“Aye, that’s what I said. Fun.”
The other man scoffed and planted his cue as his visage darkened. “I am not interested in finding a fun wife. I am interested in one who understands the meanings of dignity and decorum. Which I can assure you, Lady Charity does not.”
Slowly, Phin’s brows rose. This was more emotion than he’d seen from Lord Wilton the entire game, and it was all over a woman. Not just any woman, but one who was completely opposite everything the man was looking for. The wrong woman, one might say.
Phineas grinned. Aye, there was definitely some interest there.
He was about to point that out to the man—after all, one didn’t grow up with as many brothers as he had without learning a thing or three about teasing—when he heard his name being called.
He turned to find a red-headed man hurrying toward him, holding an envelope between two fingers, and recognized him at once. “Ah, Carnlough! Ye’ve come to join the game?”
But the younger man halted, his eyes widening, before turning into a wince. “No, sir. My employer is Lord Carnlough. I’m his valet, Francis Crymble.”
Phin mumbled an apology even as he peered closer at the man. By Zeus, his original assumption wasn’t too far off; Crymble looked remarkably like the earl, whom Phin remembered was the brother of one of Raina’s school chums and was here as a chaperone.
The valet winced again, which made Phin wonder how often the mix-up occurred, then held up the envelope. “This arrived for you in today’s post. It was sent to Aver—Lord Carnlough’s room before we realized the mix-up. I looked for your man to pass it on—”
Reaching out, Phin plucked the envelope from the younger man’s fingers. “I don’t have a valet.” At Crymble’s surprised expression, Phin smirked as he slit open the envelope. “I somehow manage to dress myself, and Raina’s maid arranges my washing.” Glancing once more at Crymble’s raised brows, Phin shrugged. “Besides, with all the traveling I do, I’ve never managed to retain a valet. You’d be surprised how few want to hack through the Amazon jungles or camp in the sands of North Africa.”
The red-headed man didn’t reply, but still looked uncomfortable with the whole situation. Because Phin had the audacity to shave himself, or because he’d been confused for his employer? Either way, he bowed hurriedly, turned on his heel, and strode from the billiards room.
Dismissing him, Phin unfolded the letter and was soon absorbed.
“Good news?”
He glanced up to find Lord Wilton watching with a quirked brow. The other man shrugged. “You are grinning.”
“I’ll say!” Phin slapped the letter against his open palm. “The Society has another offer for me. I’ll have to pop down to London soon to get the particulars…”
He trailed off as he skimmed the rest of the letter. As always, the members of the Board of Directors for the Society of Archaeology offered him a decent reward for fetching a particular artifact for their collection. This one was a certain chalice of Roman origin, which sources indicated could be found in a ruined city in the Holy Land.
Phin hummed as he considered the logistics, while ignoring his billiards opponent.
He could leave Raina here at Fangfoss Manor—it wasn’t as if she’d be alone after all—for the trip to London. The Board would give him the rest of the details, and then he’d have to head back to the Highlands to gather the rest of his equipment and notes. He’d been to the Holy Land before and was confident in his knowledge. He wasn’t as much an expert on Roman antiquities as Olive—
Olive!
Rushing off on this adventure would mean leaving Olive! It would mean giving up the opportunity to find the matching golden sphaera to the one in his collection, but it would also mean giving up on the chance of a future with Olive. If he ran off on an adventure, knowing how desperately she wanted to experience the same, he’d be a cad.
But perhaps…
After yesterday’s chat with her brother, Phin was feeling rather certain of his chances at a future with Olive. Perhaps he just needed to dangle the offer of an archaeological trip in front of her.
His lips curled upward at the memory of her term for what he did: combat archaeology. Only his Olive could come up with something so ridiculous, yet so perfect.
“Phineas!”
As if thinking of her had conjured her, Olive burst into the billiards room. When every single masculine head turned her way, she blushed a deep pink and drew her bottom lip between her teeth.
