The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons (59 page)

“No, thank you. Your husband has made the offer already. I’m sure she’s a fine young lady, but as I mentioned before, the hardships of my existence are hardly suited to marital bliss, especially for a New York socialite.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t met the right socialite yet.”

And perhaps he’d met the right girl already. But Ally was no socialite. She was an aspiring art student with considerable talent, an active mind, and a sweet smile.

If only she hadn’t run away so quickly this afternoon. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask to see her again. But surely she’d return to the museum.

His step lightened. Maybe even tomorrow.

Chapter 4

A
delivery for you, Miss Alicia.” Mrs. Gannon swept in with a silver tray, her stiff black skirts rustling.

Ally set aside her fork, her eyebrows rising.

Grateful that Mother was taking her breakfast in her room this morning, Alicia picked up the nosegay of pale pink rosebuds.

“There’s a card as well.” The housekeeper held out the salver.

“Thank you.” Ally took the white envelope, using her knife to slit it open.

“So, who’s it from?” Father shook out the morning paper and peered at her over it.

“Bram Baumgartner. He’s following up an invitation he issued last night that I tried to get out of accepting.” Relief coursed through her. “He regrets that business will take him out of town for the next couple of weeks, but asks if we can perhaps plan something for later in the month.”

Father laughed. “Reprieve! ‘Curfew shall not ring tonight.’” He contentedly buttered his toast. “I will say this, I haven’t seen your mother so upset since Alva Vanderbilt didn’t invite the Van Baark clan to her party.”

Ally grinned. “The Insult of ’83” was a well-known lament in her mother’s family. She set aside the card and flowers and took an apple from the fruit bowl in front of her. “What would happen if, in three weeks, say, I told you I had a suitor?”

His eyebrows rose. “Baumgartner? I thought you didn’t like him.”

“No, not Bram. This is purely hypothetical.” She couldn’t help but wonder if her cheeks were pink under his scrutiny. They certainly felt warm, but she feigned indifference, slicing the apple into wedges, though she wasn’t hungry any longer.

Stroking his mustache, Father squinted, closing one eye and studying her. “Then I’d say I’d like to meet this young man. Learn about his family, his prospects, and his intentions toward you. And I’d ask where you met him.”

She considered this. “Would he have to be rich, or from a prominent New York family?”

When he didn’t answer right away, she glanced up. He reached over and took the knife from her hand, laying it on the table and engulfing her fingers in his. “Ally-girl, I’m more concerned with the character of the man than his bank balance, but those things mean a powerful lot to your mother. She’d want to make sure he measured up, and I’d want to make sure he wasn’t after you for your money. Be careful with your heart. That’s all I ask.”

With a squeeze, she withdrew her hand. “I will.”

Walking to the museum shortly after, she cautioned herself.
You barely know the man. And Father’s right. Mother would burst her stays if she knew you were interested in a museum underling.

But she
was
interested. More than interested. She felt full to bursting with life. As if she stood on a precipice, and all she had to do was spread her wings and jump and she’d be flying. Her footsteps quickened at the thought of seeing Max again, and she shot through the front doors of the museum trying to suppress her laughter. What had gotten into her? Taking a hold of herself, she slowed, remembering her mother’s lessons in decorum. Sedately, she headed through the immense lobby toward the new Egyptian wing.

As she approached the temporary door separating the construction area from the rest of the museum, doubts crept in. What if he didn’t want to see her? What if he hadn’t felt the same spark, the same quickening of the pulses, the same harmony of thoughts? What if, when he saw her hanging about the museum again, he thought she was pestering him?

Her mouth went dry, and her courage slipped. After all, he hadn’t asked if she would be back to the museum. He hadn’t asked to see her again.

“Ally?”

She jumped, and her heart bumped.

“I hoped I’d see you again today.”

Max. Smiling. Handsome. Looking glad to see her.

Could he tell she was having trouble breathing?

“Hello.” Now that he stood before her, she couldn’t think of a single intelligent thing to say.

