‘Are you really Lord Rivenhall, sir? Or is that an alias, too? Is this whole thing a deception?’
‘Of course I am Rivenhall and Effie really is my fiancée—or at least she is now. And the dig is real. All the finds are real. The only deception is the name on the paper, and in her defence, she had no choice.’
‘She wrote the paper!’
‘Well, of course she wrote the paper. I cannot write for toffee! I’m a sailor, not an antiquarian. I can barely string two long sentences together because my schooling stopped at twelve! But Effie knew you would never publish the damn thing if it came from her, so we put my name on it instead! That hardly matters in the grand scheme of things.’
Perhaps he could appeal to Sir Percival’s better nature. The man adored Effie. The pair of them were as thick as thieves. Too ridiculously intelligent peas in a pod. ‘You said yourself you had never read an essay so thorough, so compelling or so well written.’
‘That was before I knew it was plagiarised!’
‘How can it be plagiarised when Effie wrote it?’
‘Because you are attempting to take the credit for it, sir!’
‘Out of necessity because your stupid Society refuses to consider anything written by a woman.’
‘Archaeologiais a respected publication, Lord Rivenhall. It cannot be party to a fraud. This is a travesty! I have to tell Lord Denby.’
And just like that, one of her two dreams would be shattered simply because Max had opened his big mouth.
‘Then put Effie’s name on it and it won’t be a fraud. Then Denby and his minion will definitely not publish it for sure and the entire world of antiquity will be denied her discovery! That, sir, is the travesty.’
‘She was to be denied anyway if it was to be published in your name.’
‘And isn’t that the greatest travesty of all?’
Effie awoke with a start to the sun shining through her bedchamber window and an empty space next to her in the bed. She could see by the covers he hadn’t been there and wished she knew why he hadn’t come.
The last thing she remembered was the raucous sounds of what appeared to be a very drunken game of billiards downstairs shortly after the clock struck twelve. After that she must have dozed off and there was every chance he had stuck his head in, seen her sleeping soundly and decided to leave her to rest.
Even though he had promised he would wake her and even though she was scandalously naked and had brushed her hair one hundred times and left it loose. Now she was still outrageously naked, but her shimmering curtain ofbeguilinghair probably now resembled a bird’s nest.
She took one look at the clock and was horrified to see it was already eight. With the antiquarians leaving at nine, breakfast was probably already in full swing and she was in grave danger of missing it as well as the elusive Max. She shrugged on her unused nightgown quickly, called for the maid and tried not to read anything untoward into his absence. He loved her. She was sure of it. He wouldn’t be having second thoughts. Would he?
Downstairs, there was still no sign of him. Nor his sister. But their three guests were all seated in the breakfast room unattended, so she hastily abandoned her plans to hunt for her lost lover and joined them at the table.
‘I am sorry for my tardiness, gentlemen. I am afraid I overslept.’
‘It seems to be a common problem this morning as your fiancé is yet to make an appearance, too.’ Although not half as condescending as he had been upon his first arrival, it was still apparent Lord Denby had taken Max’s absence as a slight. ‘Mrs Baxter has said he was called to urgent estate business, but would be here as soon as he could.’
Estate business? As far as Effie was aware, Max hadn’t involved himself at all in any estate business yet, which threw up a hundred questions as to what was really afoot. ‘I am sure he will be here presently. Running Rivenhall does take up a great deal of his time.’
Eleanor burst through the door smiling, but Effie couldn’t help noticing it was forced. She looked drawn. Pale. As if something had happened and the prospect made Effie panic further. ‘Hello, Eleanor...’ Their eyes locked across the room. ‘Are you...well?’
‘Perfectly.’ She waved it away in typical Eleanor fashion. ‘Everything is sorted now. Max is on his way.’ She sat beside Lord Denby and snapped open her napkin. ‘Tenants! Do you have them, my lord?’
‘Indeed I do, madam. Many.’ He made it sound like a brag.
‘Then you will appreciate what a chore they can be sometimes. How are the kippers, Percy? To your satisfaction.’
An oddly reticent Percy nodded. ‘Splendid as always, Eleanor.’ But an odd look passed between them which did nothing to ease Effie’s nerves. ‘The carriage leaves in forty minutes.’ A strange thing to say for no apparent reason. ‘On the stroke of nine.’
‘Excellent...excellent. Then everything is on time.’ Smithson passed the older woman some tea and she gulped it down and then glared at Effie as if she expected her to make all the conversation.
‘It is a shame you cannot stay a little longer, gentlemen.’
‘Indeed it is,’ said Lord Whittlesey, ‘but Sir Percival has to be at the printers before they close tonight to oversea the final proofs ofArchaeologia, so alas our journey is going to be arduous. He delayed the presses in view of Lord Rivenhall’s discovery.’