That sight sent twin spikes of arousal and jealousy through Phin, and he glared at the other men in the room who had the audacity to appreciate her beauty.
When she released her lip with an audible pop—Phin managed not to groan at the sensuality of the sound—and lifted her chin, he had to grin. Despite her embarrassment at having used his first name in front of all these guests, she didn’t hesitate to step into the room and march over to him.
“Mr. Prince,” she began properly, “I have some information for you, but I need to see the charts again.”
Behind him, Wilton cleared his throat. “You are a popular one today, aren’t you?”
“Shut up, m’lord,” Phin told him distractedly as he handed the other man his cue without dropping Olive’s gaze. “I forfeit the game.”
Without waiting for a response, Phin crammed the letter from the Board of Directors into the pocket of his jacket and held out his arm for Olive.
When she took it, he swept her from the billiards room as regally as he could. But once in the hall on the way to the library, he hesitated.
“Olive, about yesterday—”
“You had better not be about to apologize, Phineas Prince.” She was staring straight ahead, her cheeks still bright pink. “Unless it’s to apologize for disappearing on me for the rest of the day.”
He grinned, pleased to know she didn’t regret their intimacies. His free hand closed over hers where it rested on his arm. “Love, that’s exactly what I was planning on doing. I’m sorry I disappeared on ye like that. I was unavoidably detained.” By yer brother. Asking about yer future.
If he hadn’t been watching her, he would’ve missed the way her nostrils flared, and her shoulders relaxed slightly. He hoped that meant she forgave him.
“So, can I take this welcome intrusion to mean ye’ve remembered what was nagging at ye?”
She glanced at him, and slowly, her lips curled mischievously. She glanced left once, then back to him, before giving him a slight nod. She just looked so damn pleased with herself, he couldn’t resist the grin that burst free, before he stopped them in the middle of the hall, leaned over, and dropped a quick kiss to her lips.
When he straightened, she blinked up at him, looking a bit bemused, and he couldn’t resist stealing another kiss.
But he wasn’t a complete bounder, and he didn’t want her reputation ruined, so he cleared his throat and tugged her toward the library doors. “What did you remember?”
“I was playing croquet with the girls this morning, and I happened to be thinking about the ornamentation of roof ridges in the Roman empire…”
“Aye.” He could understand her thought process. “Fangfoss Manor has some elaborate examples of similar ornamentation. I remember thinking the section of yer paper on them was really quite fascinating.”
They stopped in the library in front of the large table, and Phin bent over to begin unpacking the charts from the box they’d stashed in one of the cabinets. It wasn’t until he stepped back to the table that he realized she hadn’t responded. Instead, she stared down at her twined hands, as if not really seeing them.
He stood there, juggling all the rolled charts, and realized something he’d said had bothered her. “Olive?”
“My paper…” She took a deep breath, then looked up to meet his eyes. “They accepted my paper. The Society. I mean, my paper will be published in the Journal,” she finished in a whisper.
Phin, on the other hand, let out an ecstatic whoop and dropped every damn
chart and map, reaching instead for her. His hands clamped around her shoulders, and he gave her a little spin before pulling her into his arms and squeezing her tightly.
“That’s wonderful, Olive! I’m so pleased!” She was blushing again, but made no move to pull away, so he squeezed her again and gave them both another spin. “Ye’re going to be a published author!”
“I never imagined…”
When she trailed off, he snorted, then set her down. “I did.” He kissed her upturned nose, not caring that her spectacles were knocked askew. “I never doubted ye, no’ after I read yer work. Ye’re a brilliant scholar, Olive L’arbre, and perhaps now ye’ll admit I havenae been bamming ye.”
She was blushing again, but he loved that she held his gaze when she twitched her brow teasingly. “Well…perhaps.”
Chuckling, he glanced toward the wide-open double doors and decided he couldn’t risk showing her exactly how much he admired her. Instead, he stepped back to pick up the fallen charts.
