a spinster, don’t you?” she snapped. “Dried up like a piece of leather. Unused, lonely. You think—”
“Do not tell me what I think.” The words came out harsh and frustrated. His hands clenched as he stared into her eyes. He couldn’t shake the unease, the odd apprehension. The sense that he was falling into something far more complex than he had ever anticipated.
“You believe I’m destined for a life of solitude,” Lydia continued. “My only companions textbooks and equations and formulas. A cold, intellectual life of the mind.”
“I don’t—”
Lydia stepped closer, a visible shudder racking her slender body. “My lord, it would be for the best if you simply continued to believe that.”
“Why?” he demanded.
“Because it is far too dangerous for either of us to believe otherwise.”
Before he could move, before he could speak, she was gone, the door shutting with a hard click behind her.
Chapter Five
Miss Jane, you’ve got to stop coming down ’ere!” The maid Sophie turned from the kitchen sink, pushing a lock of hair away from her damp forehead with the back of her hand. The scents of toast and bacon drifted from the dining room.
Jane shifted from one foot to the other, anxious to return to her room before Grandmama and Lydia came down for breakfast. “Has he arrived yet?”
“I’m expecting ’im any minute now, but—”
A knock on the door interrupted her. Sophie cast Jane an exasperated look and went to answer it. The delivery boy, a freckle-faced lad with coppery hair, stood there with a box of goods.
“Mornin’, Sophie, yer looking quite the beauty, ain’t you?”
“Hush now, Tom.” Sophie glanced at Jane with embarrassment and held the door open to let Tom in.
He pushed the box onto a table. “Miss Jane, isn’t it?”
Jane nodded, stepping toward him. “Have you got a letter for me, Tom?”
“Indeed.” He pulled a wrinkled letter from his pocket and handed it to her.
Jane took it, eyeing the scrawled name on the front. “Who gives these to you, Tom?”
“You don’t know, miss?”
“Should I?”
“I… well, I thought you knew who was writing ’em, miss. I get them from Mr. Krebbs. He owns a lodging house over in Bethnal Green near’s where I stay. Gives me a letter sometimes to bring to you and a tuppence as well. Dunno more than that, miss.”
“Mr. Krebbs surely doesn’t write the letters.”
“Don’t think so, miss.”
“That’ll be all, Tom, thank you.” Sophie gave the boy his coin and shooed him out the door before turning back to Jane. A worried frown creased her brow. “You sure it’s all right, then, miss? The letters and all?”
“It’s fine, Sophie. Just a game.”
She hurried from the kitchen, tearing the letter open.
Dear Jane,
So I might have guessed that riddle would prove too simple.
Teacher, yes, of course that is the answer. Here is another.
I shall assume that since it is shorter, it will also be more difficult:
A word there is, five syllables contains
Take one away, no syllable remains.
Till soon,
C
A word with five syllables…
“Jane, do watch where you are going.”
Jane looked up at her grandmother, who was striding down the corridor. A frown etched her face.
“What are you doing?” Mrs. Boyd continued. “Where is Mrs. Driscoll?”
“Oh.” Jane fumbled to fold the letter and tuck it against her side. “I don’t… I don’t know. I went to speak to Sophie.”
“What for?”
“I wanted to see if… if we had any jam for our toast.” Jane almost winced at the feebleness of the excuse.
Her grandmother’s frown deepened. “We always have jam for our toast. What is that in your hand?”
“This?” Jane looked at the letter as if she’d only just noticed it. “Just a… some mathematical problem Lydia gave me to solve.”
“Well, I suggest you do so in your room rather than wandering about the house.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jane scurried past her grandmother and up the stairs.
As she returned to the schoolroom, she wondered where this was going—who C was and what he wanted from her besides correspondence.
Perhaps she ought to start making more inquiries of the delivery boy and Sophie—learning the letter writer’s identity would be like solving a puzzle in and of itself. Perhaps that was the point of this whole game. Perhaps she was meant to solve the most mysterious puzzle of all.
The pleasure of being loved. R = Return.
The reaction to the partner’s appeal. I = Instinct.
The process of forgetting. O = Oblivion.
If she made certain assumptions on the behavior of the individuals and assigned variables to a positive linear system, and the linear model of x1 (t) = –α1 x1 (t)