Chapter Five

"T his is absurd!" her mother said, pushing the fish around in the sauce on her plate. "Whoever heard of anyone doing this?"

"Indeed, whoever heard of a woman climbing a mountain?" murmured Eleanor. She didn't like fish, and she didn't like the sauce, but she didn't want to offend Mrs. Branson, who had been their cook for as long as she could remember. Mrs. Branson, for a short time, watched after her on the days when her mother would take ill. Those days had been filled with baking, sneaking juice-soaked currants, and learning how to lay a precise fire.

Her father leaned back in his chair and slapped the side of his belly. "I'm all for it. You can find no better chaperone than Lady Rascomb."

"You're only saying that because Eleanor gave that Martell boy such a put-down at their salon." Eleanor's mama huffed and took a bite.

A footman stepped forward and cleared Papa's plate. Eleanor wished she could signal that she was done as well, but she'd wait until her mother had finished pushing things about.

Papa leaned forward. "I couldn't have engineered such a delight. Well done, Eleanor! Well done. I've been wanting to put those upstarts in their place ever since they jumped into bed with the American rebels. Fools! All that man's crowing for those years about his profits. Well now look at him, broke and near bankrupt for all his smug nonsense. Paying restitution for idiocy!"

Eleanor flushed with pride. Rarely had her father singled her out for praise, and it felt good to have his solid attention, rather than her mother's fluttering worry. Either way, it was nice to have both of them aware of her presence at the dinner table. They usually talked between themselves, not bothering to solicit or even allow her contribution to the conversation. Once, when she was much younger, her father had accidentally left her at the office after he'd gone home for the day. No one realized she was missing until well past the eleventh bell. Moments like that seemed to stick with her, despite the apologies and the blame that had circulated in the house for weeks on end. The blame was never addressed to Eleanor, nor was an apology. She was more like an expensive vase than a child to them, sometimes.

Her mother pushed the fish away as if it were the source of her frustration. "It was one thing when this, this, this training retreat as Miss Ophelia called it, was to be at their country home."

The footman stepped forward to clear her mama's plate, and Eleanor waved at him to take hers as well. "No one ever said that, Mama. You assumed that."

"Because it is only natural to assume that when someone invites you to the country it is to stay inside a house and not beside it!"

"But to be acclimated to such difficult physical work will require me to sleep outside, under the stars," Eleanor protested.

"We are not so beneath them that we must be kept outside like livestock!" Her mother sniffed, as if she were receiving a snub in public.

"We shall all be outside. If it is good enough for the viscountess, it is good enough for me." Eleanor tried to modulate her voice to sound respectful, but she wasn't sure if it had worked. Her mother had been saying the same thing for the past week, ever since she'd heard what would really be required of Eleanor. It wasn't like her mother would be going and sleeping in a blanket bag, either. She'd be snug and warm at home in her own feather bed.

Her father pointed at her and snapped his finger. "Exactly so. I've always said you had quite the head on your shoulders. Dear, if you want her to snag the heir, she has to prove she can fit into his family. What better way than let her tag along on this outing?"

Eleanor blinked. This was an adventure, not a marriage proposal. And Tristan wasn't even the heir.

"Haven't you been paying attention? The heir isn't on the trip! He stays home!"

The footman placed the pudding in front of Mama and backed away slowly.

"Eleanor, is that true?" Her father looked across the table at her, lines burrowing deep in his forehead.

"Yes. Lord Berringbone doesn't even attend the salons. He's busy with his own affairs."

"Then who is that chap with the shiny hair who moons after you?"

Eleanor blushed and looked at her hands. "I'm sure I don't know who you mean."

Papa scoffed. "Oh please, he mopes about like someone's taken away his puppy when you've turned your attention on another man—whether it is at a ball or at these salons. I know! I've watched him! He's Rascomb's son."

"The man you are referring to is Mr. Tristan Bridewell," Eleanor managed, still pleased and embarrassed all at once that Tristan might be paying extra attention to her.

"He's the second son," Mama explained, halfway through her pudding. "The spare."

Eleanor winced. She didn't know why, but she didn't like anyone calling Tristan the spare. He wasn't the spare to her. He was essential. And she knew that he was absolutely a necessary part of this expedition. Even if his knots were still too rushed and sloppy.

Papa grunted his thinking grunt. "A second son, eh? No title, but your children might be able to snag one, if you get enough of my money."

"What is so important about a title?" Eleanor asked, finally exasperated by her parents' machinations.

