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“Agreed,” Lord Ainsley said as he dabbed at his mouth, where a trace of yellow yolk clung to his chin. “I want to know how large this villa truly is. Imagine the presentation we’ll make at the next meeting.”

Their enthusiasm and certainty brought a prickle to my skin.

Who exactly had stolen the Bacchus mosaic and hindered my letters to the magistrate?

The men before me certainly knew the worth.

The theft had occurred before their arrival, but were they above hiring someone to act as a scout?

Hadn’t they toured the continent hunting for lost relics? And for what purpose?

It was one thing to have one’s research published and reviewed for the sake of educating the masses. It was a completely different thing to steal valuable pieces from other countries and flaunt such items as hunting trophies. One was an antiquarian, the other truly a grave robber.

My guests refused to be sequestered in the abbey.

After breakfast, I rode alongside them toward Perry’s farm, the weight of their company heavier with each passing hour.

As we approached the fields, my eyes sought out the guards I’d stationed days ago.

There they were, Mr. Hinsley and Mr. Dixon, posted at the edge of the excavation site.

At least this part of my promise to Bridget was fulfilled. No thief would dare approach under their watchful gaze.

One of the guards tipped his hat, and I returned a nod, the smallest reassurance settling in my chest.

The field appeared a hive of activity as Mr. Harrington barked orders like a general on the battlefield. Off to one side, Mr. Barron stood near the edge of the site, chatting amiably with one of the workers while gesturing toward the uncovered mosaic as if he were the one in charge.

I paused when I spied Bridget kneeling by a mosaic.

With her bonnet lowered, she didn’t see me, likely too absorbed with brushing the tiles free of debris.

Then she raised her head, her eyes widening at the sight of my guests and at last lingering on me for the briefest moment.

Just as quickly, she ducked her head and continued her work.

Coming here might prove a mistake, but I hoped I could keep the men in hand.

Mr. Harrington raised an eyebrow. “Gentlemen, to what do we owe the pleasure?” He glanced over his shoulder. “We have had a steady stream of guests today, including a Mr. Barron.”

Jim Barron doffed his beaver hat as soon as he spied my company. With hurried steps, almost stumbling in the soft dirt, he made his way to the Dilettanti.

“We’ve come to inspect your progress,” Mr. Beaumont declared loudly.

“Capital idea,” Mr. Barron said to my guests. “A fine day for antiquities. Surely you’ve had the opportunity to wander Lord Hawthorn’s orchards and the abbey by now. He and I have had the most delightful chats about the cider business. Not for this year, of course.”

The insinuation that Mr. Barron and I had a relationship couldn’t be further from the truth.

Lord Ainsley and Mr. Beaumont ignored the innkeeper and brushed past him to Mr. Harrington. They engaged the man in conversation while Mr. Barron fidgeted, his expression piqued.

“Deuced manners your guests have. I was hoping for an introduction.”

“Another day,” I told him.

Anger flickered within his gaze before the smile returned. “I look forward to your invitation.”

My guests also ignored Bridget entirely.

Eager to escape Mr. Barron’s cloying presence, I headed to her, halting in front of the mosaic.

She continued brushing the geometrical border stretching well beyond a trio of cupids, her head now averted.

Nor did she acknowledge me when I stood in front of her.

I longed to see her expression, to offer some hope or encouragement.

When she at last raised her head, her features cooled. “Lord Hawthorn, have you brought your friends to inspect their future purchase?”

“That is not my intention. I had merely hoped to satisfy their curiosity. But I understand they have made Mr. Perry an offer for his field.”

She sighed and placed her brush on her satchel. Ignoring my proffered hand, she rose. “I am on limited time, it would appear. I see Mr. Beaumont is becoming fast friends with Mr. Harrington. Next he will charm Mr. Perry.”

I squinted, the sunlight far too bright. “Hardly. Mr. Perry can sense a viper near his boots.”

Mr. Beaumont nodded sagely as Mr. Harrington pointed to the recently uncovered pool. The memory of Bridget standing in it and me reaching for her, ever so curt, brought a flush of regret. What a boor I had been.

She tilted her head, studying me.

“And I don’t think you need to worry about Mr. Perry selling.

He has refused all offers, including my steward’s.

