“Someone will have to be The Girl Who Went,” she said. “Why shouldn’t it be me? And don’t worry; I have no intention that getting a college degree will be the last of the dreadful things I do. I’d rather be the Girl Who Did instead of the Girl Who Didn’t.” She sniffed and looked away. “And I never thought you would talk me out of it, Oliver. Of all the people who I imagined would wish me to fail—”

“I don’t wish you to fail,” he said tersely. “If you are going to Cambridge, I wish you to succeed. I wish you to succeed against all odds. I only wish they didn’t have to be arrayed against you.”

“Then don’t be one of my barriers.” She spoke quietly. “You said you would help me learn Greek, Oliver. Everything else, I’m managing as best I can on my own. But Greek…”

“I’m not very good at Greek. I can manage the basics, but that’s all. If you want to succeed against all odds, you’ll need the best help you can get.” He waited a moment longer. “Mama and Papa have their rules about taking the duke’s money, but…it really is mine, you know. Shall I hire you a tutor?”

She swallowed. “Is that what you think I need? I’d be more comfortable with you.”

“I’m not just saying that to get out of the duty,” he said. “I don’t think you understand how awful my Greek is. If you’re going to do this, you’re going to have to learn to be uncomfortable.”

Slowly, she lowered herself down to sit on the ground. “What will Papa say?”

“I leave that to you to worry about.” He sat beside her and hooked his arm over her shoulder. They sat there like that for a long moment, not speaking. Oliver wasn’t sure what to say. He knew his sister too well to attempt to change her mind, but then…

He also knew what was waiting for her. That thing she yearned for right now with all her heart? The shine would come off it, he suspected, and the only way she’d make it through would be by gritting her teeth and bulling her way to the end. He wouldn’t wish his Cambridge years on anyone. Least of all someone he loved.

“I worry about you,” he finally said to Free. “I’m afraid that you’re going to break your heart, going up against the world.”

“No.” The wind caught her hair and sent it swirling behind her. “I’m going to break the world.”

She almost seemed not to have heard the words she’d said, so absently did she speak. As if it were a conclusion she had come to years ago, one she didn’t even need to examine any longer.

He watched her breathe in. The sun fell on her skin—she was going to freckle dreadfully—but she wouldn’t care. Her eyes were shut, and she turned to face the breeze as if the wind could take her to another place.

“Is that what happened to you?” she finally asked, without opening her eyes. “Cambridge broke your heart?”

He barely kept from startling. His eyes widened and he turned to her. But she hadn’t moved, and she didn’t say anything at all to him. She just sat there, her head thrown back, a little breeze catching a strand of her hair. Oliver wasn’t sure why his heart was racing. Why his fists were clenched as he stared straight ahead.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Oliver finally said. “It’s just a school. That’s it; it’s just a school.”

Chapter Nine

The University of Cambridge had an extraordinary set of botanic gardens, carefully planted with exotic species brought back from around the world and arranged in order of Linnaean classification. No matter how strange the species were, however, they could not rival how oddly Jane felt.

She could feel the kiss that Mr. Marshall hadn’t given her still lingering on her lips three days after he’d declined to give it. It tingled, a sharp, sweet secret, that undelivered kiss, and she felt as if it painted every word that came out of her mouth with the fullness of its ungranted promise.

“You seem quite taken with Mr. Marshall,” Genevieve Johnson said to Jane as they walked together.

They were passing an evergreen from China, branches laden with green needles drooping low to the ground.

“He’s amusing,” Jane said.

The twins exchanged glances.

“That is to say,” Jane tried again, “I am sure he is a dependable fellow.”

“I’m sure he is,” Geraldine agreed, taking Jane’s arm with an expression that would have been a smirk on another girl.

Jane should make a remark about his station, something to depress their interest. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“He’s a duke’s brother,” she finally said. “Surely that elevates him to the status of at least a marquess.”

The sisters exchanged a longer glance.

“No,” Geraldine finally said. “You might think of a duke’s brother, but I don’t think you should consider a marquess.”

There was something faintly off in their mannerisms, and the two of them were so rarely off. Genevieve’s lips pressed together; Geraldine looked somber. It took Jane a minute to understand. Of course. They knew a marquess. Good heavens. Geraldine was engaged to the Earl of Hapford, but his uncle was unattached. Had Genevieve set her sights on Bradenton?

She wished her joy of him. The girls were of excellent family—cousins to an earl—and had good dowries. But she’d long suspected that Bradenton needed far more than a dowry that was merely good by country standards.

“Under no circumstances a marquess,” Geraldine was saying. But her sister took her elbow and gave her a little tap—that, and the tilt of her head, no more, and Geraldine stopped talking and turned.

For there in the gardens, just beneath an awning covered with some creeping vine that had dropped most of its leaves for winter, stood the marquess himself.

Jane had never been particularly enamored of Bradenton, but she’d not thought he held any particular distaste for her. He was after all, too much enamored of himself to care about her. But Mr. Marshall had told her last night that the marquess wanted Jane humiliated and hurt.

Humiliated.

She felt a flush of fierce resentment at that. The marquess was watching her with cold, glittering eyes. She wanted to smack him, to let him know that he could not conquer her.

“Shall we greet him?” Geraldine said softly.

“No need,” Jane whispered. “He looks busy. We wouldn’t want to put him off with our forwardness.”