Page 75 of Boy of Chaotic Making

“You needn’t be so bashful,” she said, but did loosen her grip. “There’s no shame in it.”

Merritt stepped back, keeping his eyes averted. “I know a woman in London who would disagree with you.”

A few heartbeats passed. “Take the night to think on it.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary.” He made himself incredibly interested in a small patch of clover on the forest floor. “I do appreciate the, um, offer. I do. But I have every intention of returning to Rhode Island and marrying my housekeeper.”

He heard a rustle of cloth and dared to look back; Sean had settled a cloak over Morgance’s shoulders, covering most of her. He murmured something into her ear. Morgance frowned. “Very well,” she said. “But our arches will always bloom for you. If you ever change your mind, come to the Lagan Valley. It wouldn’t take us long to find you.”

Merritt nodded, turned the selenite stone over in his hands, then left to find Owein.

Hulda sat at the wooden table across from Professor Griffiths, her hands flat, palms down, on the surface. The professor had a silver spring-driven clock in front of him, ticking away the time with brass hands, sounding like a metronome in the otherwise silent room.

As she studied the pattern of the movement, Hulda’s vision changed. She saw Professor Griffiths, wearing a different suit than what he wore now, collecting his things into a briefcase. He tossed a coat over his arm, adjusted his glasses, and stepped out the door.

The vision ended. Professor Griffiths reached forward and paused the cradle. “What did you see?”

Pulling back from the table, Hulda rubbed her eyes, the first prick of a concentration headache starting. She’d had quite a few of those since beginning these lessons. “I saw you, actually. Nothing important, merely you collecting yourself at the end of a day’s work and departing.”

“Were you focused on me?” The corners of his lips ticked upward.

She warmed. “Youaresituated behind the spring-driven clock.”

He nodded. “But of course.” He set the cradle aside, behind a stack of ledgers. “In truth, Miss Larkin, you’ve been an exemplary student. I don’t have a lot more I canteachyou, but I’m more than happy to help you through exercises as you see fit. They are often better carried out with assistance.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “I appreciate your time. I do feel like I have a little more of a handle on it. Best not to tell anyone, lest I get more requests for fortune-telling.”

He chuckled. “Of course, such is the bane of any augurist.”

She reached for her bag.

“The exercises?”

Pulling the bag onto her lap, Hulda collected her things. “Of course I would appreciate the practice, but I intend to return to Boston next week.” She gave him a grateful, earnest smile. “I am truly appreciative. Are you sure I can’t compensate you?”

He waved a hand, dismissing the notion. “No.” A beat. “That is, not with money.”

She snapped her bag shut. “Pardon?”

“I have no desire for monetary compensation for our time,” he clarified, knitting his fingers together and setting his hands atop the table. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. You’ve a keen mind, Hulda. It’s hard to find that in a woman, at least in my circles. I’d like to get to know it better.”

Her stomach tightened. “I apologize; I don’t understand.”

“Give me a chance to change your mind.” His resolute expression seemed set in marble, and his eyes never left hers. “Allow me to take you to dinner tonight.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks, but Hulda was too startled to care that she had reddened. “P-Professor Griffiths, are you ... are you insinuating an intention to court me?” She felt foolish even asking! She was not a desiderative woman, one an esteemed educator would desire—

“Yes, I am.”

Her jaw dropped. Her brain emptied. She gaped like a freshly caught fish with a hook still in its mouth.

“As I said,” he continued, “give me a chance to change your mind. Mr. Fernsby is an amicable fellow, I’ll give him that. But you’ve no legal promise to him. I merely wish you to consider—”

“No.”

She hardly registered the word leaving her mouth; it was the abrupt ending of Professor Griffiths’s plea that brought her thoughts back together. She swallowed, spine straightening out of habit. She clutched her bag—not tightly or with any dramaturgy, but because it was there. “That is,” she amended, “I am incredibly flattered. Truly. And I wouldcertainly have considered it in another time and place. You are an ... admirable suitor.” Was she,Hulda Larkin, really having this conversation? Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined having to reject such a man!

She forced her posture to relax a fraction. “But whatever you may think of him, I am deeply in love with Merritt Fernsby, and nothing will sway my decision to marry him.”

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