"It's automatic power. Respect. Authority." Her father stared her down, all humor drained from his face. "Those are things money cannot buy. No matter how hard I work, no matter how much we earn, the government can turn 'round and take it. Because we are no one. But to have a title! Then you are part of the land itself. You have become the conquerors, and all that is yours stays yours."

"Who would take things from you?" Eleanor cried, so frustrated. Why must her parents invent hardship?

"These are things you needn't worry about, girl," Mama soothed. But there was a glance between her parents that shared information that Eleanor wasn't privy to. "You shall go on this odd outing with our blessing."

*

Tristan had ridden from the train station on his own horse. The idea of being stuck in a carriage with that number of skirts and petticoats for three hours was stifling. And sitting so near Eleanor yet having to share conversation with Bad News was too much for one man to bear. As it was, he'd sat in a different compartment with his father, leaving the ladies to chat amongst themselves, if they could, given the loud rattle of the train.

Part of the trade was that his horse was laden with a number of supplies, and a groom came along with him. They still had servants attending to them—but most of the servants would be staying at an inn at the nearest town and brought in by carriage every morning. While the company dealt with equipment and techniques and training, the servants would cook food, find water, and tidy the campsite.

Neither Ben Nevis nor the Matterhorn would require camping on the mountain itself. But they would need to have a camp set nearby. Ascension would require waking at likely three or four in the morning to assure they could be down again before nightfall. Therefore, they needn't practice upkeeping their own campsite.

Tristan got to the site of the ruins in the early afternoon, well before the carriage. It was a beautiful day, the air chilled, the nip of spring still biting, but with the promise of lovely days and sunshine to come. The rolling hills of the countryside were green, and the birds in the trees were active and loud, even in his presence. The sheep that sometimes grazed here were elsewhere at the moment, but they would surely appear at some point during their trip.

The ruins were unchanged. One full wall stood in half-repair, the wall opposite not as well-formed. The rooms where people had lived and eaten and danced were obvious from the large stone foundations. One arched doorway stood closest to the trees. Tristan's mother claimed it was once the gateway to the herb garden—the domain of the mistress of the house.

He loved the days and nights they'd spent here. When he was young, they would all come out, eat hamper picnic dinners and frolic in the trees and the stones. It was idyllic and wild, the fantasy of so many people, but for them, a reality. The only reason they had such freedom was his mother.

Lady Rascomb was a daughter of an eccentric earl who loved exploration, and it was that feeling of inherent freedom that attracted Tristan's father—at least, the way his father told the story. According to his mother, it was her ample dowry and her ample bosom that caught his eye. But she had been dragged along with her father to the ends of the earth, spending time aboard boats and skis, trekking in all climes. They'd lost her mother in childbirth, and the earl refused to part with her, regardless of her age or her gender.

Lady Rascomb was a unique spirit, and she seemed happy to pass the torch on to her children. The avalanche a decade earlier had brought her outdoor life to a halt. Tristan still felt guilty for it. He'd wanted to stay longer on the mountain, push harder, explore more. While his father and siblings had gone down the mountain, his mother stayed up with him. Mont Blanc was impressive in its own right, but the French never wanted to climb it when snow was present. Which meant they only climbed it during a two-week window mid-summer. That wasn't convenient for the Rascomb schedule, and so they climbed earlier—in June. But it had gotten warmer earlier that year. And on the descent, his mother first down the mountain, Tristan trailing, he'd accidentally triggered an avalanche. One misstep, and the next thing he knew, his mother was swept away by a sheet of rotten snow.

He'd descended as fast as he could, scrambling and sliding, a frantic mess, pawing through the snow with wet gloves and frozen hands until he reached her. She was still breathing. Excavating her was agony. Fortunately, the avalanche had been loud enough that his father had sent the rest of them down, called for a stretcher, and headed back up. Between the two men, they got her out and carried her on their backs until they met the stretcher most of the way down the mountain.

Her leg was broken in a most obvious and horrific way. It was clear that despite the best efforts of a gentleman physician who happened to be staying at the same inn, she would never walk unassisted again.

It was deep guilt that Tristan carried with him—to be the person who took his mother's first love away from her. She would no longer watch a sunrise from a mountaintop. No longer could she see the world unfurl around her in every direction. The feeling of accomplishment that accompanied a summit. The sweat drying in the cold, unobstructed wind. It had been her girlhood, her connection to a doting father who had passed, a way she spent time with her husband and her family, and what did Tristan do? Snatched it out from under her with his carelessness.

