Scandalous Summer Nights

by Anne Barton

  Her clothes felt tight and confining after a few hours of uninhibited bliss, but she supposed they were necessary before she and James rode back into Haven Bridge. After she’d dressed and repaired her hair the best she could, she slipped her crutches under her arms and followed James toward the horses.

  “Wait.” He halted midstride, his forehead furrowed. “I think I’ll collect a sample of soil from the riverbank, something I can take back to Humphrey, along with your drawing. Would you excuse me just a moment?”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  He helped her walk the short distance to the river, and Olivia watched from the embankment while James hopped lightly to the sand. He slung his bag off his shoulder, withdrew a small drawstring pouch, and crouched beside the stones he’d unearthed earlier. He’d just scooped a handful of soil into the pouch and was tying the string when something in the bank behind him glinted in the sun. She blinked to be sure she wasn’t seeing things. Sure enough, there amid the dirt, a speck of metal winked.

  “James, I think you just uncovered something.”

  He looked down where he’d been digging. “Another rock?”

  “No. It’s shiny.” She shuffled to the edge of the grass and pointed. “There.”

  He crouched again and brushed his fingers over the newly exposed soil. “Ah, I’ve got it.” He stood, faced her, and opened his palm to reveal a small clump of soil. Gingerly, he pushed the dirt away to reveal a small metal ring.

  “Incredible,” he whispered, moving closer so that she could see.

  “Oh,” she said, striving to sound equally awed, even though it was hard to appreciate the band while it was caked with mud.

  James rubbed the ring clean against the sleeve of his jacket, carefully rinsed it in the river, and dried it. His voice low with wonder, he said, “I think it’s gold, Olivia. And likely very, very old.”

  His face was alight with excitement, and she could almost see his mind spinning, playing out the possible histories of the ring, imagining who might have worn it. And in that moment, she truly understood this passion of his. It wasn’t about achieving fame or fortune so much as touching a piece of the past. “Would you like to give me the journal? I can add some more notes and indicate where—”

  “No.” He jumped up onto the grass and held out the ring. “Let’s see if it fits.”

  Now the gold sparkled in his palm, looking like it could have come straight from a fancy jeweler’s on Bond Street. Olivia hesitated a moment, then swallowed and held out her right hand—since wearing any sort of band on the left before her wedding might be inviting bad luck. Even so, her traitorous fingers trembled.

  James’s own hand was steady and his smile broad as he slid the ring on. “It’s perfect,” he breathed, smoothing his thumbs over the back of her hand while they admired the ring together. “It’s yours, Olivia. I want you to have it.”

  “Shouldn’t you give it to Uncle Humphrey? This is his land.”

  “He’d want you to have it. I’m sure.”

  “But… but you haven’t even properly studied it yet. We don’t have any idea whom it belonged to. Maybe some poor picnicker dropped it and will return looking for it.”

  James laughed. “A mere seven hundred years too late.”

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. How strange to be wearing something that might have been crafted in the Middle Ages. “It’s that old?”

  “Quite possibly. Humphrey has been telling me stories, and he’s long believed that there was once a church or monastery somewhere along the river, dating back to the twelfth century.”

  Heavens. “All the more reason why I can’t keep it.” She tried to slip it off, but it wouldn’t slide past her knuckle. James pressed her hand between his palms.

  “If you hadn’t seen it, it would have been washed away with the next heavy rain and deposited on the bottom of the river, not to be found for another seven hundred years—if ever.” She opened her mouth to object, but he shook his head, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it softly. Almost reverently. “Of all the people who have walked on this ground, I think you were meant to find it. You. And of all the days you could have found it, I think you were meant to find it today, which, in my mind at least, was pretty special.”

  Something warm and tingly stirred in her belly. It almost sounded as though her logical, scientific, number-loving fiancé believed in fate. “It was special.”

  “Then it’s settled. The ring is yours. I’ll still purchase you a wedding band,” he added, “but you and I will know that this ring symbolizes our wonderful afternoon by the river.”

  “And in the river,” she added mischievously. “Don’t forget about that.”

  His mouth curled into a wicked grin. “As if I could.”

  James cradled her face and kissed her like they were in front of a church.

  It might have been the very best moment of her life—if she didn’t know that her happiness would come to an abrupt halt when he left for Egypt in a few short weeks.

  “Uncle Humphrey, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Lady Olivia.” James sidestepped a cat that darted from the room, and Olivia bumped into an odd sculpture on a low table, steadying it just before it tipped over.

  “At last.” Humphrey gripped the arms of his chair in order to hoist himself out of it, but Olivia stopped him. “Please, don’t get up. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crompton.” She smiled and bobbed her head.

  “Pshaw, we’re to be family. You must call me Uncle Humphrey.” The man’s rheumy but kind eyes focused on Olivia, crinkling at the corners. “I’ve been asking James to bring you around for days. I know this place isn’t exactly Carlton House, but I haven’t forgotten how to play the part of host. I think we can round up some tea, can’t we, James?”

  Before he could respond, Olivia smoothly removed a stack of books from an ottoman, set them on the floor, and sat across from Humphrey. “Thank you, but I did not come for tea, only conversation. And though I’ve never been to Carlton House, I suspect that even if I had, I’d prefer your cottage, with books and curiosities in every corner.”

  The old man nodded his approval. “How is your ankle? What happened to your crutches?”

  James snorted. “An excellent question, Uncle. She should be—”

  “I have decided to use them for kindling,” Olivia interrupted. “And my ankle is much improved, thank you.”

  “Glad to hear it. No bride should have to walk down the aisle with crutches if she can avoid it.”

