“As my colleague, you naturally want to see me succeed in all things,” Caleb explained. “Therefore I should be—”
“Wait,” Amelia interrupted, holding up her hand. She stared unseeingly into the middle distance.
Immediately, Caleb went still, his expression sober. “What do you hear?”
Amelia snapped her gaze to him with such sharp focus, his own eyes widened. “The sound of my brain breaking under the weight of your nonsense,” she said, and without looking away from him, thrust a bread-and-butter plate at Sergeant Sheffield. “Pack.”
Certainly there was no love in Caleb’s eyes now as he held her gaze. No, it was something hotter, fiercer, and Amelia’s stomach fluttered in a way that could not entirely be blamed on the earlier marmite. “Good to know that I shatter you,” he said. At his insinuating tone, both Dummersby and Throckmorton blushed scarlet. Caleb flipped the dessert fork he was holding, whereupon it transformed into a long-stemmed silver rose. Holding it out to Amelia across the table, he smiled. “Pack.”
They stared at each other for a long, silent moment, the magical rose between them.Idiot,Caleb’s eyes said.Totally,Amelia’s agreed. Then Caleb’s brow folded slightly:Wait, which one of us?
With a sigh that conceded,both,Amelia took the rose. It transformed back into a fork as she turned away to wrap it in a safe bag, then pack it into one of the hazelwood boxes made especially for transporting magical objects. Sir Nigel shuffled over, looking as mournful as the sky outside. Amelia realized he’d been weeping, and wondered how much more “donating” of his treasures he’d be able to tolerate.
“Farewell, dear little Hanoverian pistol-handled dessertfork,” he murmured, bending down to pat the box. “You’ll be missed. But don’t fret; as soon as I find your matching knife, I shall send it on.”
“A knife is missing?” Amelia asked worriedly.
“It was here just the other day, I’m sure of it,” Sir Nigel told her. He gave a sad little sniff, then dabbed his nose with his cardigan sleeve. “I don’t understand where it went.”
Amelia frowned with concern but was unable to reassure either Sir Nigel or herself, primarily because the gentleman was now blowing his nose on his sleeve, and to further the conversation would make her quite ill. Turning away, she saw that Caleb was in close discussion with Vanity over an engraved fruit scoop.
A very close discussion,Amelia noted, her eyes narrowing. So close, indeed, Caleb must have been feeling a chill at the fluttering of the girl’s eyelashes.
“You are so clever, Professor Sterling,” Vanity cooed. Reaching out, she ran a finger along the scoop’s handle. “Is this as powerful as your teaspoon that broke the Minervaeum Club’s library ceiling?”
Caleb laughed with his usual charm. “Just boring plain silver, I’m afraid. But it is a fine example of the Hanoverian Rattail pattern.”
“Oh,” Vanity breathed as if he’d just quoted poetry. Caleb took half a step back; she followed him. “What’s the most powerful antique you’ve ever seen?”
“I suppose that would be Dervorguilla of Galloway’s sapphire brooch,” he said.
“Dervo-who?” Vanity giggled.
“The cofounder of Balliol College. Her husband, John Balliol, was required to fund schooling for the poor at OxfordUni. After he died, Dervorguilla established a permanent endowment and formal statutes for the college. A brooch of hers is kept on display in our Hall. Even if it didn’t possess extremely potent magic, it’s beloved by all Balliol members.”
“What kind of magic?”
“The kind I’m not allowed to talk about,” Caleb said, and Amelia raised her eyes heavenward (noticing an interesting lightshade but being too distracted to estimate its age and value). Caleb was absolutely allowed to talk about Dervorguilla’s brooch; there existed any number of brochures and books describing it, and the only reason she could think of that he wasn’t sharing the information with Vanity was that he was trying to be interestingly mysterious.
And apparently this worked, for Vanity gave a pretty little gasp, hands pressing against her heart. “Gosh! Have you touched it?”
Never before had Amelia heard such an active verb. She nearly cleared her throat meaningfully but managed to stop before exposing herself as an eavesdropper.
Caleb’s laugh this time sounded uncomfortable. “No, it’s kept on display at the college, within a virtually unbreakable enchanted glass dome.”
“Gosh.”The exclamation practically stripped itself down to silk lingerie and rubbed itself against Caleb. “I would love to have a thorough tête-à-tête with you about it.”
“Ha ha,” Caleb said through a smile comprised of clenched teeth.
“Ha ha,” Vanity answered coyly.
“Ahem.”Sergeant Sheffield cleared his throat in a loud, ragged manner that suggested Amelia was not the only one whose nerves were set on edge by the conversation.
Throckmorton, on the other hand, was watching Vanity with a look on his face that Amelia found even more disturbing than the girl’s silliness. He seemedamused. As if he was about tochuckle indulgently. As if Vanity flirting with Caleb wasendearing.
A muscle in her jaw twitched, and not just because of all the italics. “Excuse me,” she announced with smiling calm to the room in general, “I’m going to…” Making the vague gesture that is universally translated asI’m going to the loo but am too embarrassed to say so outright,she departed.
Walking upstairs with the same smiling calm, she entered her bedroom. Sitting at its small table, still smiling, still calm, she looked out at the surrounding countryside, where hills shrouded in gray drizzle served as a reflection of her mood. Then, with a calm that was beginning to make her facial muscles ache from so much smiling, she tore a page from her notepad and took up a pen to write.
