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After a night filled with dreams of a certain redheaded woman and how right it had felt to hold Eva in his arms, Bram swung into the manor’s workroom with his uncle at his side. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on such pleasantries during the day. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on it at all. That embrace last night had been a spur-of-the-moment whim on Eva’s part, nothing more. Any woman who feared heights would have been as equally grateful to land on solid earth.

So why did part of him yearn for something more?

Shoving aside the untamed thought, he pointed toward a leather messenger bag slung over the back of a chair. “There’s that pouch you wanted, Uncle.”

“Ah! So it is.” Uncle Pendleton drummed his fingers against his ample belly. “How peculiar I don’t remember leaving it in here. Could have sworn I stowed that bag in the cottage cupboard.”

Bram strode past him, chest squeezing. The last several days his uncle had been more forgetful than ever.

Scanning the big table, Bram spied the calipers he’d need on-site today and was about to turn away when unease crept across his shoulders. Something was off. His gaze skimmed the tabletop from the amphora to the set of iron chisels, then beyond to...

He ran a finger over the empty piece of silk where a silver fibula brooch had been resting—leastwise it had been yesterday morning when he’d finished measuring it. He rummaged through the assorted tools and pieces that yet needed a good buffing, going so far as to peek beneath the table on the off chance the relic had fallen. “Did you move the silver fibula brooch? It’s not here.”

His uncle shouldered the messenger bag, then pulled off his perpetually dirty spectacles and huffed on the left lens. “No, I had nothing to do with a brooch.”

“You are certain?” He waved the empty piece of silk. “That brooch was right here, sitting atop this fabric.”

“Hmm.” Uncle Pendleton slowly rubbed the dirty side of his spectacles along his sleeve. “No, no. I am positive I had nothing to do with it.”

Setting down the cloth, Bram closed the distance between them. “Would you mind checking your coat pockets? It may have, em, fallen into one of them.”

A great chuckle rumbled in his uncle’s throat. “I hardly think so, but to make you happy...” He popped his glasses on the bridge of his nose and fumbled about in his pockets, eventually turning them inside out for good measure. Lint floated to the floor, as did a broken pencil lead and a balled-up horehound wrapper, but no jewelry clattered to the wooden planks. “As you can see, the brooch must be elsewhere.”

“But it ought to be here. After I documented the depth of the engravings, I set it down and shut the workroom door just before we all left for the fair yesterday. You are the only other person allowed in here, so think, Uncle. Think hard!”

“Do not use that tone with me, young man.” He aimed a finger at Bram’s chest. “I am not one of your students.”

Bram huffed a frustrated sigh. “You are right. My apologies. You have your bag, and I have my calipers.” He waved the tool in the air. “We will simply stop by the cottage and give it a quick look over for that brooch. I am sure we will find it.”

Brave words. Too bad they were false. He tucked the calipers into his pocket, feeling that if he didn’t find that brooch, the blame would be pinned to his shirt. Dread sliced through him like a sharp knife. He knew exactly what it was like to be labeled as guilty for something he didn’t do—and all because of his uncle, no less. This was uncomfortably familiar ground.

He turned toward the door, surprised to see a dark-haired girl buttoned up in a snug wool coat leaning against the doorframe. Once again he sighed. While he liked the girl—he truly did—he didn’t have the patience today to answer Penny’s incessant questions.

“Good morning, Professors. Are you looking for—”

“Sorry, Penny. This is not a good time.”

“But I know—”

“You are a wealth of knowledge, a very bright girl, but I am in a hurry.” He stalked past her—or tried to.

Her small hand snagged his sleeve. “Take me with you today. I can help on the field. I know I can.”

“No, not today.” He gently peeled her hand from his arm, still cross about the missing brooch.

“Oh, let the girl come,” Uncle said merrily at his back. “I can keep an eye on her.”

Bram coughed to keep from snorting. The man couldn’t keep track of a simple brooch let alone a precocious twelve-year-old. “I am sorry, Uncle, but my answer stands.”

“Please,” Penny pled. “I spent all my coins on fritters yesterday. Allow me a chance to earn more.”

“No. This is not a good day for me to have you underfoot.”

It was eerie the way she tipped her face up to him, a storm brewing in her sightless eyes.

Blast. He plowed his fingers through his hair. “That came out wrong. What I meant to say was—”

“I revise my opinion of you, sir. You are not as jolly as I credited. You’re not jolly at all, and I wish you’d never come to my house. You take up all my sister’s time. She is forever closeted away with you either in this room or traipsing out to the site, and I am left alone with nothing but my songs to console me. You should leave.” Her voice rose to a raging tempest. “You should all leave!”

