Lillian looked up. “Oh. You startled me.” She glanced at the professor standing behind the bench.
“Have you been enjoying yourself?” Eleanor asked.
“Quite a lot. This fern is so intricate, and the design on the pot will take quite some time if I wish to get the shading just right.”
“Did . . . ah . . . have you visited with anyone?”
“Mr. Curtis sat with me for a bit. He brought a fairy cake and some punch.”
“Oh, isn’t that nice?” Eleanor unclenched her hands and laid them softly in her lap. “And did you speak with anyone else?”
“No, I’ve been quite occupied with my art,” she said, holding up a thumb in front of one eye as she studied the fern.
“I can see. You’ve done a lovely job.” Eleanor spoke the words automatically without looking at the sketchbook.
“Thank you.” Lillian glanced around. “Where is Rosalie? I should like to show her this pot.”
“Dancing,” Eleanor said. “When I see her, I’ll tell her you’re asking for her.”
Lillian nodded, focused again on her drawing.
Eleanor bid her farewell and hurried away, intending to make a circle of the room before looking elsewhere—perhaps find and question the other young men.
“Miss Doyle,” Professor Kendrick said from behind her.
She didn’t pause. As she moved through the crowd, she forced herself to breathe steadily.
“Miss Doyle,” he called again.
She shook her head, hurrying past the orchestra. Talking to him, forgetting her duty, was the reason she was in this situation in the first place. With every passing second, she felt her future slip away.
“Eleanor.” He held her elbow, stopping her. “Please wait.”
His use of her Christian name made her pause. “I can’t. I must find Rosalie.”
His brow was furrowed as he studied her face. “I understand. We’ll find her, but—”
“You don’t understand. We must find her now.” The words came out harsher than she intended.
“Very well,” he said, releasing her arm carefully, as if she might hurt him, or herself.
She knew she was behaving rudely, but there was more riding on this than he could possibly know. Turning away quickly, she hurried around a fountain pool and nearly crashed directly into Mr. Curtis and Mr. Darrington.
Mr. Curtis reached out a protective arm to keep her from falling into the water. “Good evening, Miss Doyle.”
Mr. Darrington bowed. “Bodkin said you and the Blakely sisters will be joining us Frid—”
She cut off his words. “Rosalie, Mr. Reid, have you seen them? Where are they?”
Mr. Curtis gaped, taken aback by her rudeness. Mr. Darrington glanced at his friend, then at his teacher, but Eleanor didn’t care if she was making a poor impression.
“I believe they’ve gone to walk in the gardens,” Mr. Curtis said.
Without excusing herself, Eleanor changed her path, heading toward the far side of the room, away from the entrance. The passageway from the atrium was wide, leading down stone steps into the gardens. She paused, glancing over the park, trying to decide which direction a young man and woman might have taken.
“Eleanor, wait,” Professor Kendrick said, following her once again. “Let us think through this logically. There is no reason to panic.”
“There is every reason to panic.” Her voice was sharp. “A young lady’s reputation is at risk.”
“You don’t know that,” he said. His calmness made her even more angry. He wasn’t taking this seriously. “They may be simply taking a stroll.”
“Alone? Just the pair of them? We must find them.”
She started out into the gardens, passing elegantly trimmed shrubs and columns holding pots of trailing flowers. Gas lamps cast halos on the ground, illuminating sections of the path but leaving pockets of darkness.
“Eleanor, listen to me. I don’t know Rosalie, but I teach young men Harlan’s age every day. Reacting in anger and forbidding them from spending time together is the quickest way to ensure that they will want to be together. Nothing is as exciting to young lovers as a forbidden romance. Look at Romeo and Juliet.”
“You don’t . . . understand.” She was panting, her tight corset not allowing her to draw a full breath.
“Then tell me. I want to help.”
“If you want to help, keep your young men in line. Did you even watch them tonight? Know what they were doing?” She knew she was directing her anger at the wrong person, but she couldn’t help it.
