Giggling, she whirled away. “All is fair at the fair.”
She strode off, steps lighter than they’d been for over a year. Why, she could almost kiss Lottie on the cheek for insisting she—and Bram—come to Bonfire Night. This was fun! Actual fun.
But then the malignant gaze of a passing matron wiped the grin from her face. Oh, sweet heaven. What was she doing? Laughing and prancing about like a schoolgirl. She had no business wasting time on such frivolities. She had a blind sister to care for. A house to manage. An overwhelming tax debt due in little over a month. One would think she hadn’t a worry in the world.
She shoved the remaining nuts at Bram. “Here. You may have them, what’s left, at any rate.”
“You, milady, are fickle as the autumn breeze—which I suppose is a lady’s prerogative.” He finished off the treat, then tossed the paper into the nearest brazier barrel.
Eva glanced back the way they’d come. “Perhaps we should go home now.”
“We have only just got here. Besides, I doubt you will be able to drag your sister away from all the merriment, and if you did manage to, we would all suffer some dreadful dirge of hers the whole ride home.”
“I know but...” Worry upon worry crawled up her throat, and she swallowed. “It would be so easy for her to get lost in this mob. I can’t expect Dixon to keep an eye on her every second. Penny will not even be able to see the bonfire tonight, so there is no point in staying any longer.”
“Of course there is. I fancy seeing you by the light of the bonfire. It will be like old times when I used to set fire to the sawdust pile over by the mill.”
She frowned. “That has nothing to do with Penny.”
“Listen, Eva, your sister is a smart girl who will not wander off, for she is likely far too busy stuffing her mouth with spun sugar and sweetmeats. She has Dixon and my uncle and three students I would trust with my life. Penny is having a good time. Let her. And you should too.”
“Roses fair and posies bright, get a daisy for the night!” A hump-backed old woman singsonged from her nearby perch on a dented milk can. She plucked a bloom from the bucket at her feet and aimed it toward Bram. “Lilies sing in moonlight’s glow, whisper secrets lovers know.”
It took everything in Eva not to roll her eyes at the poor prose, and yet she could heartily respect the woman’s ingenuity to sell flowers.
“I’ll take it.” Bram swapped a coin for the pink rose.
“Bram.” She huffed. Was this his way of distracting her from thinking about her sister? “I told you that you need not buy me anything.”
“Actually, it is for me.” Guiding her to a quieter space between stalls, he tipped her face up. “I happen to like the scent of roses, and this should be just about nose level.” He poked the stem between her hat brim and ear.
Wheat-coloured stubble lined his jaw. Evidently he’d forgotten to shave again. He had unusually long lashes for a man, just as she remembered, for those lashes had dazzled her as a girl as well. She narrowed her eyes at the half-inch, faint-red pucker at the top of his cheek. “That scar on your cheek is new. How did you get it?”
“Hmm?” he rumbled while he moved the rose to her other ear. “Oh, merely a little something I received from a student, that’s all.”
“You are a history professor, not a boxing instructor.”
“What do you suppose gladiators did in the Colosseum? Cutthroat games of whist?”
“You teach your students hand-to-hand combat?”
“No.” He laughed as he wove the stem behind her ear. “I coach one of the sports teams. See? I am not as rough-and-tumble as you credit me, but you are every bit as lovely as I have told you.”
He gave the flower a final tap and stepped away, appraising his work.
It was uncomfortable to be looked at as a piece of art. It wasn’t true. Couldn’t be true, no matter what Bram said. Nonetheless, the way his grey eyes brushed over her struck a chord deep inside. It was nice to be noticed.
She rejoined his side, and they moved on—but not far before a lad toting a Guy Fawkes effigy bumped into her as he dashed past. She barely caught her footing before another boy did the same.
Bram grabbed her arm and yelled at the retreating lads. “Watch it, you little scoundrels!”
Eva smirked up at him. “That would have been you fifteen years ago or so. But do let’s go watch the Guy contest. I am sure that is where those boys are headed.”
“Very well, but I am keeping a good hold of you. Come on.” He laced his fingers through hers, then plowed through the crowd. They arrived at a stage made of old wooden boards just as ten boys holding up small Guy Fawkes mannequins stood in a line, front and center.
An announcer with a curled moustache planted himself in the far-right corner. “Step right up, ladies and gents! By a show of applause, I have a big blue ribbon here for the best Guy of the bunch.” He waved a ruffly piece of shiny silk in the air, then motioned for the first lad to approach him. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Olly Weaver, sir.”
