Page 21

21

So many things could go wrong. An ill musician. Cold food. A quarrel between Mrs. Grample and Mrs. Lingerton that would leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouth. Eva inhaled deeply of the cool night air as she, Bram, and Penny entered the Rosewood Assembly Hall, trying desperately to ball up her fears about tonight’s gala and shove them into a dark corner of her mind.

They paused in the foyer, where a coat-check girl collected their coats.

Bram leaned close, his breath warm against her ear. “Are you ready for this?”

“I hope so.” She peered up at him, and yet again her breath caught in her chest. For once, he was completely clean-shaven with his hair slicked back and smelling of sandalwood tonic. His usual devil-may-care appearance was undeniably attractive but this transformation? The stunning man smiling down at her was actually a little intimidating. She’d be completely tongue-tied if she didn’t know the same old Bram lived and breathed beneath the fancy suit he’d rented for the occasion.

“Do not worry. All will be well. The Inman sisters will be the loveliest ladies in the room tonight, and I am honoured to be their escort.” He planted their hands in the crook of each of his arms and led them from the foyer into the receiving hall.

Eva scanned from wall to wall. The drink table appeared to be well stocked. Hors d’oeuvres graced several plate towers on another table, exactly as she’d instructed. Ivy swags crisscrossing from the ceiling added a festive touch, and all in all, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves—if one were to judge by the drone of conversation. Truly, it was a lovely sight to see everything so pulled together.

But was the dining room as impeccable? Craning her neck, she slipped a glance toward that doorway, but only succeeded in attracting a wave from Lottie across the room. “Would you mind if I—”

“Well, well, if it isn’t the belle of the ball and her lovely sister.” Richard Trestwell swooped over, pulling her and Penny’s hands free from Bram’s arms, and gave them each a kiss on their fingers. Straightening, he raked a cool gaze over Bram. “Webb, I’m surprised you were allowed in the door. Won’t you be a bit out of your depth amongst Royston’s high society?”

Bram’s jaw tightened. “Good evening, Trestwell. There is no need to bedevil yourself on my account. I’m quite capable of navigating social gatherings regardless of their refinement.”

One side of Mr. Trestwell’s moustache twitched upward in a smirk. “Navigation is one thing, but doing so with grace and decorum is another matter entirely. Try not to trip over your own feet, will you? Miss Inman wouldn’t want any unfortunate accidents spoiling the evening.”

Tension ran thick between the two. Eva forced a soothing tone to her voice. “I have every expectation tonight will run smoothly, Mr. Trestwell.”

“I am sure you do, Miss Inman, but one can never predict when the unexpected might happen. Disasters often strike at the most inopportune times, do they not? Even the most well-laid plans can unravel in the blink of an eye. But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to keep a close watch on Webb here.” He cuffed Bram on the back too forcefully, jerking him forward. “Wouldn’t want him causing any undue disturbance to ruin the evening, now, would we? Please let me know if you require any assistance, for, as always, I am your servant.”

Eva held her breath until Mr. Trestwell eased back into the mingling crowd. Irritation radiated off Bram in waves. His hands were fisted at his sides, yet to his credit, he let the bully go.

“Do not mind him,” Eva whispered. “He is only trying to spoil your night.”

Bram turned his gaze on her, a charismatic smile curving his lips. “It will not work. With you at my side, there is nothing that could ruin it.”

“Ah, the Miss Inmans.” Mrs. Mortimer closed in on them, turning her large girth sideways to edge between a servant carrying a silver tray and two gentlemen deep in discussion. “Exactly who I was hoping to see. And of course, you as well, Professor Webb.” She stopped in front of them, violet toilette water wafting around her. So many ruffles adorned her ample figure that she looked more like a decorated cake than a woman.

“I am happy you could make it tonight, Mrs. Mortimer.” Eva bobbed a small curtsey. “I did not realize the reverend would attend such an event.”

“Oh, my brother isn’t here. I came on my own—scandalous, is it not?” A laugh trilled past her painted lips as she looped her arm through Penny’s. “You, my darling dear, have been indisposed the last few times I’ve been to your house, and I was hoping to have a chat with you.” Mrs. Mortimer lifted her face to Eva. “May I steal away your sister for a few moments?”

Penny pulled from the woman’s grasp. “Thank you, Mrs. Mortimer, but I would prefer to stay with my sister. She’s promised to let me sample the croquembouche before dinner.”

“My sister is correct. Another time, perhaps. Do enjoy the refreshment table, Mrs. Mortimer.” Collecting Penny’s hand, Eva led her sister toward the dining room.

“Mind if I tag along?” Bram joined them. “You may not know this, but I happen to be a croquembouche expert.”

“I did not know.” She arched a brow. “Another one of your secrets, eh?”