“Harlan’s a gentleman.” His voice wasn’t angry, but it was no longer gentle and full of understanding. “He’s a good young man. They all are.”
“It’s not just Rosalie’s future on the line.” Eleanor turned down another garden path. It was only a matter of time before Lillian discovered that Rosalie was gone or someone found the two young people alone together and spread gossip. Rosalie’s fragile reputation couldn’t take one more blow.
The sound of giggling came from a side path. Eleanor veered in that direction, recognizing the voice immediately. “Rosalie!”
She came upon the pair of them, standing beneath a gas lamp, Rosalie’s hand on Harlan’s arm.
“Miss Doyle,” Harlan said, inclining his head. “Nice to see you.”
Eleanor’s face was hot, and her head felt like a steam engine filled with pressure. “Rosalie, come. It’s time to leave.”
“Leave?” The young woman looked between the three of them. “But the night’s only begun.”
Eleanor could feel herself trembling, both from relief and anger. “Rosalie.”
“Harlan, I believe the ladies need to speak privately.” Professor Kendrick jerked his head to the side, and a confused Mr. Reid followed him back toward the party.
Eleanor clasped her hands together to keep from shaking the younger woman. “Rosalie, what were you thinking?”
Rosalie looked at her with wide eyes. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Mr. Reid and I were just walking.”
“Alone? In the dark?”
A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “But nothing happened.”
Eleanor took a calming breath and let it out slowly. She rubbed her brow, feeling a headache coming. “You know better. You know how quickly gossip can spread.”
Rosalie pouted, looking as if she might start to weep at any moment.
“Do you think of no one but yourself?” Eleanor continued. “What of Lillian? A scandal would blight her name as well.”
She didn’t answer, but Eleanor could see Rosalie wasn’t defiant, and that diffused a bit of her anger. She softened her voice and moved closer, laying a hand on the younger woman’s arm. “Rosalie, you promised to behave yourself around young men. You promised all of us, your parents, Lillian.”
Rosalie sniffed. “But Mr. Reid is a gentleman, and I am so very fond of him.”
Eleanor nodded. “I know he’s handsome and polite, but you just met him today. Give it time. And please remember the rules. You mustn’t allow yourself to even appear to be in a compromising position. Rosalie, it is more important than you can imagine.”
Rosalie leaned against her, and Eleanor wrapped her arms around the young woman, compassion overriding her other emotions. Though she was thoughtless and impulsive, Rosalie was still just a young woman.
“Are you going to forbid me from seeing Mr. Reid?” Rosalie spoke in a small voice.
Eleanor thought of Professor Kendrick’s words. Nothing is as exciting to young lovers as a forbidden romance. The last thing she needed was for Rosalie to sneak away to meet her Romeo. “I am not going to forbid it. But you must remember to follow the rules. With him and with all gentlemen. If you do not, we shall have to return to London immediately.”
“And you won’t tell Lillian what happened tonight?”
“No.”
Eleanor felt the young woman go slack with relief. She held her a moment longer, then stepped back. “Come, let’s
fetch your sister.”
A few minutes later, the pair sat on the bench admiring the sketch of a potted fern.
“And we really must leave? Already?” Lillian asked.
Rosalie pressed a hand against her stomach and glanced at Eleanor. “I’m sorry. I must have eaten something that disagreed with me.”
“A pity,” Lillian closed her sketchbook and put her pencil into its case. “I’d hoped to sketch Lady Aberline’s candelabra.”
They walked through the atrium and to the entrance to await the carriage.
“How do you feel, Rosalie?” Lillian slid an arm around her sister.
“Not well.”
“Mr. Curtis tells me we’re to meet the group and a friend on Friday morning for a tour of a dig site and the Colosseum,” Lillian said.
Rosalie straightened, a hopeful smile lighting her face. “Are we going, Miss Doyle?”
Eleanor’s insides drew together into a tight knot. She’d forgotten about Mr. Bodkin’s invitation. Thinking of how she’d acted to Professor Kendrick made her ill. But should she have acted differently? Allowing herself to develop a friendship with the man had kept her from her assigned task. When she thought of all that could have gone wrong tonight, she didn’t regret reprimanding him for his lack of supervision. But she hadn’t chosen her words well. There was no excuse for her rudeness.