“Did you bring your sketchbook?” He pushed his glasses up on his nose and juggled an armful of papers.

She raised her portfolio. “Right here.”

“Excellent. Would you consider doing me a favor? The photographer will be here to record some of the unpacking of the artifacts for the book the museum is having done to accompany the exhibit, but I’d love for some color drawings to be made, particularly of the miniature sarcophagi and mummy cases. It seems a shame to only have a black-and-white version in the book. I’m sure I can find some money in the budget to recompense you for your time.”

“Really? I mean, about drawing for you, not the money. I wouldn’t need any money. It would be my pleasure.”

He tipped his head, studying her. “I would’ve thought most artists would leap at the chance of earning.”

“I have more than enough for my needs, and it truly would be an honor, if you think my drawing is good enough. But perhaps you should clear it with your boss?” She realized she was gnawing her lower lip and forced herself to stop.

“Let’s go ahead and get started. I have another meeting with the museum’s directors late this afternoon, and I’ll broach the subject with them then.”

He led her into the unfinished galleries and introduced her as the exhibition’s artist to the photographer and to the workmen. “Let her have the run of the place. She’ll be sketching the artifacts and working under my orders.”

The men set about their work, and Ally hugged this gift tight to her heart. He wanted to see her, wanted her to be a part of the exhibition.

When he began uncrating the miniature mummy cases, she sucked in a breath, fascinated and eager to capture them on paper.

“We’ve put the mirror here so patrons can see the backs. I wish we had a secure place to put them in the middle of the room so they could be seen from all sides, but this will have to do. These were found nested together in the center of an alabaster carved case.” Max slipped cotton gloves on and lifted the first of the coffins out of the excelsior cushioning it in the crate.

Gold, lapis, onyx, red and green faience, hundreds of tiny pieces of inlay covered the object like feathers, and the obsidian eyes of the princess gazed back at her.

“A shame she died so young. And so soon after her marriage, too.” Max placed the artifact in the display case.

“Really? That’s so sad. How do you know?”

“It’s written on the walls of her tomb. Egyptians loved their poetry and their tragedies. Her entire life is depicted as you walk through the halls and rooms of her tomb.” He pushed his glasses up again and used his forearm to shove his blue-black hair off his brow. “There’s one bit—I think it’s part of her wedding ceremony—that is particularly striking. She’s depicted walking hand in hand with her new husband among birds and lotus blossoms, with the sun god Amun-Re over their heads, spreading rays of blessing.”

He placed another of the coffins, this one a shade smaller, into the case. “It’s a bit sad, in a way. Since the words didn’t come true. But it says,

“That’s beautiful. Can you repeat it for me?” Her pencil scurried across the pages to copy down the words so she could read them over later and savor them. “It’s sad that she didn’t get to enjoy a long life with him.”

For the rest of the afternoon, she followed Max through the exhibit, sketching, soaking up his seemingly limitless knowledge of all things Egyptological, and enjoying every minute of it. It was as if they had known each other for years instead of just days. She loved the way he brought the ancient artifacts and the people who used them to life in her mind. She sketched countless vignettes showing the grave goods as they were intended to be used in everyday Egyptian life, and in the back of her imagination, in that place where her best artwork was born, an idea began to take shape.

When the workmen began packing their tools away, Ally did the same. One day of her three-week reprieve gone.

She blew out a heavy sigh.

“Have I worked you too hard?” Max shed his gloves. “Or have I bored you to tears with all my talk of ancient Egypt?”

Smiling brightly, she snapped her portfolio shut. “Neither. I’m only sad the day has to come to an end. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in a very long time nor learned so much in a single day. You should write a book.”

He shrugged, but looked pleased. “Actually, I have several files of notes I’m compiling. It was supposed to be my project for this summer, but this exhibit seems to have thrown all my plans awry. Maybe next summer.”

“Why does it have to be in the summer? Why not write it in the winter, when the exhibit is up and running and not taking so much of your time?” They walked out into the main part of the museum together.

