Authors: Compromised
It was a practiced speech, but Max knew she meant every word.
“I see,” he said, watching her eyes flare gold. A sight just beyond Gail’s shoulder caught his attention. “Yes, I do see. However, there is an inherent flaw in your logic.”
Max took Gail by the shoulders and gently turned her around.
A family had entered the room. They looked to be of the middle class—respectable, proper, clean, but clearly not of the Ton. The mother had her hands full with a toddler in her arms pulling at the strings of her bonnet and a young boy clinging to her skirts. However, the father had a girl by the hand, she looked to be about eleven. Both father and daughter were enraptured by the sight and display of the marbles. The girl pointed and tugged her father’s hand, he leaned down to answer her whispered questions. Sometimes they made him laugh—sometimes they made his brow pucker. But they were always answered.
“That girl there,” Max said lowly into Gail’s ear, “will, I doubt, ever have an opportunity to see Greece. It’s just as improbable, that when she’s grown, the world will ever afford her much opportunity to leisurely read a book on the subject. You yourself have just said that paintings will never do the Marbles justice. But today, here she is, viewing a masterpiece from a world beyond her own. She’s asking questions, she wants to know about that world such treasures come from. Maybe, just maybe, the marbles were brought here because Britain is acknowledging that we still have a great deal to learn.”
Gail watched the father and daughter move about the room, asking and answering questions in their turn. When the girl turned and saw Gail and Max watching, she smiled shyly at them—and Gail could not help smiling in return.
“I can see your point.”
Max hummed in agreement.
“I still believe they belong in Greece.”
“I never thought to change your mind,” Max conceded.
Gail looked at the friezes in front of her. “I had never seen them before. They are beautiful, aren’t they?”
Max smiled down at Gail, her face as enraptured as the young girl’s. “Yes,” he said. “They are.”
They stood together for some time, the marbles holding their attention. The fall of cloth, the posture of a reclining body, the movement of battle—a whole story cut from impassive stone. In that silence one could not help but feel the wonder of it all.
Then Gail broke the silence.
“But, if they had been on the Parthenon when I was in Greece…”
He sighed. “Let it go.”
ALTHOUGH
the afternoon moved too fast for those of scholarly inclination, it was moving at a snail’s pace for those whose interest waned early. Evangeline, while always one to enjoy a good portrait gallery or stroll in the park, had not her sister’s love of all things historical. She tried to keep up with her fiancé, but by the fifth hour she was starting to wilt. Also, the new boots she had decided to wear pinched horribly. Really, when a man plans a surprise excursion, he should at the very least inform the lady of appropriate footwear.
She found Will was much of the same mind. Not regarding the shoes, of course (although if he had been wearing pinching boots, he, too, might have been a bit sour), but he didn’t have his friend’s interest in far off lands, different cultures, and random trivia.
“Really?” she replied curiously to this new information. “But you run a shipping line, I would think you’d enjoy life abroad.”
“Not really.” He shrugged. “I paid my dues on a ship, mind you, but what I do now is much more business related. I hate to disillusion you, but I’m not a swarthy pirate who rides the seven seas. I sit at a desk and take inventory and deal with merchants.”
Evangeline couldn’t help but giggle. “Oh, but I could picture you as a pirate. A patch over one eye, a peg leg, a propensity to say ‘arr’ at the end of every sentence.”
“Sadly not.” But he smiled and added, “Arr.”
“Arr,” she agreed.
As they moved to the next room, following in the wake of a very loud argument from Max and Gail about the historical ramifications of musical composers—they could argue about anything—Evangeline leaned heavily on Will’s arm.
“Are you well?” Will asked concernedly.
“I’m perfectly fine. It’s my shoes, I’m afraid. They’re new, and…”
The rest of her protest was cut off by Will steering her to a nearby bench. “Let’s sit down.”
Evangeline seated herself, and before she could stop him, before she could even say a word in protest, Will had knelt down and loosened the laces of her boots.
Sweet relief. Evangeline breathed out a long sigh, letting blood flow back into her tortured feet.
“Better?” Will asked as he seated himself beside her on the bench.
“Mr. Holt,” she said, her eyes closed and head leaned back in bliss, “that was most improper.”
“Miss Alton, do your feet fell better?”
She nodded, feeling her face go pink at the admission.
“Then what’s the harm?” He smiled rakishly.
