Chapter Twelve

"W hat do you mean Mr. Alistair isn't at home?" Tristan demanded. The morning was bitingly cold. He rubbed his hands together, as his leather riding gloves didn't keep out the pervasive damp chill.

The wizened old man squinted at him, as if he must be hard of hearing. "Mr. Alistair has been called away." This time the old man spoke the words slowly. "There's an illness in the family. I don't know when he'll return."

Tristan took the news like a blow on the chin. "Did he not leave us a note? No correspondence?"

The old man stared at him some more. "If he did, I would've given it to you straight away."

"Of course," Tristan said, backing away from the steps of the small house. "Thank you. I apologize for disturbing you." Tristan set his jaw. What were they supposed to do now?

Mr. Alistair was supposed to be the Scottish aide-de-camp. When he didn't show up for their morning meeting or respond to notes, Tristan was dispatched to fetch him.

But now what? There was nothing for their expedition. No transportation, no mountain experts, no supplies. They'd have to start from scratch and blunder through themselves, and hopefully not be taken for all their money by some Scot with a grudge against the English. Though it seemed they all had a grudge against the English.

Tristan swung back up on his horse. Normally he would return and report his findings to Ophelia. But they were in a strange country, and women couldn't be wandering around sorting this. He turned his horse and rode to Edinburgh. Surely he'd find an outfitter hoping to land a company such as theirs.

He spent all day walking the streets, popping into shop after shop, asking questions, and looking for maps with no luck. It was well past time for an evening meal, and Tristan was starving and soaking wet. Defeated, he returned to the inn—not far from Mr. Alistair's humble abode and where he started his odyssey. Indeed, it had been on Mr. Alistair's recommendation that they'd taken over the small establishment. The London Alpine Society had referred Tristan to Mr. Alistair last year, when they'd begun to plan this absurd trip. Their correspondence had been filled with attention to detail, planning expertise, and knowledge of local terrain. They could not have asked for a better guide. And now that guide had vanished!

They had to find somebody new, somebody trustworthy. Some families had Scottish heritage and contacts, but theirs was not one of them. They were Southerners, through and through.

He hated being the bearer of bad news. He handed his horse off to the stableboy at the inn and found the rest of the expedition assembled in the downstairs public dining area, waiting for him. Ophelia's eyes darted behind him, looking for the lost Mr. Alistair. Her mouth thinned into a grim line that matched his own. He caught his father's eye next and shook his head. His mother caught the movement and excused herself.

Eleanor was seated next to Ophelia, and it was easy to let his eyes drift over to her. She looked soft and cozy in a brown and yellow woolen gown, a small scarf covering her neck for warmth. He wanted to scoop her up and cuddle in front of the big fireplace, listening to her stories of the sailors that wandered through her father's office.

But the warning in her eyes, the guarded mistrust, kept him at bay. He took a seat next to his father, and Prudence poured him a cup of tea.

"Tristan, would you like to share your news?" Ophelia prompted.

He sipped the malty black brew, which he rather liked, truth be told. It was heaven for an exhausted man. "Our Scottish guide is in the wind."

"When will he return?" Ophelia asked, beating their father to it.

"Unknown. Family illness elsewhere. No note or instruction was left for us."

His father grunted, no doubt mentally flipping through the names of men who might have contacts up here. But those would all take letters of introduction, which meant time. They wanted to climb Ben Nevis when it had snow on it, as the Matterhorn surely would regardless of the time of year they climbed. If they waited too long, the snow on the Scottish peak would melt and they would get bogged down in mud.

"Does anyone have a connection here in Scotland?" Ophelia looked around, hopeful.

None of the young ladies said anything. It was a moment Tristan wished for another man at the table. A man could network more easily, go to places of business and make inquiries, arrange for travel and provisions. As it stood, it would end up all on his shoulders. Already, Tristan was starting to feel resentful. What would they do without him to do the drone's work while they sipped on their nectar?

His mother entered the room, conferred with Ophelia first, then briefly with his father. Tristan narrowed his eyes. She had a triumphant look about her.

