Page 31

31

Trinity College was a veritable crypt. Not even the headmaster’s clerk was at his desk this morning. Standing in the empty office, Bram reached for his pocket watch, his fingers coming up empty. Blast. How he missed that timepiece. Still, lamenting the loss or even waiting around here would do no good. He’d simply have to come back later and hope—and pray—Sir George Gabriel Stokes hadn’t left Trinity altogether to make merry elsewhere for Christmas.

For there was no way he’d present this precious antiquity to Grimwinkle.

Clutching the canvas-wrapped box, Bram strode from administration, cold air nipping his cheeks as he passed through the front entry. He welcomed the brisk slap in the face chasing away the fatigue that dogged him after his midnight reunion with his uncle.

His footsteps clapped unchallenged on the stone walk that eventually spilled onto Trinity Street—where a tall man in a black coat was about to ascend into a lacquered carriage.

Of all the providence!

Bram dashed ahead. “Sir George, a moment, if you please.”

A face with a sharp nose and even sharper eyes turned his way, and as recognition dawned, the headmaster shook his head. “You are wasting your time, Mr. Webb. I will not rescind Professor Grimwinkle’s decision. Good day.” He grabbed hold of the coach handle and alighted the step.

“But you will, sir, once you lay eyes on this—a discovery sure to win awards and bring acclaim to Trinity.” Bram held up the wrapped relic.

Sir George didn’t so much as turn around. “Whatever you have, bring it to the attention of Professor Grimwinkle. I do not have the time for this right now. I should have been in London last evening.”

Bram advanced. If he had to grab hold of the horses’ bridles to stop the man, he’d do so. “Please, sir. Two more minutes will not make a difference. I hold history in my hands. Do not turn your back on it.”

The fabric between the headmaster’s shoulder blades stretched taut before he stepped down to the pavement with a frown. “Two minutes, Webb. That is all.”

Quickly yet carefully, Bram unwrapped the canvas to reveal the stone. “This is not the ideal place to present such a treasure, but if you would not mind lifting the lid, sir?”

Bram held the box steady on his arms while the headmaster removed the cover, and as soon as the man did so, he glanced at the wax tablets, then back up at Bram. “What am I looking at?”

“The covenant of Caelum Academia, proof of the much-debated Roman settlement just outside of Royston—a find no one thought possible. This is evidence the place was more than just a fictional Atlantis.”

Sir George bent over the box, his gaze drifting across the inscriptions carved into the wax coating on the topmost wooden tablet. “ Nos exsules Romani , hoc firmo atque inviolabili foedere ac nova Academia Caeli foedere firmato , a nobis posthac fides , obses , pactum. ”

“‘We, exiles of Rome,’” Bram murmured, still hardly believing he held such a treasure in his hands, “‘herewith bind ourselves in this strong and inviolable pact as the new settlement of Caelum Academia. Stated henceforth are our beliefs, our pledge, and our covenant.’”

“Yes, I can obviously read Latin.” Irritation ran thick in the headmaster’s tone as he restored the cover to the box. “Am I to understand you discovered this at the dig you were conducting in Royston?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm.” The man slapped his gloves against the palm of his hand, silent for a moment. “Where are the rest of the relics?”

“What we have uncovered thus far are here in Cambridge. I offered them to the history department, but Professor Grimwinkle failed to act on the purchase. When I returned last night, word was waiting for me that the Fitzwilliam Museum is proposing a fair price for the lot.”

The skin of the headmaster’s concave cheeks rode tight against his bones. “You mean to say you presented the professor with antiquities never before seen, and he turned them down?”

“Like I said, Sir George, this one piece”—he lifted the box higher—“is enough to bring acclaim to the college, but included with the rest of the finds, well, I should say the collection would have given Trinity’s Roman history department no competition in the whole of England—and all because of the determined belief of former Regius Professor Sebastian Pendleton. Once word of this find gets out, I daresay he will be a most sought-after speaker.”

Bram sucked in a lungful of cold air. That was it! He had been right. If Grimwinkle had successfully gotten him and his uncle out of the picture and finished the dig himself, then Grimwinkle would’ve been the one to receive all the acclaim, which was prime motivation for him to have hired Trestwell to end the dig, or at least scare or frustrate him and his uncle away.

“Your uncle will indeed be a most sought-after speaker—but as a representative of Trinity College.” The headmaster’s voice bounced off the college stone walls. “Tell Professor Pendleton he is fully reinstated to his position. As are you. I shall send word to my clerk to draw up the paperwork. And whatever the Fitzwilliam is offering, I will see it doubled. Here.” He pulled out a thick wad of banknotes from his wallet and handed them over. “This is a retainer of good faith, so you know I mean my word. Now, if you will excuse me, I really must be off.”

