Page 114 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

Kalila scoffed. “Not at present, no.”

“That’s a relief.” He grinned down at her. “Who paid you a visit, then?”

“Comerford.”

The smile vanished from his face as his brow knit in distaste. “Comerford? What for?”

“He offered to allow women into the Society,” she said, stepping away from his tempting embrace. “And he offered to publish my paper.”

Oliver gaped at her. “He didn’t.”

“And,” she said, making sure to pause for dramatic effect, “I said no.”

“You—you said no?!” Oliver stammered. “But Kalila, isn’t that what you wanted? What you came here to do?”

Kalila sighed, running her hands through her short curls. “It is what I came here to do. But Comerford doesn’t deserve me or my research. He doesn’t deserve access to the research being done by other women, either.”

“I suppose,” he allowed. “But—”

“And I could never work with someone who has hurt you,” she added. “No matter what they offered.”

Oliver’s features softened. “Kalila—”

“He doesn’t deserve you, Oliver,” she said, smoothing the fabric of his waistcoat. “He never did.”

He placed a hand over hers and pressed it against his heart. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Of course you do,” she said. “He came here because of you, you know.”

The words drew a sardonic chuckle from him. “Because of me?”

“You hurt his pride by calling him a terrible scientist.”

Oliver sighed, releasing his grip on her hand. “He finally listened to something I said, then. Delightful.”

“You were right to say it,” she told him. “Just as I was right to turn him down.”

“That may be,” Oliver said, “but what will you do now?”

An uncontrollable smile pulled at Kalila’s lips. “I’ve come up with a solution of my own. One that does not require me to rely on men like Laurence Comerford.”

“A solution of your own,” he repeated. “Of course.”

Kalila retrieved the piece of paper she had been scribbling on, holding it against her chest. “Brace yourself.”

His amusement was plain. “Consider me braced.”

She handed him the paper and watched as he read the words she’d written. When he looked up at her, she let out the breath that she’d been holding. “Well?”

“The People’s Society for Cellular Biology?”

“Yes!” she burst out. “My own scientific society. One that allows everyone in, no matter their background or identity.”

The idea had occurred to Kalila while she’d been speaking with Comerford. Weeks ago, she’d been convinced that all she needed to carve out a place for herself in the field of scientific research was a single act of benevolence from a man like Laurence Comerford. But what she hadn’t realized—what she’d realized only recently—was that there were people who needed her. More to the point, what they needed from her was a single act of defiant courage. In carving out her own space, she could easily carve out space for anyone who wished to join her, no struggle necessary.

Oliver blinked at her and, for a terrible moment, Kalila wondered if he thought it a ridiculous idea. But then he spoke.

“Kalila Darwish, you astound me,” he said, the excitement in his voice matching hers. “You brilliant, clever girl.”