"Mama, I think you should be the one to announce the news," Ophelia said.

It was right at that moment that Tristan realized what good graces truly were. That this sort of elegant sharing of authority is what young ladies were trained to do when they knew they would marry into nobility. His mother was every inch a noble lady, and he felt confident that Ophelia would do well, too, should she concede to a traditional life.

"I've spoken with Mrs. Gordon, and it turns out that young Beverly is from the Highlands. One of her brothers runs a small carriage service and can arrange for transportation in Fort William. Young Beverly also says that her father and uncles know Ben Nevis well and have climbed it many times. They would be able to guide for us, or even suggest the best routes for this time of year."

Tristan frowned. All this had occurred where? A conversation in the kitchens? After he had spent hours being rained on, and splattered in mud? "How are we to know that young Beverly is telling us the truth?"

"Mrs. Gordon vouched for her. And it is well known that her brother runs the carriage service. It was mentioned to me upon arrival, long before they knew we were in need of aid." His mother gave him that look that made it seem like she could read his mind. He didn't like it.

"This sounds like an excellent solution," Prudence said. "Thank you, Lady Rascomb, for your quick thinking and versatile conversation skills."

"This isn't the first time I've been in a tight spot, climbing a mountain in a foreign country."

His father patted his mother on the hand, congratulating her. Tristan still felt like he had a hornet flying 'round his head. This was too easy. This was—well, it didn't include him. And a realization hit as he scooted his chair back, ready to storm away in a huff: it didn't matter if he topped out the Ben or not. He'd wanted to be included, to be valued and wanted. He wanted to be necessary. His mother had solved the problem in her usual elegant way, instead of his way, spending a frustrating day pounding on doors all over Edinburgh.

Instead of being angry, he should be grateful. And proud. His mother was so capable, regardless of a cane or a limp. Then shame seeped in. Shame that he'd thought she wasn't this capable. That somehow, that avalanche had robbed her of everything. But it hadn't. She was here, in Scotland, with them. She was cheering them on, celebrating their successes, and helping when there were issues.

Dear God, what else was it that he couldn't see? That was his own mother that he'd thought so poorly of. He wished he could be out in the woods alone. His head was clearer there.

He stole a glance at Eleanor, who had been silent during the entire exchange. She was looking at her hands, a demure posture. Had she learned that at finishing school, or was it a habit learned from being ignored so frequently? She'd told him about feeling extraneous at her parents' dinner table. About how she'd been forgotten at her father's office, an afterthought for everyone.

Her confessions had come naturally as she'd taught him knots, overseeing his practice. The others were all there, doing the same in his mother's drawing room, chattering as they tied the same knot over and over, committing it to memory.

Eleanor must have felt his eyes on her, and she looked up. Instead of glancing away, as she had every other time since that terrible breakfast, she locked eyes with him. Those soft, deep brown eyes that he could lose himself in. He understood now, he was fairly certain anyway, what had gone wrong. Why she'd rejected him so wholeheartedly. Did she understand why he'd pushed to remove her from the expedition?

It wasn't because he wanted her to not be with them—no, of course not. But she'd said in the beginning that it was foolish for her to do this. Why would he think she would mind being off the team? And still, he did need to protect Ophelia's reputation, and really, Eleanor's as well. He wasn't certain he was ready to marry her—that seemed like a bit of leap. But to court, to really see if they would suit, that seemed reasonable. Manageable. And if they'd gone public before coming up to Scotland, even with his mother and Prudence Cabot along, it was too easy to slip away. Going out to the Berringbone ruins was one thing, given they'd brought plenty of staff, but to Scotland? That would make anyone think twice.

Besides, they'd needed Eleanor's father's investment in the expedition. If they were courting and Eleanor wasn't going, her father would still likely give them the money. If Tristan ruined Eleanor's reputation before they got to the Matterhorn, he doubted Mr. Piper would feel generous.