She’d promised Rosalie that she’d not forbid her from seeing Mr. Reid, and she’d promised Mr. Bodkin they’d join him for the tour. And, even though she didn’t like to admit it, she owed Professor Kendrick an apology.
“Yes,” she finally said. “If Rosalie’s health is improved, we will join the gentlemen on Friday.”
Ken stood in the shade of an archway in the Colosseum’s outer wall with his three charges, Bodkin, and the hired guide, Signore Celino. He tapped his foot against his heavy satchel, watching with some surprise and a fair bit of apprehension as a carriage stopped in the Piazza del Colosseo and the ladies stepped out. Truth be told, he had doubted whether Miss Doyle would come at all.
The young men and Bodkin hurried forward, exchanging greetings and smiles with the ladies, but Ken hung back, unsure of exactly how to conduct himself.
Miss Doyle’s words and behavior at the ball had left him feeling as if he should apologize. But for what? Not following adult men around a party like an overprotective mother hen? His pride protested that he’d not done anything wrong. If he hadn’t seen her reaction with his own eyes, he’d not have believed a person could become so upset over a mere possibility that something improper might have happened. In the days since the ball, he’d felt a fair bit of anger over this, not to mention defensiveness when it came to his friend. Harlan Reid was a respectable young gentleman, and to make an assumption without any provocation felt unjustified.
But as he’d calmed and considered the situation from Miss Doyle’s position, he’d realized her responsibility when it came to the young ladies was immense. While he, as bear leader, ensured that his young gentlemen didn’t get swindled by a fortuneteller or find themselves on the wrong train, Miss Doyle had much more to be concerned about. The society abroad was very much the same as in England, and gossip, whether true or not, could ruin a young lady’s character in the blink of an eye. He thought it a shame that a woman feared her own countrymen’s misplaced words over the other dangers that might befall a traveler in a foreign land.
“Miss Doyle, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you this morning.” Bodkin’s voice echoed through the piazza.
“And you as well,” she said. “Thank you again for the invitation.” She glanced over his shoulder, her gaze meeting Ken’s. She winced, her cheeks reddening, and looked away.
He supposed her discomfort was a good sign. At least it wasn’t impartiality. But returning to their former ease would take some work, and possibly time, he thought, rather discouraged.
Bodkin and the young ladies were introduced, and of course the man had them smiling in seconds. Everyone loved Alastair Bodkin. He offered his arm to Miss Doyle and led her toward the entrance. The others followed, Lillian gazing with wide eyes at the enormous ancient structure, and Rosalie gazing with wide eyes at Harlan.
Ken straightened as they approached. “Miss Doyle, Miss Blakely, Miss Rosalie.” He inclined his head to each lady in turn. “Might I introduce our guide, Signore Celino?”
The Italian man bowed in greeting. “Ah, to have beautiful women on the tour, what a delight.” He gave an elegant bow. “Shall we begin?” Seeing that he had the attention of the group, he cleared his throat. “In 80 anno Domini, Emperor Vespasian’s son, Titus, gifted the Flavian Amphitheater to the Roman people. The grand opening was celebrated with one hundred days of games such as gladiatorial combats and wild animal fights.” He paused, ensuring his audience was suitably impressed before continuing. “The Colosseum, as it was later called, is an entirely free-standing structure, unlike Greek theaters built into hillsides. The outer wall contains over one hundred thousand cubic meters of travertine stone, set with three hundred tons of iron clamps.” He flourished his hand toward the outer wall. “The structure is composed of three levels and an attic. The arches in the upper levels housed statues of heroes and gods.”
As one, the group leaned back, looking toward the upper levels. Even though Ken had visited the Colosseum multiple times, the enormity of the amphitheater never failed to impress him.