Bypassing the tables with a glance to make sure the centerpiece candles were lit, Eva led her sister and Bram to an adjoining large room that bustled with serving staff and smelled divine. Miss Thompson reigned supreme, barking orders and waving a wooden spoon in the air.

Eva approached the woman. “Excuse me, Miss Thompson. I wondered if we might taste the dessert?”

“It’s not properly plated yet, but there are a few broken pieces in that box over there.” She tipped her head toward a corner table. “And mind yer not underfoot.”

“You will not even know we are here. Thank you.” Guiding Penny behind her, and with Bram at the rear, they made their way single file through the melee. Sure enough, a box of subpar profiteroles sat on one corner, the balls of caramel-glazed choux too irregular in size or misshapen to be added to the final towers. The sweet scent made her mouth water.

Penny leaned over the box. “It smells magnificent.”

Bram popped a piece into his mouth. “It is magnificent.”

“Beast.” Eva gathered a few small plates from nearby and, using a pair of tongs, served them each some imperfect croquembouche.

Penny closed her eyes as she chewed. “I could eat this every day.”

Eva smiled. So could she. Miss Thompson had her rough edges, but the woman surely could cook—and bake.

“As long as yer takin’ up space, ye might as well try some of the meal as well.” The ruddy-cheeked cook set down a platter with odds and ends of chicken pieces, buttered potatoes, and a thick gravy.

“What a surprise.” Eva grinned. “Thank you, Miss Thompson.”

“This is the best!” Penny felt for the serving spoon and plopped a large portion onto her plate.

Eva’s chest swelled at the delight on Penny’s face. It was lovely to see her sister so happy ... though she didn’t really know how to break it to her that they didn’t have time for sampling everything. She had to make sure the speaker had arrived.

“Penny,” she began, then thought better of it. She had to check on the speaker, not her sister. “I have something to attend to. Do you mind if I leave you here with the professor?”

“Not as long as I get to keep eating.” She shoveled in another bite.

“Actually,” Bram cut in, “I have something to attend to as well. Think you can manage that plate and still have room for dinner later on?”

Penny laughed. “Mrs. Pottinger says I must have hollow legs and that she’s never seen a girl tuck away so much food.”

Eva bit her lip. Was it safe for Penny to remain in this area by herself? Then again, as long as she stayed in place, she would be just fine. “All right, Penny. I shall only be a minute. Enjoy.”

“Well done,” Bram whispered as he led her through a side door adjoining the reception hall, then abruptly stopped her behind a framed screen strategically placed to separate the gala goers from witnessing the comings and goings of the waitstaff.

Eva’s brow tightened. “I thought you had something to attend to?”

“I do, and it involves you.”

“Will we not be in the way of the servers here?”

“Not if we huddle close together.” Gently, he pushed her against the wall and stepped near enough that the bottom of his trousers kissed the hem of her gown. “Hold out your hand.”

“I do not have time for games, Bram. I should be checking on the speaker.”

“And you shall. This will only take a moment.”

Conflicted—yet curious—she slowly maneuvered her open palm upward in the thin space between them. Only God knew what he’d put into her hand. A Roman coin? A ginger drop? A new ribbon for her bonnet since he’d overheard her grumping about it?

Yet nothing could have prepared her for the small rock he planted on her palm.

A rock?

Indeed, it was a smallish pebble. Shiny, smooth, oval. One end had a notch on it, and the whole thing had a reddish sort of grain to it. Her nose wrinkled.

A jolly chuckle rumbled in his throat. “I know how important this evening is to you and how anxious you have been about it. I remember as a young girl you fancied a smooth river rock to keep in your pocket when the world treated you ill. I happened upon this one on the dig today, unusual for its glossy finish, and, well, I know it is not a river rock per se, but I thought you might like to keep it in your pocket tonight as a token that I am here cheering for you.”

“Oh, Bram.” His name was a breath, for how to speak when her throat practically closed from such a thoughtful gesture? “I cannot believe you remembered such an insignificant detail.”

He curled her fingers over the offering, his hand warm against her skin, sending a thrill up her arm. “I remember everything about you.”

She swallowed past the lump of remorse in her throat. The last two months had revealed a Bram she hadn’t known before, a man of depth and kindness that shattered her childish preconceived notions that he was often selfish and secretive. Slowly, she shook her head. “I am afraid some of the things I recall about you are dreadfully wrong, for you are not anything like I remember. You are compassionate, generous to a fault, will ing to listen and offer an insightful word. Plus, you make me laugh, and I think...”

Words failed her, so enamored was she with the gleam in his grey eyes. She could live in that look of affection. Be healed of old doubts and fears. Maybe even believe that he cared for her—a plain spinster with nothing to offer but debt and a blind sister.

“What is it you think?” A husky undertone ran beneath the surface of his question.