In fact, I bring news that I think will please you,” I hurried to add as I removed the letter and map from the magistrate and handed it to her.

She took it after a brief hesitation. As she read I had an opportunity to observe her freely, and I watched an array of emotions play across her face.

Her nose was slightly reddened from being in the sun, despite her hat.

The smattering of freckles newly formed on her cheeks was adorable, to my way of thinking.

She folded the letter and said not a word, but her mouth trembled.

“Bri—Miss Littleton. I am truly sorry for any offense I have given you. I realize you believe me to be partnering with Mr. Beaumont. If you would allow me to explain further—”

“I am in no need of your explanations,” she responded, her voice shaky.

“Please, I don’t want to be enemies. When I wrote to my barrister regarding the sale of items within the abbey, I didn’t know Mr. Beaumont.

Nor was I aware that he held sway with the Dilettanti.

He was simply a buyer, interested in the abbey’s collection of art.

If there is anything I can do to assist you. ..”

To prove to you...

“I haven’t forgotten my promise to send men to guard the site,” I added, trying to convey how seriously I took her work. “Mr. Hinsley and Mr. Dixon come every night, and I’ll make sure they stay until you’re finished. I want to see this through.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for a moment, something softened in her gaze.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost too quietly to hear.

Before I could say more, Mr. Perry approached us warily. “Lord Hawthorn.”

Bridget thrust out the letter and the map. The lines about his eyes and mouth relaxed as he studied both documents.

“Thank God. You will not take my land then?”

“No,” I answered. “My steward erred, and for that, I apologize. I sent several letters to the magistrate in previous weeks, but it appears he only received my most recent missive.”

“Father visited Chichester, hoping to clear up the boundary dispute, but the magistrate was still away in Bath. Despite his best efforts, no clear resolution had come yet. Now the magistrate said he never received your letters. I assumed you had not sent them,” Bridget said.

“I assure you I sent several,” I replied. “I can’t help but assume someone tampered with the mail, but I don’t know whom or why.”

Squinting against the bright sunlight, Mr. Perry slid the precious documents into the safe confines of his jacket pocket.

“Interesting timing to receive this document now. I’ve had two offers for this farm—one from you a while back, Lord Hawthorn, and now another from that fancy Mr. Beaumont over there.”

I crossed my arms. “I assure you I wanted the magistrate to clear the border situation immediately.”

Bridget visibly shivered. “It would appear that someone wants to meddle with you and Mr. Perry.”

I smiled tightly. “One way or another, the truth will get out.”

Bridget frowned. “And you, my lord, are you still interested in purchasing Mr. Perry’s farm?”

I was keenly aware of her attention. “No. I, too, have received an offer of rent from Beaumont, although not for the entire estate, only the area surrounding the orchard.”

Mr. Perry stroked his chin. “Farming is a brutal business, and as tricky as gambling. You pay your expenses up front and never know if you’ll see a return for your sweat and blood, but it’s the only life I’ve known.

Without Miss Littleton’s plan, I would have been forced to sell.

Owning one’s land brings a sense of freedom to a man.

No one can tell him what to do or where to go.

Do not be so quick to release your land, sir. ”

“I will do everything in my power to keep it. Miss Littleton has given you quite a gift. Perhaps you should open a tourist center,” I told him.

“Aye, a fine plan and one that Mr. Harrington also suggested privately to me. He thinks I can do it in under a year. If nothing else gets taken in the meantime.” Mr. Perry’s expression darkened.

“Lord Hawthorn, why don’t you consider a tourist center? Chances are that an enterprising gent such as yourself might open a similar attraction. A man needs all the income he can get. Bring in the shillings this way until you can offer cider when those orchards regrow.”

“I agree,” Bridget said with a husky voice, but it was enough to send a frisson of lightning rippling through my veins.

“Why not combine what you can, gentlemen? With the mosaics stretching across both Perry’s field and your orchard, it’s likely the sites are connected.

If someone works against us, are we not stronger united? ”

The mention of a shared villa between the two locations sparked my imagination.

I could almost picture Bridget wandering through the grounds with her art brushes and satchel—every bit as much a part of the estate as its ancient walls.

Yes, she was the vicar’s daughter, beneath my station in the eyes of some.

I had followed the rules all my life. Why couldn’t I break them in this one instance?