“Well, lass, dinnae leave me in suspense. What did ye come up with?”
She reached over to pluck a particular map from the pile, and he abandoned the rest to focus on that one. With her help, he anchored the corners with books and followed her finger as she traced out the excavation trenches.
“The golden sphaera was found here, correct?” She didn’t give him time to answer, before continuing. “The second wasn’t found, despite expanding the dig in all four directions. We assumed its presence meant this building was an important official building, and I think that’s still correct, based on its size.”
“And the fact it was divided into several rooms,” he tossed in, tapping at the floorplan sketched onto the excavation map.
She nodded. “Exactly. Due to the presence of the columns, we assumed the roof slanted this way”—she brushed the side of her hand along the front half of the building—“which is why the sphaera ended up here in the courtyard. Since the second wasn’t found, the archaeologists concluded it was missing from the site.”
“Correct.” He loved the way she could be so serious, even as her voice brimmed with excitement. He sent her a teasing grin. “But can I assume they were wrong?”
“You can hope at least.” She moved her fingers to what would be the rear of the building. “This was the area that wasn’t excavated. We were standing here yesterday morning, remember?”
“The river rocks,” he breathed, bending over the map. “Do ye think the Derwent flowed behind this building at the time, which is why the archaeologists dismissed the need for excavation?”
“I think…” Olive’s words were slow, as if she were considering each one before uttering it, “there’s a possibility the ridgeline of the roof ran parallel to the front of the building.” She shifted the side of her hand so it was aligned side-to-side. “If there were a pair of matching sphaerae along the ridgeline of the roof, and the building was destroyed…”
When she trailed off, Phin slowly straightened, eyes wide as he considered the implications. “Then the second golden ball could’ve rolled down the opposite side, to the rear of the building,” he finished in a whisper.
Holding his gaze, Olive nodded, her barely contained glee gleaming behind her glasses. “They were digging in the wrong place.”
Part of him wanted to whoop in excitement again and drag her into his arms. But he needed to be certain.
“Ye think it’s possible the matching sphaera is still here?” He tapped at the map. “Behind the back wall? Just waiting to be excavated?”
“I think, if the River Derwent flowed along the rear of the building while it was occupied, then not only could the sphaera have rolled from the ridge down the back of the building, but it would’ve hit the water and sunk.”
He didn’t think it was possible for his heart to speed up any more, but it did.
“It could still be there, buried under layers of riverbank mud!”
She must have been as excited as he was because she reached over and grabbed his hand. “Just waiting for you to find it!”
The words gave him pause.
“Nay, lass,” he corrected, shaking his head. “Waiting for us to find it!”
When he squeezed her hand, she squeezed his back.
“When do we start?”
The thought of embarking on this adventure filled him with a kind of excitement he’d never felt before. Aye, he’d faced death and dismemberment, and even—shudder—boredom on his travels before. But today, now…?
The thought of sharing an adventure with her, even if it meant a gentle stroll to the nearby ruins with a set of spades and a notebook, well, that was somehow far more exciting. Perhaps it was the glint in her eyes, or the knowing quirk of her lips, but whatever it was, Phin couldn’t wait to start.
He glanced at the window, noting the clear skies. “It looks as if we’re having a break in the weather. Go change into yer auldest gown and meet me near the maze in thirty minutes with a notebook and some pencils. I’ll see if I can find some equipment.”
Her grip hadn’t loosened. “Are we going to do some archaeology, Phineas?”
“Aye, lass.” His smile bloomed. “We’re going on an adventure!”
Chapter 8
Archaeology was dirty, meticulous, and hurt her back. Olive had dirt under her nails, a sunburn on the back of her neck where her hat didn’t quite protect her skin as much as it should’ve, and she’d ruined two skirts by kneeling in the mud.
It was everything she’d ever hoped it would be.