Tentatively, she brushed her fingers over the small ridge near his eye. “I think that even with this scar, you are the most handsome man I have ever seen. And please do not try to tell me I am beautiful, for I know—”

He stayed her words with a touch to her lips. “Maybe you are just as wrong about yourself as you were about me, for what I see is a striking woman any man would be proud to call his own. And yet what I desire even more than beauty is a woman with a brilliant mind and a selfless heart. One who will not turn away from me despite my misbegotten birth or flaws and weaknesses.”

“Well”—she grinned—“you do smoke cigars and crack your knuckles.”

“And you bite your fingernails.” He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers. “But none of that matters. You, Eva Inman, you are the one who matters most to me.” His gaze lowered to her lips. “And with your permission, I should dearly love to kiss—”

“Why are you two whispering in here? I thought you had things to attend to. What are you doing?”

Eva stiffened at Penny’s voice, then immediately ducked around Bram to face the girl. “Professor Webb and I were just talking, poppet, that is all.” Her words came out in a rush as she squeezed her sister’s shoulders, hoping to steer the conversation and Penny away from the awkwardness.

Penny planted her feet. “People don’t whisper their conversations. I think you were kissing.”

The accusation swung in the air like a noose looking for a neck, and though she’d not actually kissed Bram, guilt burned hot in Eva’s chest. “Hush, Penny. Do not be absurd. Of course we were not—”

“You were! That’s why you snuck off together. Something to attend to, indeed.” She flashed a huge grin. “You two were kissing!”

A unified gasp whooshed behind her sister. Eva lifted her gaze toward the opening of the room divider—and instantly died a thousand deaths.

There stood Mrs. Mortimer, Mrs. Quibble, and Mr. Toffit, all three of their mouths hanging open.

Facing a firing squad would be less deadly, leastwise for Eva’s reputation. Bram flexed his fingers at his side, unsure how to salvage the situation. Blast! What had he been thinking to have put her in such a compromising position?

Stepping beside her, he cleared his throat, drawing the gawkers’ attention. Even Penny cocked her head toward the sound. He’d have to talk fast to defend Eva’s character, but what to say? He had been about to kiss her, but he couldn’t very well confess such a truth.

Wait a minute.

Truth?

Now there was a thought. It would be a long shot, but he’d never been one to shy away from a hard-to-hit target.

“As much as I would love to admit to a romantic interlude with Miss Inman, we did not steal away for such a clandestine motive as that. The reality is, I gave her a rock, and I thought it only decent to do so in private as I didn’t have enough for everyone.”

Mrs. Mortimer clutched her pearls. “Pardon, but did I hear correctly? You gave Miss Inman a rock, sir?”

“He did.” Eva held up the shiny pebble for the three adults to view, then bent and folded her sister’s fingers around it.

Penny rolled the rock between her palms, then, evidently satisfied, she lifted her face toward his general direction. “But why give my sister such a silly thing?”

“It is a bit of a long story, but the gist of it is I thought it might bring your sister some encouragement on such an important night. She has put a lot of work into this event, and I think I speak for us all to say how much we appreciate it.”

“A thoughtful gesture, Professor Webb.” Mrs. Quibble angled her head at him, lips pursing into a sharp beak. “If not a little eccentric.”

Beside her, Mr. Toffit ran his fingers along his thin moustache. “A trait of the best history professors, I daresay.”

Penny cast the little rock back and forth between her hands, lips twisting. “I suppose I could have been wrong. It is quite loud in here.” She lifted her face in Eva’s general direction, a sheepish dip to her brows. “I am sorry, sister.”

“I forgive you. Now, I still have that speaker to check on. Would you like to come with me?”

“I suppose. I have finished all the sampling, and everything was delicious.”

Eva plucked the pebble from Penny’s hand and faced the three onlookers. “If you will excuse us, please.” She guided her sister around the divider, mouthing Thank you to Bram over her shoulder.

Well. Crisis averted, apparently. For a moment, he leaned against the wall where Eva had been only moments before, the sweet scent of the rosewater perfume she must’ve dabbed on before the gala lingering on the air. What would she have said to his request had Penny not interrupted? Would she have allowed him to kiss her? Heat flashed through him, and he tugged at his collar, suddenly unable to breathe.

Stars and thunder! What was he thinking? He’d be leaving for Cambridge in five days. He had no business starting something with Eva he couldn’t finish.

He strode into the fray of powdered ladies and gents smelling of too much aftershave, working his way to the drink table on the opposite side. Bypassing the flutes of champagne, he grabbed a glass of punch—then nearly spilled it when a tipsy fellow shouldered into him.

“Easy there.” Bram caught the man’s arm and squared him up.

“Say,” the fellow slurred as he tried to focus on his face. “Do I know you?”

“Likely not. I am Professor Bram Webb. And you are?”

