The Governess Game (Girl Meets Duke #2)(66)

“Wait,” she said decisively. The fog around her mind appeared to have lifted. “Tell him we’re going to Billingsgate docks.”

“Billingsgate docks?”

“Yes.” She drew a breath. “We must take a boat.”

“Are you mad? I’m not putting you on a boat. Not after what you told me about the shipwreck, and losing your father, and drifting about the ocean alone with no food and water for days.”

“I know what I told you, Chase. This is not the time to rattle through the horrid details. The roads are too dark at night to travel swiftly by carriage. Taking a boat is the fastest way. If we don’t arrive in Greenwich before the comet dips below the horizon, we’ll have to wait until tomorrow night to have it verified. If we wait, it might be raining or foggy. Some other observer might claim it first. I don’t want to take the risk.”

“Very well. If you’re certain.”

She nodded. “I think I can do it.” Her eyes briefly closed, and her hands clenched in fists. “No, I know I can do it. So long as you’re with me.”

Oh, I’ll be with you. Just you try to get away. “You’ll be safe, Alex. I’d say you have my word on it, but as little as that’s worth, it scarcely feels worth offering.” He stared solemnly into her eyes. “I’d part with my life before I let you go.”



I can do this, Alex told herself. I can, I can, I can.

It had been easier to believe that at the house. Now that she stood on the dock, it was proving more difficult to actually go through with the decision. The last time she’d stood on these docks, she’d fallen into the Thames, and her livelihood had slipped from her grasp.

But if that hadn’t happened, she wouldn’t be here with Chase tonight.

Chase joined her, having finished making arrangements with whichever boatman he’d roused from his sleep. “We’ll be under way in a trice. He’s just readying the skiff.”

“You hired a skiff?” She’d been expecting a wherry.

“There’s a breeze tonight. Sails are faster than oars.”

Yes, but oars felt a great deal safer.

She looked down at the river. The Thames flowed like a river of ink beneath them, dark and silent. Ominous.

“You can still change your mind,” he said.

She shook her head. “You sent the carriage on without us.”

“So I can hire another.”

“No. We’ll take the skiff.”

This night, this journey—it was what she’d been working toward all this time. She wasn’t going to allow irrational fears to stand between her and that goal.

Chase boarded the craft first, then extended a hand to help her do the same. The closer she inched toward the edge of the dock, the more furiously her heart thrashed about her chest. Her tongue felt coated in sand.

“Don’t look at the water, Alex. Look at me.”

She obeyed. What with the darkness, the black of his pupils had swallowed up all of the dazzling green. There was no charm in his gaze; only sincerity.

“Take my hand,” he said, “and I promise I won’t let go.”

She reached out to him. His hand took hers, and the clasp felt natural, easy. After all, they’d been holding hands every morning for weeks.

His other hand gripped her forearm, and he helped her into the boat. She made an ungainly landing in the craft, and the skiff rocked to and fro. Panic fluttered in her chest, but it didn’t have the chance to grow proper wings. Chase caught her by the waist and tugged her down onto the bench. His arm slid around her back, drawing her close.

The boatman pushed away from the pier.

And then they were drifting. Bobbing on the waves, unmoored.

“I have you,” Chase murmured in her ear.

“I know.” Her dry throat worked to swallow. “I know.” She twisted her hands together in her lap. “I shouldn’t get my hopes up. There are so many observers not only in England, but on the Continent. Really, what are the chances I spotted it first?”

“Slim, I’d imagine.”

“And that’s if it’s a comet at all. I could be wrong.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Exactly. So this will probably come to nothing anyway.”

He nodded. “You’re probably right.”

She looked askance at him. He wasn’t supposed to be agreeing with her.

“I mean, what kind of career plan is comet hunting?” he scoffed. “Not a very realistic one.”

She stiffened. “It is a realistic one, even if it’s uncommon.”

“Oh, truly. Name one woman who actually makes her living as an astronomer.”

“Miss Caroline Herschel.”

“Fine. Name two women who make their living as astronomers.”

“Miss Caroline Herschel and Mrs. Margaret Bryan. And if you require three, Mrs. Mary Somerville, by way of mathematics,” she replied hotly. “That’s only in Britain. Gottfried Kirch in Germany had three sisters and a wife, all of whom were astronomers. In France, you have Marie-Jeanne de Lalande, and Louise du Pierry taught astronomy at the Sorbonne. Shall I continue?”

“Please do,” he said. “Twenty more, and perhaps I’ll be convinced.”