But Eleanor's gaze was making his mind falter. He wanted—and that feeling of wanting overwhelmed him. But he couldn't let something as trivial as wanting distract either of them. Not now. Not with the mountain so close. After Ben Nevis, he would beg, or grovel, or plead—whatever it would take for her to give him another chance. But now? He needed some air.

He pushed back from the table and was out in the cool air before he could think.

*

Eleanor felt unmoored. The days passed more quickly than she expected, each member of the party charged with obtaining different items or scheduling services. Eleanor had been charged with finding maps, along with Prudence, and together, they tripped along in Edinburgh, not doing nearly enough sightseeing for Eleanor's taste.

In the evenings, they ate together in the downstairs dining room, attended by Mrs. Gordon and Beverly. The men working at the inn seemed to all be outside caretakers, and Eleanor wondered if that was another reason this particular establishment was chosen for them. After dinner, they separated and retired to their respective parlors. Eleanor and the other women changed into dressing gowns, took the pins out of their hair, and talked and chatted while indulging in cups of tea. It built camaraderie for them, but she always wondered how Tristan fared, downstairs, with only his father for company.

He hadn't spoken directly to her, but he gave her meaningful looks across the table that confused her. The hurt of his betrayal hadn't lessened. If anything, it had increased as they sat in close quarters, planning for an adventure he hadn't wanted her to go on.

Seven days after their arrival, they boarded an early morning train for the Highlands. They left most of their luggage with Mrs. Gordon, as climbing the Ben, as the locals seemed to call it, was a one-day affair. They would be back in just a few days. Armed with a small trunk, shared with Prudence, they boarded. It was a surprisingly luxurious affair, but when they reached the end of the line, they had to collect their belongings and board a ferry, which was a decided downgrade in experience. The air grew colder and wetter. She drew her coat and scarf around her tighter to guard against the cold.

The scenery was breathtaking. Despite the fact that spring was barely noticeable, and the cold pervasive, the impressive, rugged landscape bewitched her.

"Climbin' the ol' Ben, are you?" the ferry master chuckled at them. Eleanor didn't know how he knew, but the ferry master had a comment for every single one of them. He clearly didn't believe women had any business climbing a mountain, and men only did so because they were, as the ferry master said, his bushy white eyebrows raised, daft.

"Positively raving," Tristan said with a brilliant smile. Eleanor felt herself smiling in response, even if it wasn't aimed at her. She looked away before he caught her at it, embarrassed that she could be so swept up by him.

They passed by what looked like a ghost town, buildings left in place, but absolutely no people in sight. White sheep dotted the landscape, looking like bits of cotton strewn about a yard.

They arrived in Fort William, cold and tired. Beverly's brother met them at the shabby dock, much to their collective relief. It was twilight, and they were all cold. The thin-walled shelter of the boat had kept them out of the wind, but was not warm. Instead of meeting them with a carriage and strapping trunks in intricate puzzles about the conveyance, Beverly's brother had an open-air wagon. They all climbed in, their trunks laid at their feet, and off they went to the inn, run by another of young Beverly's relatives.

As expected, Eleanor and Prudence roomed together, while Ophelia and Justine took another. Lord and Lady Rascomb took the master suite and Tristan was bunked alone. The rooms were spare but clean, and now, having arrived in the Highlands, the idea of staying indoors seemed absurd. It was freezing outside, but the light lingered, so Eleanor grabbed her cloak and climbing gloves and went outside, not bothering to unpack her portion of the small trunk.

It had rained earlier in the day, and the air was crisp enough that it felt like skating on a knife's edge. The water was nearby, and the mountains loomed in the distance. The sky, dotted with white and gray clouds, was turning a soft lavender, a different color than she'd ever witnessed in England. The world felt different here. The air was better. She felt unlike herself, and also completely herself for the very first time.

Rough footsteps crunched behind her on the stony path. She didn't bother to turn, as she could already tell who it was.

"This is beautiful," Tristan said.

Eleanor didn't want to look away from the grandeur and the beauty of the loch and the mountains and the sky, even for the beauty that made up Tristan's delightfully symmetrical and golden face.