“Oh, I’ll be in Egypt next winter. Winter is excavation season; summer is for publishing in professional journals or writing books. I’ve spent the last eight winters on a dig.”

“So you live in Egypt half the year?” Her mind exploded with the possibilities then stumbled at what her mother would think of something like that.

He slowed his steps and stopped beneath a Titian masterpiece. “I do.” He took his glasses off and, crossing his arms, put one of the stems to his lips. “It’s part of the job.”

“I think it’s marvelous. No wonder you know so much about archaeology.” She didn’t realize he was tense until he relaxed and smiled, making her heart flip over and gallop about her chest.

“You think so? I love the life. I can’t imagine not spending every second I possibly can in the desert searching for artifacts and trying to make sense of this ancient culture.”

“I’d love to travel, to see the pyramids, to sketch the sphinx or the temple at Karnak or Abu Simbel.”

He replaced his glasses and tucked his hands into his pockets. “They say ‘See Naples and die,’ but for me, it’s see Egypt and die. Once you’ve been there, you’ll never be the same. The color, the movement, the sights and smells and sounds, the bazaars and the souks, the Nile.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “There’s nowhere else on earth like it.”

She could almost hear the call of the muezzins, the braying of the donkeys, the bargaining of the merchants.

Her heart started doing a lot of “what if” dreaming that would scandalize her mother. If a professor or museum curator was bad, an archaeologist was worse.

On her way home, Ally stopped in at the Lenox Library just down Fifth Avenue from the museum. She hurried up the steps under the trio of arched windows, mindful of the time. She wouldn’t get to read today, but she could have the books pulled and ready for tomorrow.

“I’d like to request these books, please.” She handed a slip of paper to the attendant behind the high wooden counter.

He pursed his lips and gave her a dubious look. “Books are not allowed to be removed from the library property, and you must be a member to use the reading room.” He rose up on his tiptoes to look over the counter at her chalk-smudged overcoat and the battered portfolio she’d tucked under her arm.

She took in a deep breath, but before she could speak, a booming voice echoed behind her.

“Alicia, darling girl, it’s been too long. What are you doing here?”

She turned and smiled, letting Augustus Bellows engulf her in his customary greeting. “Uncle Gus.”

“Hey, Ally-girl, sorry it’s been such a long time. Your aunt Jillian and I have been a bit busy. Donating a new wing at the museum, you know.” He dug in his pocket and withdrew a cigar, not lighting it, just holding it between his enormous fingers and punctuating the air with it as he spoke. “Going to be the event of the spring, you know, the grand opening of this exhibit.”

“I got a sneak peek at the exhibit. That’s why I’m here. To learn more about Egyptology. I’m completely fascinated by the artifacts.”
Not to mention a certain assistant curator/archaeologist.

“It’s the find of the century. I can’t wait to unveil the treasures of the tomb. And introduce you to my archaeologist, James Kirkland. I’m sure you’d like him. A sensible chap.” His bushy eyebrows nearly met over his nose. “You received the invitation to the gala, right?”

“I haven’t seen the invitation, but then, Mother would accept on our behalf.”

“You’ve seen some of the exhibit already? How did that happen?”

She grinned. “I poked my nose where I had no business being. But it turned out all right. One of the young men helping out asked me to do a pastel for him of one of the pieces, possibly for use in the book the museum is publishing.” She opened her portfolio and handed him the thick, creamy paper. “If the board agrees, of course.”

His eyes lit up. “This is wonderful. I’ll make sure it’s included in the book. It is my exhibit, after all.”

The librarian cleared his throat.

Uncle Gus handed Ally the drawing and perched his elbow on the counter and his chin on his fist. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt you?” He squinted at the man’s name badge. “Perry? This is my goddaughter, Miss Alicia Davidson, daughter of my good friend, David Davidson?” He inclined his head, inviting the librarian to make the connections and inferences for himself.

The poor fellow blanched. Ally’s father and Uncle Gus had donated generously to keep the library open when it had fallen on hard financial times in the Crash of ’93. The mayor had given them each a civic award, and a bronze plaque with their names hung just inside the front door.