“What is going on in here?” Eva strode through the door, her gaze bouncing between him and Penny.

Bram spread his hands. “I refused your sister’s request to go out on the field today. That is all.”

“Oh, Penny. Such theatrics.” She closed in on the girl, curling her hands over her sister’s shoulders and giving her a little squeeze. “A lady does not behave so passionately. If you are going to carry on like this, then you will have to do so in your bedroom and not come out until you are of a sounder mind.”

“Fine. I don’t want to be with you anyway.” Penny shrugged away and advanced on him, one of her finger’s poking him in the arm—barely. Any farther to the left and she’d have missed completely. “I don’t want to be with you either. And I hope you never, ever find your stupid missing brooch!” In her haste to stomp from the room, the girl’s hip smacked the table’s corner, sending a few relics toppling and rolling several pencils to the floor.

“Penelope Rose!” Eva planted her fists on her hips. “You will come back here right this minute and apologize to Mr. Webb.”

“Let her go.” Bram collected the fallen pencils. “I do not require an apology.”

Eva nibbled her lip. “Very well, but what was she going on about a missing brooch?”

“Nothing to worry about.” Bram glanced at his uncle. “It’s probably misplaced.”

“Is it of value?”

“Like I said, do not worry—”

“Oh yes!” Uncle Pendleton cut in as he readjusted the bag strap on his shoulder. “I should say the piece is valuable. Quite rare in its design.”

“Is that so?” Eva’s brows gathered. “Then I pray you shall find it soon.”

Bram couldn’t agree more.

Eva stalked from the workroom, troubled by Penny’s outburst and even more so by the missing brooch. She hated to question her few remaining staff members, but if that antiquity didn’t turn up, she would have to ask around. Dixon would be hurt. Sinclair cross. Tom would snort like a horse and go right back to his work, totally ignoring her. And Mrs. Pottinger ... well. There was no telling what that chary woman would do. Hopefully Bram would find the brooch, and it wouldn’t come to such an unpleasant task.

But Penny could not be so easily put off.

Eva upped her pace, aggravated by her sister’s ugly display of anger, and yet she ought to have seen it coming. Her sister adored learning on the dig site and was practically a sponge when it came to absorbing the students’ answers to her questions. She would do well in school—but that had nothing to do with Penny’s misbehaviour right now. Perhaps her sour mood was from lack of sleep. They had been out awfully late last evening at the bonfire.

As Eva neared the front hall, Dixon strode out of the sitting room, the lace of her mobcap flopping against her brow with each step. “There you are, miss, and just in time. You’ve got company.”

“Who?”

“The Reverend Mr. Blackwood and his sister, Mrs. Mortimer.”

Her shoulders tightened. She’d had plenty enough of Mr. Blackwood on the ride back to Royston last night. What more could he possibly have to say to her now? “Thank you, Dixon. Please bring in some tea.”

She entered into a room smelling as if the very walls had been painted with violet toilette water. Mrs. Mortimer had really outdone herself today in the perfume department.

Mr. Blackwood rose at her approach, Mrs. Mortimer all a-smile as she perched on the edge of the highbacked chair.

Eva dipped her head at them both. “Mrs. Mortimer, Mr. Blackwood. Good day.”

“Good day, Miss Inman.” Mrs. Mortimer fluttered a lacy handkerchief near the top of her great bosom. “I heard about your disturbing brush with death last evening, and I told my brother I simply must come over to check on you.”

“As you see, I am well, but he could have put your mind at ease about that.” Eva glanced at the grey-suited man as she took a seat on the farthest end of the sofa from him.

“My sister is overly dramatic, a trait I have been trying to temper—unsuccessfully, I might add. Nor is the purpose of my visit to inquire about your well-being, though I am happy to see you whole and hale.” His thin lips flattened to a straight line, belying his words.

Eva slid her hands beneath the fabric of her skirt, hiding her nails. “Then what is your purpose, sir?”

“If you will recall when I first learned of Mr. Webb residing on your property, there was something about the name that didn’t sit right with me. I feel it was a nudging of the Spirit, if you will. That and a vague memory from years ago of a certain woman with the same surname. So I sent out discreet queries to a few of my associates in Cambridge.”

