“Am I?” She lifted a hand to smooth her hair away from her forehead. “I don’t mean to sound as if I pity myself. Or as if I don’t value my own mind. I merely ask that you don’t attempt to convince me that my abilities endow me with authority over anything except equations. They don’t. I learned that long ago.”
“Yet mathematicians and university professors consult you about their work.”
“Yes. Exactly that. The work. Our discourse is purely academic.” Something appeared to harden within her as she met his gaze again. “My point, Lord Northwood, is that my mathematical skill is quite a distinct entity from the rest of my existence. Command over one area of life does not translate to another.”
“It can.”
“Not in my case. I feel a great sense of power in solving equations, in proving theorems. But it ends within the restricted world of mathematics.”
Alexander let out a breath. “I can’t admit to being the most productive student. However, even I know that mathematics is hardly a restricted world. In school I learned about the mathematical formulas applied to Renaissance art. There are connections between music and mathematics I couldn’t begin to understand. Managing an estate the size of my father’s requires a constant balancing of income versus expenditure, of figuring rent and—”
Lydia held up a hand. “That’s very well and good, my lord, but please understand that my experience bears out quite differently. In my world, mathematics is indeed restricted.”
Like you.
The two words punched through his head. He stood, restless anger stirring in his gut, and began pacing.
“What do you want, Miss Kellaway?”
“I don’t… I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought of—”
“No.” The word came out hard, abrupt. He spun to look at her, his hands clenching at his sides. “What do you want?”
“From you?”
“For you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What do you want? What would help you obtain this elusive sense of power?”
She blinked. Her expression seemed to close off, as if she sought to suppress a myriad of surfacing thoughts. “I don’t know.”
“You do know. What is it?”
“Sir, I am not a fool. I know my place, my position. Dreaming of what can never be is illogical and senseless.”
“What makes you think it can never be?”
Amusement shone in her eyes, faint and yet sparkling with the promise of brilliance. If Lydia Kellaway ever allowed herself to experience full, unrestrained laughter, it would be a thing of beauty.
“You’re a romantic, are you, Lord Northwood?” she asked. “Believing things might happen merely because we wish them so.”
“Or because we make them happen.”
“Easy enough for you to say.”
“What does that mean?”
“Even before we… before I made your acquaintance, I’d heard about you. Though I meant it when I said I dislike gossip, I can still determine some elements of truth.”
“And what is the truth about me, Miss Kellaway?”
“That you’ve sought for two years to restore your family’s reputation in a very public and unapologetic manner.” She glanced down at her cup and quietly added, “Unlike your father. Your work with the Society of Arts, trade regulations, numerous charities, lectures, clubs, and now an international exhibition… it all speaks to your philosophy of generating change.”
She looked resigned, as if the condensed report of his efforts had somehow dispirited her. As if she spoke of something she wanted and yet would never possess. Alexander began to pace again, aware of a nagging discomfort.
“That is all true enough,” he finally allowed. “Though I’ve had little choice in the matter. If I didn’t do something, no one would.”
“Oh, you had a choice, Lord Northwood. We always have a choice.”
“No. Given the current difficulties with Russia, my family’s ties to the country are increasingly maligned. What choice do I have in that?”
“You’ve a choice in how you respond to such intolerance.”
Alexander turned his head to look at her, struck again by the sense that Lydia Kellaway’s composure was something both durable and imperfect, like a solid Greek amphora marked with cracks and flaws.
“What was your choice?” he asked.
For an instant, she didn’t speak, though some fleeting, raw emotion passed across her features.
“Not one I care to elucidate.” She took another sip of tea and stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt. “I do apologize for intruding upon you yet again. It was reckless and very imprudent.”
“I think you ought to be reckless and imprudent more often, Miss Kellaway.”
“Then your thoughts are extremely mistaken.”
“Are they?”
“Yes.” Her jaw tightened with irritation, her chin lifting. “I’m no longer