“Eighty entrances ring the ground level. And as you can see, each has a number, which would correspond to the number on a spectator’s purchased ticket—a tessera made from a shard of pottery—directing him to the correct section and row to find his seat.”
Ken looked over the group. The guide’s speech was rehearsed, but interesting, and his accent gave the experience a touch of the dramatic. He didn’t mind playing tourist with the students and Bodkin. Though he’d visited the arena multiple times, he still couldn’t fail to be impressed by the enormity and history of the ancient structure, but today he was anxious to get through the Colosseum and onto the Forum’s excavation site. He glanced down at his satchel. The research he hoped to do at the site could set his work apart in the academic world, legitimize his studies, and hopefully earn the attention and funding he needed to further his career.
Signore Celino swept his hand toward the entrance. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, follow me as we step back in time.”
He led them into the barrel-vaulted passageway that ran around the ground floor with stairs and ramps radiating from it, leading up to the various seating sections. Their feet tapped on the stone floor, echoing through the vast space. Inside the building, the air was cool and damp—part of the reason visiting the site at night was discouraged. The building and the surrounding area posed a risk for malaria, also known as Roman fever.
Miss Doyle released Bodkin’s arm to write in her notebook, and the young people craned their necks, admiring the stonework of the high passageway.
“Imagine you are a citizen of ancient Rome and have come to the arena for a day of entertainment.” Signore Celino’s voice boomed, causing the younger ladies and a few of the gentlemen to startle. “Perhaps it is a holiday, a celebration of a military victory, or maybe you are hoping to see your favorite gladiator in battle. If you’re lucky, you may even catch a glimpse of the emperor.”
Ken’s mind wandered as the guide continued speaking. He watched Miss Doyle, wondering what she was writing. Her own impressions of the place? Was she recording the statistics the guide had mentioned? Questions to ask later? What did she think of the Colosseum? Was she astonished? How could she not be?
Signore Celino led them through an archway and down a short flight of crumbling steps into the arena itself. The stadium floor was dirt, in places mud, littered with piles of rock and broken columns. Vines and other greenery grew over the seating area and spread across the ground, giving the impression of Mother Earth reclaiming her territory.
In the center of the space stood a large wooden cross, surr
ounded by smaller monuments representing the Stations of the Cross. Over the last centuries, the site had been consecrated as holy. The reasoning was that it was a location where Christians were martyred, though Ken had found no evidence to support this—likely anti-pagan propaganda. But, between the games and executions, many people had died here, he reasoned. Some must have been Christian.
At first glance, the arena was unchanged from the times Ken had seen it over the years, but he remembered there had been talk of restoration, and when he looked closer, he could see a few sections of the arena floor had been excavated, the walls of the underground passageways visible, and a grouping of white stone fragments were arranged neatly along one side. He wondered if they were an attempt to reconstruct inscriptions.
Intrigued, he set down the heavy satchel and started toward the stones.
“Professor Kendrick?” Miss Doyle called as she walked toward him.
He stopped.
“I owe you an apology,” she said. Her cheeks pulled in a grimace. “The other night, I allowed my fears to become anger, and I should not have directed it toward you.”
Ken was surprised by her admission, but not unpleasantly so. He’d worried he’d have to be the one to seek her out and negotiate a peaceful settlement. “You’ve no need to apologize.”
“I behaved very rudely. To you and to—”
Ken held up a hand. “I understand.”
Her brows pulled together. “You understand? What do you understand?”
“You said it was not just Rosalie’s future on the line,” he said. “By that, you meant that any blotch on her name affects her sister by association, and yourself as well. I imagine the benefactors of the university would not continue to sponsor a potential candidate who allowed their daughter’s reputation to be damaged.”
She looked down, her hands twisting together. The tension hadn’t fully abated, but Ken could feel it lessening. “It sounds so selfish. I promise I am not only looking out for my own interest.”
Ken touched her arm, and she looked up. “You care about your charges, that is obvious. But you are also a woman trying to make a place for herself in a field where your sex is an impediment.”
A Grand Tour (Timeless Victorian Collection Book 2) Page 9