The rest of Friday afternoon was spent preparing the site for digging. Phineas showed her how to stake out the area using flags and wood and string so they’d have a clear grid to work on. Luckily, the sphaera could only be along the rear of the building, so they wouldn’t have to excavate too much area.
He’d seemed surprised when she’d picked up a shovel to help remove the top foot or so of dirt, but she’d pointed out it’d get done faster if she helped him. Besides, she’d worn her sturdiest boots and shortest skirt, although she quickly came to realize all the material was still in the way.
Why couldn’t ladies wear trousers? If—no, when—she got to go gallivanting around the world, visiting historical sites and seeing archaeological wonders, she was damn well going to wear a split skirt. Or trousers!
By Zeus, it wasn’t as if she was suggesting she lop said trousers off four inches above her knee or anything! But when she’d asked Mary to purloin a pair of her brother’s pants from his valet, the poor woman had had to go have a lie down.
So for now, Olive was archaeologying in skirts.
Wait, is that the word? Archaeologying? The act of doing archaeology? Archaeolging? Excavating?
Digging. She was digging.
Thanks to the records from the last excavation, they knew the layer of artifacts they were searching for started more than a foot below the current ground level. It was easy to compare, because the ruins themselves had been cleared down to that level, so they just needed to remove the dirt from the rear of the building.
Well, they called it dirt, but it was closer to mud. Thanks to the rain they’d had for most of the last week, the ground had only just begun to dry out. Friday was overcast at best, and the following days contained intermittent sun. Both of them kept an eye on the weather, not wanting all of their hard work to be swept away by rain.
By Phineas’s calculations, the edge of the ancient riverbed was within a dozen feet of the rear of the building, which would’ve meant the sphaera had rolled even further away. And if their guess was correct—if the golden ball’s weight had caused it to sink in the mud of the riverbank—the artifact they were searching for was significantly deeper than the rest of the finds.
By unspoken agreement, Olive and Phineas worked past dinnertime on Friday, meaning she wasn’t going to be able to join the rest of the guests for whatever Friday Night Mandatory Fun Miss Julia—Lady Fangfoss—had planned for them.
Such a shame.
The next morning, the pair of them had left the manor even before the other guests were awake, striding toward the Roman ruins, determined to make progress. Olive had told her friends their plans, and they promised to cover for her.
Strangely, when she’d told Ash she’d be excavating by the river, he’d just twitched a brow and asked, “With Mr. Prince? Have fun.”
Phineas had indeed proven to be an expert in the field. He’d not only arranged food and beverages for them that day, but tarps and some folding chairs. He explained that the canvas was to protect the excavations in case it did rain, in which case the pair of them could take shelter in the old building—little more than a shed—which the previous excavation had used as well. He stored their supplies, including the extra folded canvas tarps, inside.
Saturday was spent clearing the top layer of soil. Once they got down a few inches, the dirt turned back to, well, dirt, rather than mud. Which was good, because although Olive had started out excited to help, she hadn’t taken into account how heavy a shovelful of mud was.
No one ever said archaeology was easy. At least no one is shooting poison blow darts at you.
The reminder of one of Aberdeen Jones’s adventures made her smile.
“What?”
Phineas’s question had her straightening, her hands pressed to the small of her back as she stretched. He was standing with his booted foot propped on the shovel, paused in the act of skimming another half-inch of dirt from their grid. She took a moment to admire him, in his tweed trousers and waistcoat, his collar unbuttoned, and his sleeves rolled up to reveal a dusting of hair on his forearms.
Since he was looking at her expectantly, her smile grew. “I was just thinking this has to be one of the more boring archaeological digs you’ve participated in, Mr. Jones.”
His smile was lopsided, and he shrugged before bending back over his work. “Most digs are tedious and full of meticulous work if ye want to do it properly. Besides, how could it be boring when ye’re here with me?” He shot her a wink over his shoulder, which made her feel warm inside.
The Scholar and the Scot Page 9