"I never knew places like this existed," Eleanor said, her breath curling into steam as it left her mouth.

"The world is vast," Tristan said. "There are things no one can imagine, and yet they exist."

Eleanor smiled and couldn't help but tease. "Then how do you know they exist if you can't imagine them?"

Tristan looked deep into her eyes, pinning her in a way that surprised her. Was it this place? Was it him? What made this pull between them feel like a slip knot that cinched tighter and tighter, never loosening? "Because some days I look up to find something I've never seen before. Felt before. Wanted before."

Eleanor swallowed hard.

"Eleanor, I know what I did was—" His perfect face creased, the worry spilling out into his expression. "I shouldn't have assumed you didn't want to climb. Of all people, I should know not to force a woman to choose between adventure and a man. But I was so—well, giddy at the thought of you. I apologize. It was boorish and unforgiveable."

Heat flushed through her. No one had ever apologized to her. She didn't know what to say. Her mouth opened and closed. Was this still possible between them? Could they—

"Hallooo! Come inside! Supper is going to be served shortly!" Justine yelled from the entrance of the inn.

Eleanor broke away from his gaze with effort, her heart pounding. "We need to go in."

Tristan nodded and turned, not offering his arm to her. She was glad. At this point, she wasn't sure she could trust herself with his touch.

Inside, their crew was assembled at the dining tables with a number of men who could not be anything but locals. The proprietress served stew and fresh bread, with more of that delightful Scottish butter. Eleanor didn't care if she had to eat stew for every meal if she got bread and butter with each bowl.

Their group discussed weather conditions, routes, snow, and wind.

"Women got no business on the Ben," one man said, tugging his hat down low.

"Storm's coming tomorrow anyhow," a man at the next table said, eyeballing their group. He'd clearly been eavesdropping. The whole room had seemed to be.

"Bit of a walk from here." Another man leaned back in his chair. He had his cap off, unruly red hair fluffed in every direction, as he smoked a pipe. "I've a barn, sits at the base of the Ben. You camp there overnight, well, you're that much closer. Beat the storm on the way down."

"If we sleep in the barn tonight, we can make good time by starting before dawn," Ophelia said. "We won't have the time we planned to acclimate, but if not, we're stuck until the next clear weather window, and according to these gentlemen..."

They all glanced about at the room full of men who pretended to not listen.

"It may be some time before we can climb." Ophelia looked to each of them, and Eleanor appreciated how Ophelia handled them. "This is a safety issue, and I won't press on unless we all agree to climb tomorrow morning. That means no comfortable bed tonight. It's blanket bags in a cold barn tonight and a grueling climb tomorrow morning before dawn."

Eleanor looked across the table to find everyone nodding. Excitement buzzed through her like a live wire. Tomorrow they would climb the Ben. The prospect of a storm made her nervous, but given their preparations, Eleanor was sure they could ascend and descend in plenty of time.

"Are we agreed? Raise your hand if you will not climb with me tomorrow." Ophelia looked around, as did Eleanor. No hands were raised.

*

It was still dark when they awoke. Eleanor shivered as she pulled on the extra layers that she hadn't slept in. She glanced at the others, all the same, all shivering or rubbing their hands or arms to warm up.

Ophelia's voice pierced the silence, scratchy and coarse. "This is what we've waited for. The sooner we move, the faster we'll be warm. I'm bringing a pack with a bit of supplies so we can breakfast halfway up. Take care of your business outside, and then we'll rope up."

They shuffled about in silence, rolling up their blanket bags, popping outside in the cold and dark to go about their business. It wasn't long until they were ready.

"Must we rope up this early?" Prudence asked.

"You heard what Mr. Campbell said. The visibility comes and goes. We don't know this mountain well, and there are a thousand paths up and down. It's a safety precaution we can reevaluate when we break halfway up."

Four hours. They would walk for four hours, then stop and break their fast with whatever had been hastily packed up for them. Ophelia led them out of the barn, their overnight things tidily stashed in the corner of the barn. Lady Rascomb would be waiting for them at the bottom, she said, with hot water bottles and whisky, and a cart to take them all back to the inn.