Indeed, he was not so unaware of himself to not realize that he harbored some of the same fears about this expedition. That he'd have to be particularly vigilant to not damage the young ladies on this trip, either his sister or someone else.

He took in a deep breath and walked his horse over to a tree where he could have time to graze in the shade. Just as he'd done when he was a child, he climbed over the entryway stones and entered the fortress ruins. This place had once been a haven and a home. Moss covered some of the stones, others were covered in mud. It made him think of legacies, and how he was left out of his family's.

Primogeniture was a blasted rotten way to rule a country. Tristan folded his arms against a chill breeze. It deprived him, a second son, but it also deprived his sisters, Portia and Ophelia. Of the four of them, Portia was clearly the smartest. She had a better head for numbers than either Herringbone or himself. And as an adventurer? He loved it, but it wasn't as all-consuming as it was for Ophelia.

During the trip to Mont Blanc, as their mother recovered the following evening, Ophelia had told him in a fit of passion that she would happily die on a mountain rather than in a bed. There was nothing she wanted more in the world than to be at the top of these grand cathedrals of stone. It had discomfited him at the time. No one wanted to hear a young person speak of death, especially not after his harrowing venture on the mountain with his mother.

But Tristan knew she meant it. She wasn't the sort to die of old age. She'd rather fly into one of the Matterhorn's glacier fields like poor Lord Douglas. If she wasn't careful, she'd get her wish. All the more reason to emphasize safety and caution, since Ophelia didn't possess any. And who was Tristan? Not the heir, not the brains, not the adventurer... he was the other one. The boy with the charming smile. Fun to have a drink with. A good storyteller when enough port was available. Not particularly good at anything, nor particularly passionate.

He picked up a stone and threw it into the forest, over the arched doorway, startling his horse. In response, the beast eyed him, as if to scold him. What was he supposed to do with his life then? Support his family, yes, but what would he do? Help Herringbone with the estates? How? Get married and have babies? Who wanted a second son when estates were being parted out, no longer the generators of exorbitant wealth?

Picking up another stone, he looked at the horse, who stared him down with a steady glare. "Fine," he muttered, tossing it to the slick stone floor. He'd unpack and start setting up camp. The carriages would arrive in a few hours, and the ladies would like a place to have a decent cup of tea from the hamper after their journey.

*

Getting to know Prudence Cabot was definitely the highlight of the carriage ride from the station to Berringbone Hold. The rail journey had been loud, mostly. Cold, as well. Eleanor had traveled via rail before, but it had been with her mother and attendants. They'd been well-stocked with hot water bottles, warmed bricks, and nibbles of scones and cakes to keep their stomachs settled amidst the jostling of the railcar. This journey had been much different. They were chaperoned by Lady Rascomb herself, while Tristan and Lord Rascomb went into a separate car.

The carriage ride, however, was cozy with the four young women together in one carriage and Lord and Lady Rascomb in another. Tristan, disappointingly, opted to ride his own horse, so there was no excuse to talk with him.

Yet Prudence Cabot was interesting. Eleanor had never spent so long talking with an American, and she found the flattened vowels and incessant smiling charming. They were all of an age, Eleanor being the oldest by a few months. Prudence was next, then Justine and Ophelia were within weeks of each other. But it was odd to be the oldest and have the least amount of experience with the world.

It would be easy to feel shame about such an instance, whereas Prudence had not only been married, but widowed, and had the experience of running her husband's company. And now! She'd traveled across the Atlantic and was traipsing through foreign countries. The freedom seemed dizzying.

Yet Prudence was easy to be around—she exuded warmth without a need to impress. She was pretty in an unaffected way—no ringlets or braids decorated her coiffure, her gowns were simple, yet well tailored. She seemed to be exactly what she portrayed herself to be, which was refreshing. Her gray eyes were wide and watching, and she already had small lines around her mouth from smiling.

Eleanor found an urge to categorize Prudence. Was she descended from the English? Or perhaps the Scots? Even German could be found in her features. But she supposed that was part of the charm of the Americans. They escaped the categories.

"I'm not sure what to expect this week," Prudence said, voicing the fear Eleanor also had.

Justine and Ophelia looked at each other with delight sparking in their eyes. "No corsets."

Prudence seemed delighted, but it frankly frightened Eleanor. She liked her corset. It held her, kept her upright. She had come to depend on her corset like an invisible governess in the corner, whispering stand up straight!

