“She has aspirations of the Duke of Oxford offering for me.” Her face grew hotter.
He lifted a brow. “Didn’t you already marry one man twice your age?”
“Exactly what I told her.” The air whooshed from her body. “She didn’t care. I asked for my green ballgown. I have my doubts that is the one with which Parson will return.”
“Surely not.”
Her head shot up, eyeing him suspiciously. “I would wager Ingleby House on the fact.” She snapped the note against her thigh. “All to impress the mighty duke, of course. It will be a miracle if it’s something I don’t spill out of—” The feverish heat returned in a rush at realizing what she’d just said.
Harlowe’s eyes moved over her modest soft olive day gown. “That is a sight I wouldn’t mind seeing.”
Maeve decided in that very moment to set about locating different lodgings, something miles from Ingleby House. She stilled her tapping foot. She was not without funds of her own. Perhaps it was time to utilize them to their fullest extent.
Harlowe’s gaze fixed on her. “What is going through that sharp brain of yours?”
“I need a new place to live.” She reached for the water pitcher and glass.
Frowning, Harlowe said, “He left you no place to live?”
“A place in the country, miles from anywhere or anyone.”
His gaze sharpened as if he read her very mind. She motioned for him to sit forward, then handed him the glass and fluffed his pillows. He gave a short nod, allowing her to assist him.
“So, tell me about your late husband. I’m trying to remember him, but all I can come up with was he loved his books and moved from town once he married. I take it that was after his nuptials to you?”
Maeve took the emptied glass and set it on the table, shooting him a smug smile. “It was indeed, to my mother’s abject dread. She was determined I marry that dandy, Shufflebottom. Even Baron Welton would have served her purposes, but when Alymer offered, I pounced.”
“And what made Alymer so appealing to such a lively personality as yours?”
“His genuine respect,” she responded softly.
Six
H
arlowe leaned back against the pillows and let the sultry velvet of her voice roll over him. He was safe, he was warm, and there was a soft cool wind touching his face. He should ask her if she was cold, offer to have the window closed. “Respect, eh?” he said. “That is indeed a worthy reason. Shufflebottom and Welton aren’t worth your time,” he mumbled, unsure whether or not he was coherent, and again surprised as another snapshot of memory popped in his mind. Something to delve into later. “Tell me of Alymer’s respect.”
“He was a great scholar. His study of ancient civilizations was short of brilliant. Secret societies, in particular. I assisted him with his research. Drafted letters for him to other accomplished minds. There were instances he never changed a word of what I’d written for him.”
“Didn’t you miss the social events in town?”
“Not in the least. My life was quite full.”
It may have been full, but Harlowe detected the minutest wistfulness. He hoarded the information and would examine it further within the depths of night.
“Alymer was finishing up a text for publication when he grew ill with the auge. He never recovered.”
“So it was never published?”
“Of course not. He died. I spent months caring for him.”
“Which civilizations?”
He heard rather than saw her hand flitting about. “Atlantis. The meaning of the Pyramids. Athens. Jerusalem.”
“And what of you?” Harlowe opened one eye, gauging her reaction. It was as he suspected. She was shocked.
“What about me?” she snapped.
