He waited for the din to settle, then cleared his throat. “We believe that Miss Kellaway and Dr. Sigley have provided compelling—if rather complex—evidence that Lord Northwood’s actions did not, in fact, cause the riot to commence. Is that correct, Inspector?”
“Correct, my lord,” Inspector Denison said, though he didn’t appear entirely certain.
A rustle of movement came from the mathematicians, who turned to give each other handshakes and nods of approval. Lydia looked at Alexander and smiled in triumph.
He returned her smile because she was Lydia and he loved her for everything she was, all she had done for him, but caution kept him guarded.
“Yet while we can safely say that Lord Northwood is absolved of blame for actually inciting the riot,” Hadley continued, “we cannot ignore the fact that he was involved in an altercation that ended in one man’s death and that the ensuing chaos—whatever its origin—caused the destruction of the exhibition.”
“Not to mention his connections with the Russian Empire,” Sir George added. “And we have been informed by Lord Clarendon that…”
Alexander stopped listening. He knew what was coming—a public announcement of his dismissal from the Society.
He looked at Lydia. She watched the council with wariness, one of her hands twisting and untwisting a lock of hair that had escaped from beneath her hat. Alexander almost smiled. He wondered if she knew she did that when she was nervous.
Sir George droned on—enemies, breaking of diplomatic relations, fleet in the Black Sea, the Ottoman Empire, French anti-Russian sentiment, acts of hostility…
As Alexander kept his gaze on Lydia, an emotion he couldn’t quite name filled him. It overwhelmed his anger, his despair, his need for control, with a sense of expectation and hope. Of freedom.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such things. He never wanted to see his family hurt again, but the duty of protecting them could no longer be his alone.
He looked at his father. Rushton stared at Sir George, his hard features set. Alexander had the odd thought that he’d never wondered if his father had ever been truly happy.
He put his hand on Rushton’s arm. His father looked at him.
“Forgive me,” Alexander murmured. He stood and addressed the council. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen.”
All eyes turned to him. A buzz rippled through the crowd. Rushton tugged on his sleeve to try and make him sit down. Alexander pulled away and stepped to the front of the room.
“If I may?” he asked.
Hadley glanced at the other council members, who nodded.
“Go ahead, Lord Northwood.”
“I would first like to apologize for the events of the night in question. People were injured, property destroyed. A man died. I was most categorically involved, and I am deeply regretful for the negative light this has cast upon the Society.
“For two years, I’ve worked hard as vice president of the Society to bring the exhibition to fruition in honor of the Society’s one hundredth anniversary. No one wanted the exhibit to be an international success more than I did. However, in light of all this, I must resign my position as director of the exhibition and vice president of the Society. Effective immediately.”
Gasps and shouts came from the audience. Hadley smacked his hand on the table. “Order!”
Alexander couldn’t bring himself to look at Lydia. His mind, his soul, filled with images of a vast city where canals wound through crystalline squares and town house walls, where gardens bloomed amid crowded, bustling streets and wedding-cake palaces.
“I will be pleased to work for a time with whoever the council puts in my place,” he continued, “to ensure a smooth transfer of duties. As has been pointed out numerous times, I own a trading company based in St. Petersburg. I believe now that is where I will be most useful. Therefore, I would have you all know that before the summer ends, I intend to leave London.”
No.
Lydia suppressed a gasp of shock, her hand going to her throat. Alexander continued speaking to the audience, his deep voice rolling like ocean waves. He was close enough that she needed to take only a few steps to touch him. Around her, the other mathematicians stirred and muttered, but she heard nothing beyond the roar of dismay filling her ears.
Alexander—her Alexander—wanted to leave? This brave, strong, proud man who could face down the world without flinching… now he was going to run away, leave London… leave her?
Her blood began to throb with anger and despair. She stared at him—his hair glossy under the lights,