach door. He helped Hattie down the step, and Catriona tried not to stare. Few men looked better in a hat when their hair was as nice as Elias’s, but his hat effectively eliminated all distractions from his nicely structured face. It almost made her angry that he was walking around looking so handsome and that she just had to bear it. When it was her turn to alight, he offered his hand with a knowing flicker in his eyes—she had taken his hand like this only a few days ago, and they both knew where it had led them. The memory spread hot like lava through her limbs. His touch now was perfunctory; he let go at once. The warmth of his palm kept lingering while he was on his way to fetch their luggage.
Hattie sidled up to Catriona until their arms touched. “Mr. Blackstone is waiting for me.”
At the platform entrance, the dark, forbidding figure of Hattie’s husband stood out from the milling crowd. He lifted his top hat when Catriona caught his eye.
“You are welcome to join us,” Hattie said in an even tone. “We could take you to your place, or you may stay with us.”
At the other end of the platform, Elias oversaw the transfer of their luggage onto a cart. His stance was relaxed, his profile smiley as though he was exchanging a quip with the luggage clerk. The sun slanted through the roof’s vast, arched end-screen behind him and delineated his form with a fuzzy golden glow.
Catriona squeezed Hattie’s hand. “I shall manage on my own.”
Hattie hesitantly squeezed back. “Then perhaps I should go to Mr. Blackstone now.” She had traveled without luggage.
Catriona nodded. Hattie took her leave, casting a last furtive look back over her shoulder.
Elias arrived a minute later. He gave the clerk who had pushed the luggage trolley a coin, then glanced around. “Where is Mrs. Blackstone?”
The buzz of the railway station was unnaturally loud.
“Her husband picked her up,” Catriona replied. “She left.”
Elias’s brows lowered. “What about you?”
“I have made my own arrangements. I have a house in Cadogan Place.”
He searched the busy entrance hall with sharp eyes. “Someone picks you up?”
“No.”
“Helps you with your valise?”
“I can manage.”
He exhaled. The pause between them drew out.
“I should—” she began.
“Allow me to assist with your luggage,” Elias said in a tense voice, “and to convey you to your house.”
Her heart knocked against her ribs. It echoed in her ears. “All right.”
Outside the station, he found them a hansom cab willing to take both their luggage and to drop them off in different districts for a surcharge.
They were wedged next to each other on the narrow seat, both facing the chaotic street ahead. His shaving soap, or perhaps it was an oil, edged out the mucky smell of the London fog. His arm bumped against hers now and again, causing small heat waves to lick at her center.
“You are in London for pleasure?” he asked, his eyes on the traffic. His profile looked stern. On the seat between them, the fingers of his right hand twitched, as though he would quite like to be the one holding the reins of the vehicle.
“I’m here for suffrage business,” she replied. “How about you?”
“For business, as well.”