"There must be more than that," Prudence said with yet another wide, disarming smile. Eleanor found herself smiling back. Oh, that habit would be difficult to break. By the time they finished this country excursion, Eleanor would be grinning at everyone like a deranged fiend.

"Oh, there will be," Ophelia assured her. "Papa has made a grueling schedule. As it needs to be, in order to get us all into shape."

Eleanor enjoyed watching Justine's very expressive face go from enjoyment to curiosity to disgust. "Grueling?" Justine asked.

Ophelia turned to face Justine, as they sat on the same side. "Utterly."

"I imagine it must be," Eleanor said. "It is, after all, the peak of human achievement."

Justine giggled. "Oh, did you not intend that pun? Peak?"

Eleanor did her best not to blush. The pun hadn't occurred to her, and Justine was so very quick.

"Eleanor is quite right," Prudence said, giving yet another smile. Really, did she never stop showing her teeth? "The Matterhorn has claimed the lives of many men. Let's be the group that proves the mountain only eats the males of our species."

"Hear, hear!" shouted Justine, making Eleanor wince. "Prudence, I knew I liked you."

It seemed strange to be on such intimate terms with these women so soon, but Ophelia had insisted they needed to be close in order to function as a team. So they dropped all courtesy and used first names to show familiarity. Eleanor hadn't minded, but it just felt odd. Like a new pair of leather shoes that needed to be stretched.

They arrived at the site of the ancestral hold. Prudence's gray eyes were wider than usual, taking in the land that had belonged to one family for centuries. Eleanor had heard Americans hadn't the concept of such a thing, or at least, the Americans born and raised far from New England. She'd been given to understand that the Native Americans didn't have as many permanent structures, preferring to roam about the land from season to season. Not terribly unlike British aristocrats, come to think of it. Eleanor began to suddenly wonder about Minnesota, Prudence's birthplace. How truly wild was it when a heap of English stones dotted with sheep droppings caused her awe?

The carriage door opened, and instead of descending, Lady Rascomb entered, squishing them very tightly. "Ladies," the viscountess announced. "Before you descend, I have a few things we must go over to appease my own mind."

Lady Rascomb surveyed them all with her crystal blue eyes—the same color as both Ophelia and Tristan's. "In order to succeed, we must maintain our decorum. We are in the wilds, yes. We are freer than when in London, yes. However, we still must behave within the bounds of humanity."

Eleanor wished she could glance around to see if the other girls understood what was being said, because Eleanor surely didn't.

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but you know I have not done anything to earn my reputation," Justine protested. It was the most polite sentence Eleanor had heard out of her mouth in three hours.

It also made Eleanor wonder why Justine was labelled Bad News if she hadn't done something to deserve it. She had the reputation of a wild girl, unpredictable and fun. The kind of girl a respectable man would never marry, and one the rake would entertain for perhaps a month.

"I know it isn't your fault, Justine. But I say this also to Mrs. Cabot and to Miss Piper. Forgive me, ladies, I know that it is uncouth to be so direct. But we cannot have any missteps."

"Perhaps this is one of those cultural barriers, Lady Rascomb," Prudence said, frown lines forming between her pretty brows. "But I'm not clear on what it is you are cautioning. As an American, I need more directness, not less."

"Of course, Mrs. Cabot. What I mean to say is, we must not fraternize with any men we meet. Not the porters, not the servants, not anyone. That is an easy warning here in the countryside, but it won't be that way in Scotland or in Switzerland. I know widows enjoy their freedoms, but you cannot engage in that sort of behavior around unmarried ladies like my daughter."

Prudence colored, and her mouth dropped open. "I would never—"

Lady Rascomb gave her a smooth look of appreciation. "I'm glad to hear it. Now. Let's descend and take off these blasted corsets."

Justine howled with laughter and the ladies climbed out of the carriage. Eleanor was last out, happy to sink into the corner and stave off her own embarrassment. The problem namely being that she wanted to fraternize with Tristan. Very much so. How was she to avoid him when he was literally tied to the rope eight feet in front of her?

Now that she left the carriage and could smell the sweetness of grass and fresh country air, she could see why Prudence was gaping. It was lovely, right out of a pastoral painting. The ruins were majestic in their own way, an arched doorway still hanging onto relevance, the rooms of the building outlined on the floor.

A thick copse of trees threatened to grow into the archway, creating shade and cool for the horses. They couldn't have asked for a better spring day. She got away from London often enough with her mother, yet never to a place like this. Their getaways were to seasides where her mother could take the waters. But this was proper inland English countryside. Off in the distant rolling hills she spied white dots. Sheep! Even with the appropriate livestock.