There they sat, she and Will, in the middle of a room full of broken pottery from a time too long ago. The bench was quite small, and Evangeline could feel the length of Will’s leg next to hers. And maybe, for just a moment, she gave in to the sensation of pressing hers a little closer—although if questioned, she would staunchly deny it.
The only sounds were the echo of steps of the other museum patrons (who thankfully didn’t seem to have noticed any improper shoe-loosening) and the rushed whispers of disagreement from her betrothed and her sister.
“Do you think they’ll ever be agreeable?” Evangeline wondered aloud.
Will turned to look at Evangeline, then back to Gail and Max, the former of whom was gesticulating so wildly, she nearly knocked over the only unbroken urn in the room. Luckily, Max caught her arm in time, but it didn’t slow her argument’s pace.
“I imagine they will. Given time.”
“I hope so,” she prayed aloud.
Will regarded her curiously for a moment, searching her face.
“It would be a hell for you,” he said quietly, “if they didn’t. The two most important people in your life, your sister and your husband, not getting along.”
Startled, she brought her eyes up to meet his. No one outside of the family was supposed to be aware of the betrothal. William Holt had never given any indication that he knew the whole truth. But his simple statement and quiet countenance told her that this man understood the circumstances in which she found herself. She tried to find words, but her voice was lost.
He squeezed her hand—she hadn’t even noticed when he took it. “Come,” he said encouragingly. “Let us see if we can tear the Terrible Twosome away and head home. You can soak your feet, and Fontaine looks as if he needs to soak his head.”
They stood, Evangeline taking Will’s proffered arm, and crossed to the squabbling pair.
“You’re insane if you think the fourth symphony is anything other than tragically beautiful, you naive, little—”
Will had to clear his throat rather conspicuously to gain Lord Fontaine’s attention. “I believe it’s time to end this excursion. I have dozens of things to do, as do the ladies, to prepare for whatever activities are scheduled this evening.”
Max blinked owlishly for a moment, not quite yet seeing who had addressed him. Then he fumbled for his pocket watch, exclaiming, “Goodness—I had not realized we had been here so long.”
I had
, Evangeline thought ruefully.
Gail took the pocket watch from Max’s hand (causing him to jerk forward, being attached to the watch) and remarked, “It’s not all that late—indeed, we could stay a few—ow!”
As quickly as possible, Evangeline had crossed to her sister, attached herself to her arm, and pinched with all the strength her delicate fingers could muster. And her fingers could muster a surprising amount.
“Ahem.” Gail cleared her throat. “I mean, I suppose we should search out Mr. Ellis and say our farewells.”
Sadly for Evangeline’s feet, they had to walk upstairs to do so.
When they found Mr. Ellis, he was deeply immersed with several other staff members in the organization of the
K
s,
L
s, and
M
s of the late King George III’s expansive personal library. He tore himself away from his work, and expressed genuine surprise to see Evangeline and Gail depart—in his estimation—so early.
“This is unfortunate!” he said, polishing his spectacles (there was an uncommon amount of dust in the
K
–
M
section). “I was so hoping to give you the tour of the library wing. I should be more than happy to let you prowl through the parts we have yet to open to the public. Also, I should hate for you to miss the new private reading rooms. They are impressively appointed.”
Evangeline felt momentarily remorseful—Gail would adore rummaging through the library’s unopened sections. And from the enthralled look on Lord Fontaine’s face, she wasn’t the only one. Wistfulness hung about his frame like heavy clothes. Oh! She so hated to disappoint them. Her resolve to depart steadily weakened, until Will, who had been watching his companions’ varied reactions with interest, cleared his throat.
“It’s a shame to miss such an opportunity, eh, Miss Gail? Fontaine?” he said, his voice full of sober regret.
“Yes,” Max replied.
“Absolutely,” Gail said distractedly.
“So you should stay.”
“Hmm?”
“The two of you,” Will stated neutrally.
It was impossible to tell who spoke first.
“Beg pardon?”
“Excuse me?”
Evangeline looked at Will inquiringly, but he merely gave her an adorable conspiratorial wink and continued speaking in a steady stream.
“Fontaine, you have no pressing engagements, correct? Miss Gail, you have a few hours to spare? Good. I’ll escort Miss Evangeline home—er, you mentioned something about a milliner’s appointment, am I right? Excellent. And the two of you can explore the library to your intellects’ delight. Mr. Ellis, it was truly a pleasure to meet you and see your museum. Fontaine, Miss Gail, I look forward to seeing you at the opera this evening.”
