“So, which of our mothers claims this feat of prognostication?” Amelia asked as she and Alexander wandered Electo Park.
“Mine,” Alexander confessed, his smile grim. “Part of a multi-pronged assault comprised of disinheritance and threats of uncloseting Eli should I continue to resist.” His jaw clenched. “He takes orders next month. He has more to lose than I do.”
Alexander rarely spoke to her of his love life, preferring to keep his social and romantic spheres separate. Never the twain could meet without devastation. But the buoyancy in his demeanor the past several weeks intimated a lover, and he recently confirmed her suspicion. She felt sickened knowing their parents pitted his affection for Eli against him.
“They would ruin another man’s reputation?” Amelia flared.
“They know I would rather comply.”
“They’re tightening the noose, then,” she said, skewering fallen leaves with the tip of her parasol. “Will you separate from him?”
“He separated from me, actually,” Alexander replied with a bitter laugh. “By telegram.”
“How gutless!” Amelia said, astonished. “He should at least have the decency to break your heart in person.”
“I can’t blame him. Discretion is the better part of valor and all. It’s…cleaner this way. We don’t have the luxury of public sentimentality.”
“No, I suppose not.” She’d never considered the logistics of clandestine romance or the stealth required to love in secret. But then, she’d never felt toward anyone a particular regard that required concealment. She couldn’t imagine what her friend suffered, but she grieved for him, nonetheless.
“Their only demand is that we wed,” Alexander said. “So, we allow them this single victory. Once we are married, their threats lose potency. We can pursue our separate endeavors if we choose. And at least we have the benefit of friendship, which is more than many others can boast.”
“I see no alternative solution,” Amelia replied. “But this retreat will only mark the beginning of our misery unless it establishes our independence. Otherwise, there will always be another demand, another limitation. I have no qualms with marrying you; indeed, I can think of no one I’d prefer. It’s the addenda I oppose.”
“We propose a compromise, then,” Alexander said.
Negotiations commenced that evening at dinner, and concluded to general satisfaction before the arrival of tea. Amelia agreed to quit the boarding house within the week and the paper after the obligatory two-week notice she contrived for the occasion. She and Alexander agreed to wed in one month, fulfilling their mothers’ demands in return for guarantees of independence and cessation of manipulative tactics in perpetuity.
Having accomplished their objectives, the mothers made little fuss about treaty details and moved on to wedding plans.
***
Anonymous no more, Amelia’s name spread quickly in the realm of Adventuring ladies clubs. In one week, she attended a womens fencing demonstration by Lady Pell, a ballooning excursion, two innovation and engineering seminars taught by visiting Sennas from the Imperial Academy, and a steamcar derby. At each function, either her article or a reference by Lady Pell was mentioned as reason for requesting her attendance.
The whirl of activity provided an excuse for postponing the most odious part of the Wedding Compromise - actually quitting her position. Moving out of the boarding house had been difficult enough. She didn’t relish the prospect of relinquishing an occupation she found rewarding and challenging. She waited until the second week to tell McGoffery of her imminent resignation.
The telegraph machine’s announcement bell brought discussion to a halt. McGoffery waved for her to follow him as he exited his office, his lens apparatus bobbing from his forehead.
“What’s happening?” Amelia asked.
“Argonaut press release,” he said. “I thought you could work it up a bit, if you’re interested.”
“Not anonymously.”
He pushed through the crowd gathered around end of the almost three meter long machine. The chittering Morse code gave way to a cascade of clacking as the machine translated the code into words on the roll of paper.
“These can take a while to finish,” McGoffery said to Amelia. “But that was when the historiographer was writing them. You might have to flesh out the story some. Just keep the details consistent.”
“You mean I might have to-” Amelia began, her voice louder than she anticipated.
The machine had stopped.
“Fill in a lot of blanks,” McGoffery finished. “What’s wrong now?”
“Is it broken?” someone asked.
McGoffery flipped a lens over one eye and fiddled with the dials and switches on the machine for a moment. “Everything’s in order. What does it say, Miss Stodge?”
Amelia peered down at the message’s two lines of vibration fuzzy text, wondering how much of the story she would need to fabricate. “Argo,” she halted at the next word. “Argo...destroyed.”
McGoffery silenced the crowd with a bellow. “Keep reading,” he said.
“Argo destroyed,” she repeated. “Merriday and crew lost. Await details.”
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