Curtains had been strung amongst the trees as the ladies' dressing area. It was secured by clothespins, so even the wind couldn't create a scandal.

"Here's a hint," Justine said, glancing sideways with a mischievous grin. "Take your stockings off and walk barefoot in the grass. It's the next best thing to Heaven."

Eleanor caught Prudence's expression of disbelief. "Have you... not done that before?"

Ophelia shrugged with a pert raise of a brow. But Eleanor shook her head. "Never. Where would I do such a thing?"

And honestly, where? London? They had gardens but not lawns. And they didn't own a country house because her father couldn't be persuaded to leave his business. Mother only went to the seaside, where grass was at a minimum.

"You must try it, Eleanor," Justine said.

Prudence nodded. "It is the most human thing one can do, I think. It's been far too long for me." The widow unbuttoned her traveling boots and shucked off her stockings, all while Eleanor stood gaping.

Laughing, Ophelia and Justine did the same.

"But—" Eleanor protested. Hadn't they just received a lecture on propriety from Lady Rascomb?

"We won't go near the men," Justine said with a wrinkle of her nose. "Who needs them, anyway?"

Eleanor unbuttoned her new traveling boots, the leather still stiff. The other women were all heading out the back of the curtained area, away from the ruins and the horses. "Oh, wait, please."

"Come on!" Ophelia laughed, gesturing broadly.

Eleanor shed her own stockings, as if she were a snake molting its skin, and skipped after them.

They emerged out of the copse of trees into a wide, sunny meadow. The grass was cold enough to feel wet, but the sun was warm on her hair and shoulders. Long strands of grass slid between her big toe and first toe, slipping almost as seamlessly as water. A breeze raced through, the grass whispering in response. It felt like magic. The four of them, standing in the sweet country air, as if they were collectively taking the hand of a loved one.

A great peace descended on Eleanor. Emotions that she'd never felt swept over her, confusing her, overwhelming her. The world was big and vast and she was so very small in comparison. And she loved it so much, and while she wasn't sure where she belonged exactly, she belonged somewhere. If she could take care of the world, the world would take care of her.

Her eyes welled with tears. Ophelia saw it and took her hand. "It happens that way the first time."

Eleanor sniffed. "What happens?"

"That feeling. The overwhelming love the first time you truly step into nature. Wait until you get on top of a mountain. You'll never want to stop climbing them."

Eleanor turned to Justine, attempting to wipe away her tears discreetly. "It happened to you too?"

Justine nodded. "Except I was a far bigger mess and not at all pretty about it."

Eleanor had a hard time believing that.

"I grew up in the farms and the lakes, so this isn't nature to me. This view still has too much of a human touch for me. But I am quite looking forward to losing my dignity once we crest our first mountain together." Prudence took Eleanor's other hand and squeezed.

The enormity of their endeavor hit Eleanor. "What we are doing is quite mad, isn't it?"

Justine laughed. "Extremely mad."

Eleanor felt the world tilt, and if it weren't for her bare feet touching the cool grass and damp earth, she would have fallen over, giving in to the dizziness. "Will we even be able to do such a thing as climb the Matterhorn?"

Ophelia's face settled, not as if she were angry to be questioned, but rather more determined. "The number one thing we need to succeed is the will to move forward. If we give up before we begin, then we haven't a chance."

"I'm not giving up," Justine said. "I'm going to the top of that mountain. And every single other one I can get myself to before someone convinces my parents I must have babies."

Prudence laughed.

"It isn't funny," Justine protested.

"Oh, it isn't funny in the least," Prudence agreed. "It's only—I came to London to take a lover. And instead I'm going to climb a mountain."

Eleanor couldn't help but gasp. "You didn't ."

"I did," Prudence confirmed, her expression open and guileless. "I'm a widow at the age of twenty-five. My husband was old enough to be my grandfather. I wanted to see what it was like to have a young man adore me. That isn't wrong, is it?"

Eleanor looked to the other young women. Wasn't it wrong? She was beginning to wonder. Weren't they supposed to be scandalized by such talk?

Ophelia nodded just once at Prudence. "Seems very practical of you."

Prudence smiled, even though she clearly didn't need Ophelia's approval, nor Eleanor's for that matter. "Thank you."

"It's going to be an uncomfortable week, isn't it?" Eleanor asked, as it dawned upon her that walking up a mountain took a great deal of physical expertise.

Justine grinned. "You cannot begin to guess."