“Mr. Finebridge.” He hiccupped, then pounded his chest with his fist. “Robert Finebridge.”

The name traveled on the stench of spirits, and Bram fought a strong gag reflex. “Well, Mr. Finebridge, take a care tonight. There are ladies present.”

“Don’t I know it.” Finebridge waggled thick eyebrows as he poked Bram’s chest—or tried to. His finger slid off his ribs. “Now I remember, you’re the fellow Trestwell badgered at the door. Ho ho! If you knew what I know about that man, you’d have not been so civil.”

Bram tossed back his punch, debating if he ought to engage in a conversation with a fellow merrier than he should be for so early in the evening.

Curiosity won out. “What do you mean?”

“Why—” Once again Finebridge pounded his chest, staving off another round of hiccups. “Trestwell’s the fellow who cut that rope at Bonfire Night.”

Bram tensed, unsure how much truth could possibly be in a drunkard’s words. “How do you know?”

“Watched him do it. Watched you sail away with that pretty filly as well.” He twirled his finger upward in the air with a whistle.

A spark lit in Bram’s belly. Trestwell had been skulking about that balloon just before he and Eva had entered the basket. And the balloon master had said it was impossible the rope could have broken on its own, though after he’d examined it, he had admitted it was one of his older ropes. Still, the prospect ought to at least be entertained, and the more he thought on it, the more he believed it could be true. “Thank you for the information, sir.”

Bram stalked into the crowd, craning his neck to spy a certain pompous man in a dark blue frock coat with a cruel line to his jaw.

There. Standing near the hors d’oeuvres table with a puff pastry in hand, Trestwell conversed with a shorter fellow who looked as if he’d welcome a reprieve.

Bram closed in on him. “I would have a word with you, sir.”

Trestwell’s dark eyes raked over him, one of his brows rising like a black cloud. “Ah, Webb. I see you’ve lost Miss Inman so early in the evening. Do you need me to give you some guidance in matters concerning women?”

Bram flattened his hands against his thighs to keep from throttling the man. “What I need is to know if you cut the rope to the balloon on Guy Fawkes Night.”

His left eye twitched as if a nerve had been struck. “Why would I involve myself in such an affair?” The words were barely past his lips before he turned to continue talking with the other fellow.

Though Trestwell hadn’t admitted anything, it appeared Finebridge had been right.

Bram spun the scoundrel around. “I’ll tell you why. Because you are a sore loser, a low-lying serpent who strikes only in the shadows. Miss Inman and I could have been gravely injured.”

Trestwell wrenched from his grip. “Then she never should have accompanied you.”

“So you admit to such skullduggery!”

“I admit to nothing.”

“Of course not. It takes a man of honour to own up to his deeds, which we both know you are not.”

Trestwell shoved his face into Bram’s, the pastry in his hand crushed to crumbs and raining onto the carpet. “I take offense at your words, sir.”

“And I take offense at you.”

Trestwell’s nostrils flared, the jut of his jaw diamond hard. “Then perhaps we should settle this outside like men.”

Good. With the rush of fury running through his veins, the thought of a fight suited him very nicely. “I would not decline the invitation.”

A snort huffed out of Trestwell. “Excellent. Then Miss Inman will finally see you for the fool you truly are. She needs a man of substance, not a scholar seeking treasures where none exist.”

“Miss Inman deserves respect, which you clearly lack.”

“Respect?” A feral smile sliced across Trestwell’s dark countenance. “You’re one to talk respect, considering your history—or shall I say your mother’s?”

Bram’s hands curled into fists, clenching so tightly his fingernails cut into his palm. Where the deuce had Trestwell dug up such information? Then again, rats always snuffled about in dark corners. There could still be an older woman or two yet alive who held their suspicions about his mother. “Neither my history nor Miss Inman has any bearing on the treachery you committed. You sabotaged that balloon because you lost at the archery tournament. We could have been killed.”

“Too bad you weren’t. It would have saved me a heap of trouble, but I am more than willing to rectify that now. You should have packed up and left when your dig site was sabotaged as well, but you always were a dullard.”

The dig site?

Bram sucked in a lungful of air, the realization so stunning, he could hardly breathe even with the action. “That was all you?” He threw back his head, laughter shaking him to the core.

“You’re mad,” Trestwell sneered.

“You shot yourself in the foot this time.” After a few more chuckles, all his mirth faded, and he poked a finger into Trestwell’s chest. “I shall have you arrested for the theft of that brooch.”

Trestwell slapped away his hand. “I may be handy with a shovel and knife, but I am no light finger. Go ahead, call the law down on my head. They’ll not find a thing.”

“I ought to—”

“You can try.” He flicked his index finger beneath Bram’s chin. “I will see you on the front lawn, sir, if you dare.”