“Very good. Once you pass through, you’ll take the cloister walk on your right, which will lead you to the building you’re wanting. You can’t miss it. The entrance has a bronze plaque with the wordHistoryon it.”
“Thank you very much.”
“My pleasure, miss. Enjoy your visit to Trinity College.”
She set off at a brisk pace and found the place easily enough,for the porter’s directions had been very thorough. The front desk clerk, however, wasn’t nearly as helpful—though perhaps he might’ve been if he was at his station. Her stomach rumbled, and she pressed her hand against it. It was lunch hour, after all, which likely accounted for his absence. What an ill-timed arrival.
Pulling off her gloves, she glanced at a wooden bench, debating if she ought to wait it out or go looking for a professor. If the front of the building had a placard, ought not the instructors’ offices bear markings as well? There were two corridors to choose from, plus a stairway straight ahead. It seemed most logical that a teacher’s office ought to be easily accessed by students, so she discarded the stairs idea just as a jolly chuckle pulled her attention to the passage on her left.
A tall young man with dark hair swung out of an open door, laughing, his scholarly robe open at the front and flapping behind him with each long stride.
“Excuse me.” Clutching her gloves, she boldly approached him. “I’m wondering if you might point me in the right direction?”
“Perhaps, but it’ll have to be quick, miss, or I’ll be late for an exam.” He shifted the thick books in his arms. “What is it you’re looking for?”
“I have an item I wish to authenticate. It might have some church history and is possibly of Roman origin.”
“Roman? Why, that’s easy enough. One of the most knowledgeable professors I know happens to be in his office now. I just came from there.” He tipped his head over his shoulder. “First room on the right.”
“Thank you.” She bypassed him with a grateful smile, then rapped on the frame of the open door.
“Pardon me, but I wonder if I might have a moment of your time, Professor?” She spoke to a broad set of shoulders, for the man stood with his back to her, tucking papers into a file.
He held up a finger. “One moment, please.”
She studied him while he worked. He was in desperate need of a haircut. His shaggy locks, the colour of watered-down Darjeeling, feathered raggedly against his collar. The hem of his suitcoat sported fraying threads and his trousers were more wrinkled than her traveling coat. Obviously his work held sway over his appearance. Still, a seed of respect for him took root, for she never could abide a milksop gent, tossed to-and-fro by the whims of fashion and popular opinion.
“Now then,” he said as he turned. “How may I help—”
His jaw dropped.
So did hers.
Time stopped. Sound. Motion. Everything ground to a halt.
“Eva?”
A cascade of emotions poured like ice water over her head. Disbelief. Anger. Heartbreak and longing.
But most of all the gut-punching feeling of abandonment. Bram had been the first in a string of people to leave her, and she wouldnotrisk that happening again.
She spun on her heel and stalked away with long strides. She’d rather lose the family estate than speak with Bram Webb.
God was definitely not smiling upon her today.
It wasn’t every day a ghost from the past knocked at his door. Thank God for such mercies as that! But this red-haired spirit? The very sight of her conjured a myriad of memories. Eva Inman, the girl who had always been around, trailing him with wide, admiring eyes. Such adoration had softened his heart toward her and had fostered a protective instinct—leastwise as protective as a bubbleheaded lad could be. Seeing her now, transformed into a captivating woman, brought a wave of unexpected emotions.
Bram bolted around the desk.
“Wait!” He overtook Eva, stopping in front of her to block her path. “What are you doing here?”
Her jaw tightened—and what a fine jaw it was. He’d never imagined the formerly gawky-limbed Eva Inman could grow into such an entrancing vision. Oh, her long nose might not fit conventional beauty ideals, yet that feature lent her an air of regal grace. Her mouth, far too wide to be considered a dainty rosebud, held a magnetic allure. She was an October morn, this woman, with hair of fire and the threat of bluster in her pale blue eyes.
“I am seeking an opinion.” She lifted her chin. “But not yours.”
Oof. That stung. “And yet you came to my office.”
A bitter laugh spouted out of her. “Trust me, I didn’t realize it belonged to you.”