But this climb was the proof Eleanor needed to show herself. She could do difficult things, test herself, push herself. And she would see the world from atop a volcano. They filed out of the barn, the air crisp and cold in a way that almost hurt inside her lungs.

"Breathe through your nose," Ophelia reminded everyone. "Warm the air."

Eleanor wished for the hottest cup of tea in the world right then. She watched as Ophelia put in her figure eight knot, their leader, ready to ascend the tallest peak in the United Kingdom. Then Justine. Then Tristan, who, even in the dark, was somehow a smudged shape that made her stomach do somersaults. She had taught them this skill, and she hoped her recommendation of the safest knot would prove worthy. Her fingers were clumsy as she took her turn. They were cold despite the fur-lined gloves and felt thick. After tying in, she settled woolen mittens on over them.

She felt the pull of the rope as Prudence tied in behind her and Lord Rascomb yet behind Prudence. Her heart pounded awfully hard, suddenly nervous, as they were about to embark. She looked at the mountain, but it was another indistinct looming shape in the dark. Either it was cloudy or it was moonless. But it didn't matter. Not yet. One foot in front of the other. Breathe easy and rhythmically, and they would be done before anyone realized it.

"Tied!" Lord Rascomb called, and one by one they went up the line, checking their knot and confirming their status. When the cries reached Ophelia, she shouted, "Thus we climb on!"

Eleanor felt it was a bit theatrical, but this was ultimately Ophelia's expedition, and Eleanor wouldn't be the one to rob her of her enthusiasm. They squelched through some mud, but, as Mr. Morrison claimed, the barn was directly at the foot of the mountain. They started to ascend almost immediately.

And for some time, Eleanor was blissfully at peace, her mind free of its constraints. With nothing to look at in the dark, and the rope slack in front and behind, she walked on, almost as if she were once again asleep. Just not as warm. The ground crunched beneath their boots as the frost broke and shattered beneath their feet.

Light soon spilled over the mountain, and the effect of the warmth was almost immediate. The ground began to steam, and the sight of it made Eleanor smile. It made the whole mountain look magical, as if it might suddenly dislodge and rise with the mist. She could see why people said the landscape felt alive. It hadn't been bent to man's will, as places like London had, where the Thames was another avenue of commerce, and the streets were lined with paving stones.

Here, nature was free to breathe, to exercise its own will. Humans were too beneath Mother Nature's regard. Eleanor liked that. Nature as a force unto itself. Others knew that—Prudence knew that, having grown up on farms. It was city people like her that needed the revelation.

She knew she was grinning like an American, but she didn't care. This was beautiful: the mottled green and brown carpet of the hillside, the wisps of steam in the early morning sun. Already the long hours of training, hardship, and heartbreak had been worth it.

These short months had changed her, forced her into a realization that the world around her was far bigger and stranger than she'd realized. That she was more capable than she'd believed. That she too had her role to play, and that she had some choice in it. She longed to be more outspoken like Justine. More driven, like Ophelia. More worldly, like Prudence. More elegant, like Lady Rascomb.

But she also acknowledged that she liked herself, too. That she was capable and careful, meticulous and intelligent. And all of those things were acceptable, and even desirable in a woman. In a woman like her, specifically.

She wasn't sure how she felt about Tristan anymore. But she felt that he admired her. It still stung that he'd assumed she wouldn't mind being kicked off the expedition, after all of those long runs around the meadow at Berringbone! She'd worked so hard to prove herself. And to have her work summarily dismissed had been painful. It was as if everything that horrid Mr. Fulk had said during that dance was also what Tristan thought, never mind her own dreams and future.

But Tristan's apology seemed sincere. After this mountain she could take time to speak with him. Perhaps he wanted to try again, after this mountain. Her foot faltered, slipping a rock loose, leaving it to careen behind her. "Rock!" she called, not knowing if it was big enough to warrant a warning.