And with that he took Evangeline’s arm (for indeed she was too stunned to move of her own volition) and led the way down the stairs and out the door.
When they were safely out of earshot, Evangeline tugged Will to a halt.
“What on earth was that all about? You ran right over any protest.”
Will grinned. “I knew that if I allowed one word to be spoken, it would be in protest, and then we should never have managed to leave your sister and Fontaine in the library.”
“But why?” Evangeline exclaimed.
“Two reasons: First, they both desperately wanted to stay and explore. A blind man could see that.”
“Well, yes, of course—Gail lives in books,” Evangeline ventured, biting her lower lip.
“The second reason is more oblique. You wish for them to be on good terms, yes?”
Evangeline nodded, so Will continued.
“My father once taught me, the best way to get a cat and dog to tolerate each other is to lock them in a room together. Nine times out of ten, they will be friends when you let them out.”
“Oh,” Evangeline said, comprehension dawning. As Will handed Evangeline into the carriage, she suddenly squeezed his hand desperately.
“Mr. Holt, er, William…what happens the tenth time?” she asked, anxious.
“One will end up killing the other,” Will answered gravely, but then his face split into a grin. “So your problem is solved either way. Now”—he stepped closer to Evangeline, making her breath catch—“what shall
we
do the rest of the afternoon?”
A
stunned Max and shocked Gail were left standing in the main library, with Mr. Ellis looking on. Luckily, he was as absentminded as most librarians when in a library, and his attention quickly shifted back to the stack of papers being sorted by his assistants. With a strangled cry of “No! Those go under ‘Land Management!’” he had run the twenty feet to his precious work, leaving Max and Gail on their own.
Max looked at Gail.
Gail looked at Max.
“Well,” he said.
“Well,” she agreed.
Silence.
“Ah…would it be improper…I mean to say, we can depart if you don’t wish to stay.”
“Oh, but I do!” Gail cried, then caught herself. A little more gently, she asked, “Er, don’t you? Wish to stay, that is?”
“Yes, of course. I should like to see what treasures lie in this place. It’s just…”
“Indeed,” she agreed.
“Exactly,” Max murmured.
“Well,” Gail said, squaring her shoulders and putting on her familiar cloak of impertinent bravado, “if you can bear with my officious presence, I shall be your ticket inside. I’ll even refrain from correcting your Greek when necessary.”
An equally familiar scowl darkened his brow. “Your restraint shan’t be necessary.”
“Excellent. I find you far more pleasing when you are open to my correcting all your mistakes.”
Mr. Ellis led Max and Gail into the back rooms of the library—those not yet open to the public. The shelves were in deplorable shape, piled high with texts not yet sorted by author, date, subject, or any system of classification one could easily identify. However, it was obvious that the books themselves were being kept in decent condition, the leather oiled and all bookworms eradicated by thorough maids. The room was free of dust and well lit by wall sconces and windows that had not yet received the spring cleaning the contents of the room had been subject to.
Mr. Ellis was quickly called back to his sorting duties, but left instructions for the pair to leaf through tomes as they pleased, confident in their ability and interest to respect the books and information they contained. But it must be noted that Mr. Ellis was not so remiss as to close the door. That was left open so anyone who cared to look in could see what the young Miss Alton and Lord Fontaine were up to.
Not that anyone looked.
For a time, Max and Gail lost themselves in the shelves. She began to sort through a pile of volumes detailing the family history of a baronet in Dorset in the late seventeenth century, while Max found himself flipping through the diary of a chaplain aboard a Royal Navy ship during the triumph of Queen Elizabeth versus the Spanish Armada. Deciphering the man’s handwriting was difficult, but well worth the effort, for the chaplain had some choice words in his private ramblings for the “virgin” Queen. Max chuckled as he read.
“What are you laughing at?” Gail’s voice came from the other side of the shelves.
“Oh, just enjoying the folly of a man who has an opinion on everything. Something you should know a little about, I imagine.”
She appeared around the corner of the stacks, leafing through a small volume. Her eyes never left the page as she drawled, “And you consider this folly?”
“That he feels the need to voice it, yes. Who is this chaplain”—he held up the text—“to say anything against Queen Elizabeth?”
“Absolutely no one. Just one of her subjects, forced by law to bow to her whims.”
The sarcasm was dripping from her tongue, provoking Max, daring him to contradict her. Which he was more than willing to do.
“A pompous windbag.”
“You call him that because he speaks his mind?” Gail asked, her voice controlled, deceptively neutral. She refused to look up from her book.