But surely being handsome and charming was no excuse for the way the man hadn’t been far from her thoughts all these weeks? When they’d practiced archery, he was there, being helpful. When they’d ventured into the hedge maze, he’d teasingly offered a string ala Perseus and the Labyrinth.
And when they’d strolled through the Roman ruins, he’d offered interesting historical bits of information. Granted, she’d known most of them already, but it was impossible to deny the way her heart had gone all aflutter at a man who understood the architectural importance of the invention of the dome.
Surely his architectural acumen was the reason she found herself so breathless around the man?
Even I do not believe that, you ninny.
“Olive?” whispered Willow. “You are looking a little pale.”
For someone who was normally quite clear in her thoughts, Olive was embarrassed by the murmured, “Murp?” which escaped her lips.
Tiffany, being Tiffany, didn’t seem to notice her distress. “What kind of journal includes sketches of duck penises?”
She snatched for the volume in Olive’s limp hand. That should have distracted Olive enough to protect her precious journal, but….
Phineas Phineas Phineas Oliphant.
Oh, surprise, it didn’t work.
But Tiffany didn’t notice. “Oh. It is the latest edition of the Journal of the Society of Archaeology,” she read out loud. “Is this the publication you submitted that article about rooflines to? You were telling us about that last week.”
The article? The article she’d submitted? The article which had taken her a better part of a year to write? The article she’d told all her family about a million times, and had spoken about ceaselessly for the first week after her arrival at Dumpkins Manor?
Thatarticle?
They wanted to talk about thearticle, when Olive had just learned she’d be seated besidePhineas Oliphant?
“What is Olive reading?” Hazel and Athena had paused at the door.
Tiffany waved the journal. “It is the Journal of the Society of Arbitology.”
“Archaeology,” murmured Bonnie helpfully.
Athena suddenly beamed. “Is yer article in there, Olive?”
Mutely, Olive shook her head, trying to form words from the big pink blur of fog her brain had somehow just turned into. “I, um…”
Look, you are going to have to remember how to speaksometime. Be reasonable. You cannot go through life turning into a burbling fool whenever Phi—whenever Phin—wheneverhisname is mentioned.
Swallowing thickly, Olive straightened her shoulders. “No. Not this edition.” There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? “Ifmy article is accepted, it will be published in a future edition, but I am not holding out much hope.”
“Nonsense,” Willow declared loyally. “Of course it shall be accepted. I, personally, cannot wait for the chance to read about the complexities of Roman roof thingies in a few months. I shall buy every copy I can find.”
It was a subscription, but Olive wasn’t going to diminish her sister’s support. “I do not know about that,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze.
“Ido. I might not understand a word of it, but I know anything our Olive produces will be brilliant.” When Bonnie squeezed her shoulder, Olive peeked up with a grateful smile at her friend’s words and accepted the return of the journal from Tiffany.”
“Olive wasn’t reading it in the hopes of finding her article, you know,” Hazel pointed out, as she and Athena drifted toward the door. “She was enthralled with the escapades of Aberdeen Jones. I borrowed her last edition when we arrived and read that one. Will you lend me this one when you’re through?” she asked Olive.
“Of course.” Although it would be several days, because Olive had every intention of re-reading Mr. Jones’s recent adventure four or five times before she let the journal out of her sight. And to think she’d have to wait until this evening to finish readingthisedition!
She stood, pressing her journal to her chest as her friends filed out the door, and wondered if she should drop it off in her room or leave it here.
Tiffany pursed her lips as she held the door for Olive. “Aberdeen Jones?”
Athena answered her, saying, “The archaeologist whose stories are taking Britain by storm. Never say ye have no’ heard of him?” Her eyes were sparkling, and Olive didn’t have time to wonder at that before her friend continued flippantly, “It is a sobriquet of course, and I dinnae believeeverythingthe man writes can be true, but it is amusing to read at least.”
Still clutching the journal to her chest, Olive stepped into the hall and gaped at the redheaded lady who wouldn’t be joining them for dinner. “Youare a fan of archaeological reports?”