But what if they didn't suit, and Tristan ceased his pursuit of her before the Matterhorn? Would she not be allowed on the expedition then? How Ophelia reacted to this mess, it seemed to Eleanor, showed that she would be welcome on the team, regardless of her status with Tristan. Because it was Ophelia's expedition, not Tristan's, ultimately.

The ascent grew steeper, and her breathing quickened. This portion didn't allow her to daydream, focused as she was on her body. Her pinky toe went numb, which she thought was a poor sign. Then the plane at which they climbed levelled off slightly, and her foot regained blood once again. That was good to know about her boots, and there were adjustments she could make before they climbed another mountain.

Fortunately, today was a one-day affair, and she could do anything for one day. Of that, she was certain. The fog had not yet descended, and Eleanor admired the grass and streams. The rocky hillside was blanketed in green, and she drank it in, hungry for nature having spent a lifetime amongst brick buildings and wrought iron fences.

"Look," Prudence called from behind her, pointing up ahead. "Snow!" Gathering up the rope, Prudence caught up with her. "I grew up with the snow. First in Minnesota, and then when I moved to New York. But you wouldn't believe the differences in the stuff."

"Really? I've never really been in much snow," Eleanor said. "There was a Christmas season we went a bit north to a holiday house party, and there was snow on the ground, but it was little more than a carpet that crunched beneath our feet."

"That doesn't count," Prudence scoffed. "In Minnesota, the snow would come down for days at a time, piling up against houses and berms. The rivers and lakes froze over, and after we swept the snow off, we would ice skate. I'm quite good at ice skating, if I can be so bold to brag." Eleanor smiled at her American brashness. "Please do."

Prudence flashed another smile—larger than the ones Eleanor had seen before. This woman was glowing with happiness. "That snow wasn't good for snowmen or anything like that. The cold froze all the moisture out of the air, and so the snow was more like a fine powder. It didn't clump much. So it was easier on the dogs and other animals."

Eleanor shifted her head to the side. How would not-clumping snow help a dog?

Prudence must have seen her confusion. "Dogs can get ice clumps in their paws, poor things. It bunches together, and it can be painful for them. At least until it melts."

Eleanor nodded. That she could understand, even if she'd never had a dog. Or any pet of any kind. For a while she had thought she wanted a bird, but her mother talked her out of it.

"What are you two talking about?" Tristan stood still, gathering up the rope that dragged between him and Eleanor.

Eleanor involuntarily licked her lips at his approach, almost immediately feeling the wind chap them. She and Prudence trundled up to him and he fell into step, looping the extra rope around his shoulder.

"I'm telling Eleanor everything she never needs to know about snow," Prudence announced.

"Sounds delightful. I'd say we've got another six to eight hours of walking, so please, do go on." Tristan was so gentle and kind. That was something she enjoyed about him. He did give everyone space to be themselves. He might give them a silly nickname, and sometimes those backfired, yes, but ultimately, he didn't mean any harm.

He even looked adorable in his stocking cap and jaunty scarf. How come the rest of them looked like anthropomorphic mushrooms, and he looked as if he were the star of some play about winter sports?

"As I was telling Eleanor, the snow in Minnesota is dry and powdery, on account of how dreadfully cold it gets there. But when I moved to New York, the snow was much better for building things by hand, like snowmen and such."

"Fascinating. So what about all this building ice homes and what-not that I read about it exploration journals? Those come from places that are very cold indeed."

Eleanor looked between her two friends, watching them debate snow. She was surprisingly entranced, and the current low angle of the mountain made the walk pleasurable.

"Ah, very good observation, sir!" Prudence said, her finger coming up as if she had a point to prove. "Yes! That kind of very cold snow is good for building if you have tools and access to water that allows you to freeze over certain blocks, solidifying them. But with one's bare hands, warmer snow is preferable."

"You little mountain goats, what are you chattering on about?" Justine called, no doubt feeling the pull of the rope as Tristan fell into step with them.

"Snow!" called Prudence. "And how much I love it."