Bram gaped. This was better than he’d hoped for! “Godspeed, Sir George. Until the new year.”

“Professor.” The imposing man tipped his black hat, then disappeared into his fancy coach.

As the horses’ hooves clip-clopped over the cobbles, Bram carefully rewrapped the canvas around the box. His mission had been accomplished—more than accomplished. He’d vindicated his uncle and restored the man’s pension. He’d collect more money than Eva would know what to do with. And he even had his old job back.

So why the empty hole in his chest?

Tucking the box beneath his arm, he hailed a cab, trying hard to ignore the truth he’d been denying ever since Eva had kissed him. She’d been wrong. Terribly wrong. He hadn’t taken her heart with him here to Cambridge.

He’d left his with her.

In order that we may start afresh and go to Meg’s wedding with free minds, it will be well to begin with a little gossip about the Marches. And here let me premise that if any of the elders think there is too much “lovering” in the story, as I fear they may (I’m not afraid the young folks will make that objection), I can only say with Mrs. March, “What can you expect when I have four gay girls in the house, and a dashing young neighbor over the way?”

“I wish we had a dashing young neighbour.”

Eva glanced up from the opening of Good Wives and arched a brow at her sister. They sat curled up in the window seat of Penny’s bedroom, late-morning sun lighting glossy highlights in her sister’s hair and a surprisingly wistful tilt to her chin. “What is this? My little poppet pining for a boy, of all things?”

“Not just any boy.” Penny leaned her head against the thick sill. “A dashing one who doesn’t mind getting his fingernails dirty and has an interest in digging up relics. I liked my time as an archaeologist. I wish the professors and their crew were still here.”

“I thought you liked reading.”

“I do, but I also like...”

Penny continued on, but Eva didn’t hear a word the girl said. She couldn’t. She was too interested in the man riding down the front drive on a chestnut cob.

Closing the book, she dashed to the door. “That is enough reading for now.”

“But you’ve only just begun!”

“Later, I promise,” she called over her shoulder as she dropped the book onto a side table.

Grabbing hold of her skirt hem, she tore down the stairs, ran across the front hall, and yanked open the door. The cold December air didn’t stand a chance at chilling her, so fervently did her heart beat in her chest. Was this truly happening? “You have returned!”

“I have.” Bram grinned as he dismounted, hair wild beneath his hat, skin ruddy from the ride, so handsome it hurt to look at him.

A welcome sight, but wholly unexpected. “Why have you come?”

“Several reasons.” He climbed the stairs and stopped in front of her, smelling of winter air and horseflesh. “Do you wish to hear of them out here or inside?”

“La! Some hostess I am. Please, come in.”

The second they crossed the threshold, Penny hurled herself at Bram.

“I knew you’d come back.” She wrapped her arms around Bram’s waist.

“Penny!” Eva slapped her hand against her chest, mortified. “Such manners. You are no better than Jo March.”

Bram merely laughed as he peeled the girl from him and stooped to her level. “Despite what your sister says, I am happy to receive such a welcome.” He straightened, his gaze seeking Eva’s. “I wonder if I might have a word with you?”

“Of course. Penny, how about you see if Mrs. Pottinger would bring us some tea?”

“All right.” The girl bounded down the passage, waving her hand behind her back. “But don’t leave without saying good-bye this time, Professor.”

“I promise.” He grinned.

Eva led him to the sitting room, where Bram pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “By the by”—he peered at her with a mysterious gleam in his eyes—“Mr. Toffit sends his regards.”

She immediately turned lest he see the giveaway smile on her face and gestured to the sofa, rising hope making it hard for her to even think of sitting—and yet she did. It was even harder to keep her tone dulcet instead of all-out giddy. “What were you doing at Mr. Toffit’s?”

“I shall get to that, but first I have something for you.” He handed over several banknotes. “This is merely a good faith deposit for the purchase of your antiquities. The first payment of many to come. In the new year you shall have nine thousand pounds in total.”

Eva blinked. Surely she wasn’t hearing properly. Nine thousand pounds? Nine thousand ? She stared at Bram, mouth agape.

Leaning near, he closed her lips with a light touch to her jaw. “It is all yours. With the proper investment of that sum and the additional sales when the excavation continues next term, not only will Inman Manor be restored but you and Penny are set for life. Your sister can attend any school she wishes, and you will no longer be bent over a ledger that will not balance.”

She shook her head, hardly daring to believe this could be true. “Such an amount! You told me the antiquities would fetch a fair sum, but this I can hardly believe.” She rubbed her fingers over the paper, supremely happy and yet also a bit confused. “Wait a minute. The first payment? What about the thirty pounds you gave me to pay the tax bill? I thought that was from the sale of the relics—or at least from the sale of the ring. Where did you get that money?”

