As Dom sat in that cozy room, bolstered by his sister’s faith and encouragement, an idea began to form in his mind. The rough outlines of a plan took shape. And, shockingly, if his plan worked the way he hoped it would, his two days in London, away from the woman he missed with a physical ache, would prove a godsend.
“Allie?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s the name of that chap you know at the British Museum?” He looked around the sitting room. “And where are the newspapers? Does Eve still order the New York newspapers from America to keep tabs on the Van Arsdales?”
“I believe so. Lottie would know better.” She pursed herlips and looked at him mischievously. “What are you concocting?”
“A way to prove myself to Tess. A way to fight for her.”
On the second day without the dig to occupy her and Dominic gone, Tess settled into her father’s old chair in the cottage’s study. The creak of the old leather and the scent of aged paper brought a wave of nostalgia.
For the first time in months, she pulled out her father’s manuscript pages. She decided to read through it from the start and soon found several changes she could make to improve the early chapters. Facts she’d uncovered in her own studies, phrasing that would make it more accessible. Her father, though a wonderful tutor, did tend to write in an opaque way.
He also tended to focus on the achievements of men. And though Tess was well aware that was the fashion of most histories, she also knew better. Women had been key and influential in shaping the world too. She tended to focus on women’s actions whenever she read historical texts, and over the course of the day she’d penciled many of those details into her father’s manuscript.
By afternoon, she’d also pulled out her typewriter and begun transcribing the early chapters. Her father had written everything in his distinct loose italic style. The curves were as familiar as his voice in her head.
Intermittently, she stood to stretch, refresh her tea, and stare out past the old oak to the fields of Fenbridge land. She couldn’t see the dig site from the cottage, but she imagined the others and Tristan working there.
Dominic’s absence felt like a tangible thing. A hollowness in her chest.
She wanted to believe he’d come back, but some dark fearwhispered that he wouldn’t. That she’d driven him away. That her own fear of being hurt again had kept her from any kind of happiness and might always do so.
A knock at the cottage door pulled her from her sad musings.
Mrs. Wells was due to return today, though she wouldn’t bother knocking.
Tess tidied her hair and went to answer the door.
Priscilla Walcott stood on the doorstep, the afternoon light catching the sheen of her fine silk sleeves. She carried herself with her typical confidence, yet her smile was unfamiliar based on their previous interactions. She looked downright... friendly. She’d never paid a friendly visit to Foxdene.
“Hello, Miss Hawthorne.” Priscilla hesitated, looking a bit uncertain. “May I come in?”
“Of course you may.” Tess stood back to admit her.
She was garbed in far finer clothes than Tess’s simple day dress, and her rich perfume was so different from the scent of old books and wood smoke in the cottage.
“If you have a seat, I’ll prepare a tea tray,” Tess told her.
“Thank you. That would be lovely.”
When Tess returned to the drawing room, Priscilla was standing near the mantel, studying the photographs and knickknacks. She seemed fixed on a drawing Tristan had made of their father.
“He was such an excellent teacher,” Priscilla said almost wistfully.
“He was.” Though their father had encouraged her and Tristan to pursue passions of their own, his love for history had been so infectious that Tess had fallen in love with it too. “And he was always impressed with your abilities.”
Priscilla looked taken aback. “Was he?”
“Oh yes. Some questioned why he took on a girl tutee to study history and geography and Latin and French, but he’d simply tell them that you excelled at those subjects.”
“He told my mother much the same,” she said with a little hint of bitterness. “She thought I should take up watercolor and piano. My father championed academic subjects for young ladies.” She smiled at Tess. “As did yours.”
Once they were settled on the face-to-face settees in the middle of the drawing room, Tess began to pour.
“Sugar and cream?” Tess didn’t even know Priscilla well enough to know how the young woman took her tea.