Eva dug her fingers into the underside of her thighs. What business was it of his to needle about in Bram’s private affairs? Or hers, for that matter. Still, it had already been done, so there was no point in calling out such a bold action. “That is very thorough of you, Mr. Blackwood.”

“I take my position as shepherd quite seriously, Miss Inman.” His eyes arced like a blue bolt of electricity she’d once seen at the fair. “At any rate, when the post arrived this morning, I opened a missive direct from Trinity College sent me by the head of the history department. Professor Grimwinkle informed me he is intimately aware of the details of Mr. Webb’s past—a past that is riddled with infractions.”

“I am well aware of Mr. Webb’s history, sir. He grew up here in Royston. We were childhood friends.”

Mrs. Mortimer tittered. “How romantic!”

Eva nearly choked. “It was nothing of the sort.”

Though I’d like it to be now.

This time she did cough, and quite violently. Where had that unexpected thought come from?

“Here, dear.” Mrs. Mortimer leaned to a dangerous angle on the chair, the legs of it straining as she held out her handkerchief.

Eva held up her hand. “Thank you for your kindness, but I have a handkerchief.” She pulled out her own square of linen—nothing quite so fine as Mrs. Mortimer’s—and pressed it to her lips.

Dixon entered, carrying a tray with the ivy-sprigged tea set, and placed it on the table between the sofa and the highbacks. “Will that be all, miss?”

“Yes, thank you, Dixon.” She set to work, grateful for the distraction of pouring tea instead of having to face Mr. Blackwood.

But that didn’t stop him from continuing. “Be that as it may, Miss Inman, I wonder if you know of a scandal involving Mr. Webb several years ago, long after he left the confines of Royston. The man was indicted for theft from a dig site.”

The teapot shook in her hand, splashing tea onto the tray. Surely the missing brooch he’d spoken of couldn’t have been taken by him.

Could it?

No. Of course not. Bram may have been a rascal in his younger years, but he’d changed. He’d said as much himself. Sucking in a deep breath, she continued pouring the steaming liquid into the teacups. “I was not aware of that information, sir.”

“I assure you it is true. Such an esteemed academician as Professor Grimwinkle would not be given to exaggeration. Mr. Webb was eventually acquitted of the crime—for miraculously the relic in question showed up unscathed—but even so, the tarnish on his reputation remains.”

She handed over a cup of Assam to Mrs. Mortimer, mulling on Mr. Blackwood’s words. She’d like to believe it wasn’t true, and yet why would a department chair take the time to pen a letter of falsities? But if Bram was so untrustworthy, why had Professor Grimwinkle not said anything when he’d been here that first day? Why had he allowed Bram to do the dig at all? She served the reverend his cup of tea, lost in thought as she poured one of her own.

“...are you, Miss Inman?”

She snapped her gaze to Mrs. Mortimer. “I beg your pardon, what were you saying?”

“I wondered if you are well, dear. Your face has taken on quite a pallor.”

“I am fine, thank you.” She returned to her seat, swallowing a stout drink.

“I daresay this is all too much. You shoulder burdens that are not meant for a young lady such as yourself.” Mrs. Mortimer rested her saucer on her ample lap and fanned her handkerchief at the side of her face. “Oh, my dear, I must insist you allow me to sponsor your sister for the Greenwell School for the Blind in London. It is for the best, you’ll see. I shall write to them at once.”

“Please do not, Mrs. Mortimer. I am grateful for your generosity, truly. And I have given this matter quite a bit of thought and prayer. The thing is, I feel Penny is not yet ready for such a big upheaval in her life. Her moods of late have been erratic.” Eva set her cup on the table, the angry episode her sister had displayed with Bram fresh in her mind. “I cannot imagine what moving to completely different surroundings would do to my sister at the moment. Might it be possible to revisit this possibility in a year or two?”

Mrs. Mortimer tucked away her piece of lace. “The opportunity may not be available then. There are others I can help—others who will welcome my intervention. My offer to you cannot stand indefinitely. I am sure you understand.”

Eva sank against the sofa cushion. She did understand. There were many others in Royston to whom Mrs. Mortimer could lend a philanthropic hand. The woman couldn’t be expected to continue offering her aid when being told no at every turn.

And yet as frustrated as Eva was with Penny’s recent behaviour, she couldn’t stand the thought of sending her away. The idea of her little sister going off to school felt like a cruel twist of fate, leaving Eva feeling more alone than ever. Without Penny and her sweet singing, this house would be a tomb.