His sharp eyes narrowed on her. “You have done quite enough already, Miss Dalton.”
“Now see here, Lord Bastion, I understand your frustration for I am every bit as incensed.” Tossing down his serviette, Edmund rose and rested his hand protectively at the back of her chair. “But taking it out on Miss Dalton is unacceptable. I claim full responsibility for the situation and will do whatever it takes to mitigate the damage that photograph may have caused.”
“It’s already out there, Price. Your status has taken a hit. There is nothing to be done for it.”
“But, Father!” Violet sobbed. “What aboutmyreputation?”
And there it was. The real reason for her tears, just as Ami suspected. The woman cared more for herself than she did about Edmund.
Shoving down her irritation, Ami attempted to paste on an encouraging smile. “All will be well, Violet. Things like this blow over.”
“That’s easy for you to say, stuffed away with your relics like a hermit.” She slumped in her chair. “I’m the one who shall have to bear the gossip.”
“I don’t see why,” Edmund cut in. “You’re not the one in the picture.”
“You don’t understand,” Violet wailed.
Ami tried hard not to roll her eyes. “You’re stirring a tempest in a teapot. Every onlooker who witnessed that mishap when I stepped off the train can attest to the fact that Mr. Price was reaching for my hat, not for me.”
“The point is, Miss Dalton”—the viscount swept up the newspaper and waved it in the air—“my daughter should not have to listen to any vicious rumours.”
“Nor should mine have to bear your censure, my lord.” Next to Ami, her father calmly reached for another piece of toast. “Iagree it was an unfortunate event, but surely a few well-placed words from you to your guests tonight can right the whole situation. You hold more sway than theTimes, do you not?”
“Hmm,” Edmund rumbled behind her. “The professor raises a valid point. Your reputation and influential position can greatly impact public opinion, especially since you’ve invited the most esteemed of society for tonight’s announcement. If we both address this article openly and honestly, it will show I run a campaign of the highest integrity.”
“It could do...” Lord Bastion murmured as he stroked his chin. “Perhaps we can use this to our advantage.” He wheeled about, calling over his shoulder as he strode away, “Come, Price. We have much to discuss.”
Edmund gave her shoulder a little squeeze an instant before following the man. “Excuse me, ladies, Professor.”
The moment the two men disappeared out the door, Violet tucked away her handkerchief and stood as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “I shall take my leave also. One must look one’s best for tonight’s festivities. You would do well to take a care with your appearance, Miss Dalton, for the highest of society will be in attendance tonight.” She flounced away.
Ami watched her go. Apparently they were no longer on a first-name basis.
“It’s been an eventful morning,” her father commented as he reached for the jam jar. “I cannot help but wonder what tonight will bring.”
“Indeed.” Pushing back her chair, she stood. Her father may yet have an appetite, but hers was ruined. “I suppose I shall do as Violet asks and prepare my gown, which, come to think of it, I should have hung up last night.”
Her father chuckled, toast crumbs flying from his lips. “You always were better at deciphering hieroglyphics than managing your wardrobe.”
Of course she was. Without a mother to teach her, what did she know of pretty garments and such niceties? Oh, Grandmother had tried during the summers she’d stayed with herwhile Father was on a dig, but she’d never truly been interested. She’d much rather don her work apron and lose herself in returning an ancient artifact to its former glory.
She ascended the staircase to her room, and the instant she opened the door, she pressed a hand to her stomach. There, lounging on the bed in front of her, was a gown of the most horrid lemon hue. She didn’t know much about fashion, but that monstrosity surely couldn’t be considered comely in any sense of the word.
“Pardon me, miss.”
She turned to the maid’s voice. “Yes?”
A slim lady in a spotless black gown and starched white apron stood in the doorway, a silver tray extended with a single envelope on it. “For you, miss.”
“Thank you.” Ami collected the missive, her brow bunching as she recognized Mr. Dandrae’s penmanship on the front. A bit smudgy, but his nonetheless. Odd that he’d send her a message here in London. How had he even known where she’d be?
A chill traveled across her shoulders. Had Mr. Dandrae had her followed? Did he keep such close surveillance on all of his sellers and purchasers?
Despite her sudden doubts of the man, she hurried over to the writing desk and slit the seal with a silver letter opener, then held the card inside up to the light.
Rare canopic jars holding the remains of Akhenaten.
Five hundred pounds. Tonight. Nine o’clock.
