Tossing back her shoulders, she snubbed her nose at the carved granite lions on either side of the stairs and rang the bell. Off-putting smells or not, she was anxious to dig into Mr. Price’s precious load of relics, though admittedly a bit apprehensive as well. She’d finished her business with the shabti doll, pleasing Mr. Clampstone just as she’d hoped to, but being tied up here could cut into her shadow brokering ... a dilemma she’d been wrestling with the past two days. She’d instructed Mr. Dandrae only to contact her here if something extraordinary came up, but if that happened, how would she explain her absence to the indomitable Mr. Price? Wealthy men thought they owned everyone working for them, and the thought of being owned made her feet itch to run.
Moments later, a tall, thin butler cocked his head at her likea crow. His dark eyes assessed her in a hasty blink, and if the twitch of his upper lip was any indication, she fell somewhere between a traveling trinket seller and a gypsy waif.
“The servants’ entrance is around back, miss.” His voice was distinctly nasal.
Hmm. Perhaps Father ought to have his don’t-judge-a-book-by-its-cover monologue with this fellow. She lifted her chin. “Thank you for the information, but I am no housemaid. I am here at the ... em, steward’s request. Well, actually, I didn’t inquire after the man’s position so that is an assumption, but nevertheless, it must have been Mr. Price’s man of business who employed me to catalogue and value a soon-to-arrive collection of Egyptian artifacts.”
He reared back his head. “Youare the professor?”
A common response. Expected, actually. But all the same, she bit her tongue and curved her lips into a pleasant smile. “I am Miss Dalton, Egyptologist.”
“I see.” Humor glinted in his eyes. “Crawford put you up to this, did he? I should have expected some sort of retribution, I suppose. That imitation spider in the corner of his room was one of my better pranks. Shrieked like a little girl.” A chuckle squawked out of him. “At any rate, you may tell Crawford you played your part well, and here is a penny for your trouble.” He produced a coin from his pocket.
She fended off the payment with an upraised palm. “I don’t know what sort of hijinks you and this Mr. Crawford have going on, but it sounds rather a jolly game. Even so, I assure you I truly am the Egyptologist employed by Mr. Price’s steward, so if you wouldn’t mind announcing me?”
Stooping somewhat, he narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t a jest?”
“No, this is not a jest.”
“Well, well. My mistake, then. Do come in, Miss Dalton.” He flung the door wide and ushered her inside. “Jameson’s office is this way.”
She followed, purposely putting weight on the instep of her left foot. Though it was yet morning, a mighty fine blister wouldlikely emerge on her pinky toe by nightfall. She’d bought a sturdy pair of new boots thanks to the steward’s advance, but she had yet to break them in.
Bypassing the sitting room, the black-coated butler crossed a vast receiving hall. How many ball gowns and bespoke suits had graced this marble floor in years past? If she listened closely enough, would she hear the tinkle of flute glasses and strains of Haydn or Mendelssohn haunting the air? What a dreadful pastime. She’d attended a dance once and had been heartily glad when it was over. A good book and hot cup of drinking chocolate was much to be preferred.
As they skirted a collection of bronze pedestals at the center of the room, she slowed her pace, inhaling deeply. Each pillar varied in height and sported a crystal vase of multicoloured lilies. How delightful. If the housemaids had polished the baseboards today, the lemony scent was obliterated by this heavenly fragrance.
The butler turned into a corridor, and she scurried to catch up. He entered a door at the far end, announcing her the moment his foot crossed the threshold.
“Mr. Jameson? A Miss Dalton to see you.”
“Is that so? Send her in, then.”
Shoving her hat back atop her head, for the silly thing had slipped in her haste, she strode past the butler.
The man behind the desk glanced up at her. He was a ruddy-faced fellow, likely accustomed to the elements when not squirreled away with ink and ledgers. Side-whiskers drew to a point down his jawline, bristly as a Shetland’s shorn mane. The coat he wore was familiar—dark green with a brown collar and oval patches on each elbow—but the fabric of it did not stretch as tightly across his shoulders. He didn’t have dimples or a fine strong mouth or a manner that both chafed and intrigued simultaneously. And those eyes were certainly not the same dusky blue. She ought to know. Much to her chagrin, she’d revisited that face many times in her dreams over the past couple of nights.
Mr. Jameson set down his pen. “How may I help you, Miss Dalton?”
“Em...” Perhaps this really was a jest, but not one of the butler’s design nor of the aforementioned Crawford. Had Polly set someone up to play a trick on her? Had Mr. Dandrae? Or maybe—
“Miss?”
She lifted her chin. If this was some sort of prank, she may as well go along with it for now. “I was hired two days ago to catalogue and price a shipment of Egyptian artifacts belonging to Mr. Price. This is Mr. Price’s home, is it not? And he is expecting a cargo of valuable items?”
Mr. Jameson sucked in a breath. “Youare the professor?”
She shoved down a sigh. Nefertiti probably hadn’t been subject to such offense. Must she always prove to God and man that she was an intelligent creature? “For your clarification, sir, I am an Egyptologist, and I was under the impression the offer of employment had been made by Mr. Price’s steward. Clearly that is not the case.”
“Ah, I understand now.” Mr. Jameson chuckled as he leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “Though I must say I am quite surprised he took on a woman.”
She gripped the life out of her bag handles to keep from flailing her arms. “Who ishe? Who took me on?”
“I did.”
She turned at the deep voice—and there stood the man who’d refused to vacate a corner of her mind ever since he’d caught her up in his arms on a stuffy Oxford stairway. She popped her fist onto one hip, annoyed at the slight thrill fluttering in her chest. “And who, may I ask, in all the wide, wide world are you, sir?”
“I am Edmund Price, Miss Dalton.” A crafty grin spread on those fine lips of his. “Welcome to my home.”