The morning was crisp and clear, and the sun was shining through the clouds. It did feel glorious, Eleanor had to admit. She felt more than happy, she felt pure joy. In this air, she was invincible. Everything felt right and perfect.

Justine fell back, which pulled on Ophelia, who then joined them. They all coiled the extra rope around their shoulders.

"Ugh, Ophelia. Must we remain roped together? This is too much." Justine shifted the coils from side to side.

Ophelia laughed. "Do you not like this extra practice? The extra weight? Was it not you saying you required less comfort than any one of our party?"

Justine rolled her eyes. "I am prone to hyperbole. Everyone knows that."

"Fine. Our resting point is just up ahead, above that rise. It's the loch, where we can settle for a moment. We're far ahead of schedule, so I see no reason to burden ourselves further. You lot are quick!"

"Mountain goats," Eleanor reminded her.

"Maaaa," bleated Tristan.

They picked through the melting snow, sometimes slipping, but still in good spirits and good time. They reached the plateau with the loch nestled low in it.

Tristan took off the pack he was carrying and handed it around. Inside was a packet of food for each of them. When Eleanor unwrapped her waxed paper, she found oatcakes with crowdie piled between them, a bit of honey stuck in for good measure. Dried apple rings stuck to the sides of it. They shared a water canteen between them. The stones were cold to sit on, and the breeze that came up chilled her now that they had stopped moving.

Still, it was the best breakfast Eleanor had ever eaten. She grinned like a maniac at her friends in the circle, even at Lord Rascomb, who still intimidated her. He gave her a kindly nod, as if he knew precisely how she felt. She wanted to kiss each one of them on the cheeks and tell them how much she loved them. But since she was still English, she settled for her munching on the delightfully crumbly crowdie cheese.

Prudence finished her meal first and scooped up snow to cleanse her hands before slipping her gloves and then mittens back on. "I feel as if I could just run right up the rest of this mountain."

Ophelia nodded, sharing her enthusiasm, but still rife with pragmatism. "We still have at least another four hours to go. There are many false summits."

"Slow and steady wins the race, right Fee?" Justine said, smiling with a mouthful of cheese squeezing between her teeth.

Ophelia scoffed. "Your manners are the worst."

Justine cackled, choking a bit as she swallowed her mouthful. Eleanor laughed then, the joy bubbling up out of her at the antics of her friends.

Tristan's swiveled towards her. "I've never heard you laugh like that."

"I am free," she said, happily. "And so are they. It's intoxicating."

Tristan eyed her appreciatively. "As are you."

Justine cooed, mocking him.

"You weren't supposed to hear that," Tristan said, pulling himself up straighter.

Eleanor looked as openly at him as he did at her, unguarded and affectionate. She liked him. She liked him so very much. Between his apology and this mountain, she had little resistance left. "This is already the best day of my life."

"High praise," he said.

"I can't wait to get to get to the top." Eleanor drank in the chilled spring air.

"Neither can I," Ophelia said. "Five more minutes to eat and take care of your business, then we'll be off."

They were ready in less than four.

"I don't mean to question you Ophelia, but should we not continue to rope?" Eleanor asked.

"Give how quickly we are moving, and based on what the men at the inn said yesterday, I think we should be fine. We'll make even better time without the weight, and be snug back at the inn before the storm hits." Ophelia squeezed her shoulder.

Eleanor eyed the heavy rope coiled at the banks of the loch as they picked up the trail. They would pick it up on the way down in a few hours, along with the rucksack Tristan had carried.

The sun was out in full from behind the clouds, warming the day as they ascended. The mountain became far more steep as they climbed, and Eleanor began to sweat beneath the layers of her clothes. She pulled off her mittens and shoved them in her pocket, which helped.

Each step gained altitude and better views of the surrounding Scottish countryside. They crossed an invisible line on the mountain, and there was snow. Behind her, Prudence let out a girlish giggle. Eleanor turned to see Prudence lifting her skirts to prance through the untouched patches between the rocks. Lord Rascomb had a delighted look on his face, watching Prudence caper about. Eleanor laughed. It was the first time she'd seen the American act anything but the proper widow.