“Pah! You know. Here and there.” He clapped his hands together, then gave them a brisk rub. “Now then, I have more good news. My—”

“Hold it right there, sir.” She held up her own hand as if stopping a wild horse. “You always change the subject when a topic does not suit. You are hiding something. Where did you get the funds for my tax bill? And do not think of spinning some fanciful tale to put me off, for I will not have it.”

“I, em...” He tugged at the muffler around his neck, taking his time to unwind it before coiling it at his side on the sofa. “If you must know, I pawned my watch, but—”

“Your cherished pocket watch?” She collapsed against the chairback. Bram was a man of many secrets, but this one ... “Had I known you did such a thing, I never would have accepted your money.”

“Which is why I did not tell you.”

“Oh, Bram.” Her heart sank as she thought of the many times he’d pulled out that flash of silver and flipped open the lid, of the loving tone in his voice when he’d told her of his uncle’s sweet gifting.

And he’d done it all for her sake.

Tears welled, turning the sitting room into a blur of colour and light.

“Hey,” he rumbled. “Only smiles today.”

“But—”

“Tut-tut.” He wagged his finger. “Smiles, or I will not tell you what else I have come to say.”

She tried to push her lips into a curve—though it probably looked more like a grimace. She would make things right for him. With this banknote in her hands, the first thing she’d do would be to track down that timepiece and redeem it for this thoughtful man.

“A little weak, but a good effort.” He brushed his thumb across her mouth.

Which tickled—and she couldn’t help but smile.

“That is better. Now, what I was trying to tell you is that those wax tablets paid off exactly as I had hoped. The headmaster reinstated my uncle’s position and his pension.”

Her smile spread into a full-fledged grin. “That is wonderful! I am so happy for him.”

“My job was reinstated as well.”

“Oh, I...” She worked her jaw, willing congratulatory words to her tongue. None came. In fact, every single word she ever knew flew from her head. He’d go back to his world now. For good. Live in Cambridge. Take up his old life and forget all about her. A banknote fluttered from her lax fingers, slowly flapping to the floor.

Bram retrieved it, his brows cinching as he laid it on the tea table. “But this is good news. I shall be returning to finish the dig here, and once the semester ends, why, apparently the curator position for the new Royston Museum has not yet been filled. Someone whispered to Mr. Toffit that he ought to keep the job open for me to claim at the end of the school year. I do not suppose you know anything about that, do you?”

She shot to her feet, palms slapping against her heart. “You mean...?”

“I thought as much.” He grinned like a pirate as he rose, all swagger and bluster. “Once my uncle retires and I officially resign from Trinity in May, you will be looking at the new curator. My uncle shall be a paid consultant, leveraging his expertise to provide guidance on exhibits, acquisitions, and research projects, all where I can still keep an eye on him.”

“How perfect!”

“And you are to have new neighbours, that is if you do not mind letting out the cottage to Uncle Pendleton and I until the building for the museum is outfitted with living quarters.”

A dashing young neighbor over the way.

Well, well. Penny would be over the moon with this news ... as was she. First an exorbitant amount of money, now the man she loved most in the world was to live in her own backyard? Eva grinned in full. “Of course I do not mind, but...” Once again her smile faltered. “I still do not understand. Why would you leave an esteemed academic position for a small-town museum?”

“The salary is good. The work is a dream, plus I will be close enough to continue working on your dig if you will allow it. Both my uncle and I are weary of academic politics, and most importantly...” He collected both her hands, his skin feverishly warm against hers.

“What?” she breathed—barely.

His gaze burned into hers, the grey in his eyes liquid silver. “I could not very well leave you without a heart—that is, if your sentiments have not changed.”

“They have not,” she whispered.

“Neither have mine.”

His lips touched hers with the heat of a thousand suns, making her, breaking her, filling her with a love so pure, the world didn’t exist. There was only this man, this moment, this beautiful joining of two hearts into a new thing, a bold thing. Something she never wanted to end.

And yet he pulled away and cupped her face with his hand that smelled of leather and horse and so many promises of gentle cherishing. “I have loved you since you were a girl, Eva Inman. No, longer than that, for somehow you have always been a part of me. I see you when I close my eyes. I breathe you in the night. I hear your voice in the wind and feel your touch on my cheek.” With his free hand, he guided her palm to his face. “I have loved none but you—nor ever shall. I do not know how I ever lived so long and so far away from you, and I find I can do it no more. Would you be my wife?”

“Oh, Bram.” Her throat closed, but that didn’t stop her from furiously nodding her head.

“Is that a yes?” He laughed.

She grinned. “It is. And you were right.”

“About what?” He angled his head, curiosity rife in the lift of his brows.

“This is a day for smiling!”