Prudence looked up at Eleanor with a wide grin. "I can't help it. I love the snow." And she did what looked like a dance step and then kicked a bit of snow into the air. The snow caught the low morning light, and it looked like a pale rainbow as it fell.

"It would make someone believe in fairies," Eleanor said. "It's beautiful."

The fog descended upon them, and they could no longer see the views that had helped sustain Eleanor's spirits.

The morning turned into midday, and still the fog remained. It was the fame of the peak, she supposed, the mountain with its head in the clouds. Still, the snow stayed firm beneath their feet, which Eleanor appreciated. She did not have Prudence's skill on ice. She looked up toward the peak, even as her woolen skirt weighed her down. The snow had wetted the hem, and the dampness worked its way up the skirt.

Ahead, Justine shook snow from her skirt before it had a chance to melt. "I hate this."

"Clothing in general, or just that particular piece?" Ophelia teased, seemingly unperturbed by any discomfort.

Eleanor suspected that her boots were likely also about to fail in the face of the dampness of melting snow.

"See? It isn't me," Justine insisted. "It's everyone else twisting my words to make them scandalous."

"I believe you, Justine," Prudence announced. She was in the same boat as Ophelia, gleefully tromping along.

Compared to Eleanor, she was practically running. Indeed, her lack of fitness was showing as she lagged behind the rest of the company. Lord Rascomb took his position as last seriously, but it meant he would stop and let Eleanor pass him before starting up again. She felt less like the invincible woman from earlier and far more like a wayward duckling.

"Not much farther," Ophelia called from uphill. She'd stopped, her hands on her hips as she rested, waiting for Eleanor and Lord Rascomb to catch up with the group.

Eleanor wondered what "not much" meant. Did that mean two more hours? Two more yards? Two miles? Lord Rascomb fell into step with her, matching the rhythm of her steps. Her ankles began to ache from the unfamiliar exercise.

Clouds covered the sun, and the relief from its brightness was at first welcome. Then a chill set in, once they lacked its powerful rays. On Eleanor plodded. She knew she couldn't stop to rest, for if she did, her protesting ankles would not want her to begin again.

"May we chat as we climb?" Lord Rascomb asked her, using his walking stick to help pole him upwards. Eleanor should have requested one but had wanted to fit in with the others, who hadn't wanted any aid for the Ben.

"Of course, my lord," she huffed, her throat dry as she choked out the words. She willed her observations to tunnel in, so that instead of thinking of the mountain and their party, and the snow and sun, all she thought about was the next step, and all she listened to was Lord Rascomb.

"You seem reluctant to speak with me," he said, not unkindly.

"To be fair, m'lord, I can't speak at all right now." Eleanor should have been embarrassed by her impertinence, but she was too busy trying to breathe.

He chuckled. "And I suppose the rest is merely intimidation?"

She nodded, not wanting to waste her energy on talking.

"Do you think that is something that could change when you marry my son?" he said the words so casually, as if it were a known quantity.

"Pardon?" Eleanor squeaked, almost stopping in her shock, but managing to push forwards.

"Well, once we are family, we have Sunday dinners together when we are all in London. It's a lovely time, and I would be most disturbed to know if you wouldn't attend for some reason; I dearly hope it wouldn't be because of me."

Ahead there was a whoop. Eleanor's head snapped up. There were just a few more steps and they were there. Ophelia and Justine were already there screaming at their success. Tristan was there too, unslinging the water canteen. Prudence then achieved it, clapping her hands at their victory.

Eleanor looked over at Lord Rascomb, who wore the most impish grin she'd ever seen on a man over the age of thirty-five.

"I had to distract you somehow so you wouldn't give up," he said.

Eleanor shook her head. "I wouldn't have," she croaked.

"Then it's still a valid question." He winked and pulled himself up to the plateau of Ben Nevis, extending his hand to her.

She shook her head. She didn't want a hand up. With the final push, the backs of her legs burning with the effort, she reached the top.