  “Agreed,” she said, happy to have found an ally in James’s uncle. “And how are you feeling?”

  He dismissed her question with the wave of a gnarled hand. “I tire easily. What else would you expect of a man my age? But I shall be at the church on the day you and James marry. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  James held up the bouquet of wildflowers that Olivia had picked on her way to the cottage. “Uncle, these are from Olivia. I’m going to see if I can find a vase for them.”

  “Go on, then, but don’t use the African clay vessel—it’s from the fifteenth century, and it leaks. Oh, and don’t use the Greek vase with the Orpheus painting either. The cats already broke the matching one.”

  James rolled his eyes and wandered toward the back of the cottage. “I’ll find something.”

  “Excellent,” pronounced Humphrey, watching James walk away. “Now we may speak freely. I must have a look at this ring. May I?” He held out his hand.

  “Of course. By all rights, it’s yours.”

  He chuckled. “I have no need for it, and you found it.”

  Olivia tugged at the ring, but it wouldn’t budge. “My finger must be a bit swollen,” she said apologetically.

  “No matter, let me see.”

  She stood before him and extended her hand, feeling rather awkward as he grabbed the magnifying glass on the table beside him and peered through the lens at the ring. “It’s very plain.
”

  “But beautiful in its simplicity.” Olivia felt the need to defend it.

  “Oh, quite.” Humphrey’s eyes never left the gold band. “It has a slight bevel around the edges. Any inscription?”

  Olivia frowned. She hadn’t removed the ring since the day they’d discovered it—almost a week ago. “I don’t know. There could be something on the inside.”

  The old man’s eyebrows shot up his wrinkled forehead. “I’m surprised James didn’t check.”

  “Speaking of James,” Olivia said, glancing toward the door where he’d left, “I know that he inherited his love of antiquities and exploring from you. May I ask you something of a personal nature?”

  Humphrey set down his magnifying glass and laced his fingers together. “Certainly, my dear. Ask away.”

  “Have you ever been on a large expedition?”

  “No.” A wistful expression settled over his lined face. “I wanted to, though. I yearned for the adventure, the thrill of uncovering the secrets of the past.”

  “What prevented you from going?”

  “Responsibilities kept me here for many years. After that, my health prevented me from travel. So I must content myself with books and other men’s accounts of their discoveries. I regret not going when I was young and able, but it’s hardly a tragedy.” Except, the pained expression on his face suggested it was.

  Olivia had suspected as much, but even so, her heart sank. “James is considering giving up his spot on the expedition, and I don’t want him to. This is his dream and the opportunity of a lifetime. He must go to Egypt.”

  “It’s generous of you to give him your blessing and encouragement. But whether or not he goes is his decision.” He tented his fingers and shook his head thoughtfully. “I certainly don’t envy him, having to choose.”

  “What will it be like for him? Is it very dangerous?”

  “It can be. The area where he’s traveling is far from England’s civilized shores. Other groups have suffered from the lack of food and water, diseases, and horrible, swarming insects.” Humphrey must have seen the alarm she felt, because he quickly added, “But James’s team will be well prepared, and he’s a far cry from your typical pampered Englishman. He can defend himself against anyone.”

  That was some comfort. “Would you help me?” Impulsively, she reached out and clasped Humphrey’s hand. “Would you reason with him? Convince him to go? I can see how sad you are that you never had the chance, and I don’t want him to feel that way. I don’t want him to squander this opportunity because of me.”

  “Young lady, if there is one thing I’ve learned in all my seventy-some years, it’s that logic is no match for love.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think love is a part of this equation. Did James tell you that my brother is forcing us to marry?”

  The old man quirked a brow. “It makes little difference.”

  Oh, but it did. To her, at least. “He didn’t have a choice.”

  “We always have choices, my dear.”

  “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes, we do.” Looking into Humphrey’s kind old eyes, she added, “Please, promise me that you’ll encourage him to go—no matter what. I know that, in his heart, he still longs to go. He belongs on that expedition.”

  Humphrey opened his mouth to respond, but James strode into the room.

  “Here we are.” He proudly presented the flowers, which he’d stuffed into a pitcher. Water dripped down the sides and several of the flower stems bent at odd angles. He looked about the room for a flat, available surface on which to place the arrangement.

  “Shall I set that on the mantel?” Olivia took the flowers and attempted repairs before placing the pitcher out of the reach of the cats. She hoped Humphrey realized that she didn’t wish to continue the conversation about the trip in front of James.

  “Lady Olivia, I must compliment you on your excellent drawings. I feel as though I’m there with you at the river. Such an idyllic spot, isn’t it?”

  A flush crawled up her neck as she nodded mutely. She and James had found it idyllic, indeed.

  “Will you be returning there today?” Humphrey asked.

  James flashed her a knowing smile. “There’s much more to explore.”

  Heavens. If she had any hope of encouraging James to leave her, she needed to stop spending so much time with him. “Actually, I need to return to the inn. I’m woefully behind on my correspondence.” It was true—she was always behind on her correspondence.

  “Allow me to walk you back,” James offered.

  “There’s no need. Stay and enjoy your uncle’s company.” Turning to Humphrey, she said, “Thank you for sharing your insight and wisdom, sir. It’s easy to see why you are James’s favorite uncle.”

  “And it’s easy to see why he chose you as his fiancée,” he said, with a slight emphasis on the word chose.

  “I look forward to seeing you again soon.” Olivia reached for one of his hands and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

  But as she started to pull away, he gripped her fingers surprisingly hard, keeping her there. His eyes were glassy and his mouth opened slightly, as though he were in a daze.

  James moved to her side. “Are you all right, Uncle Humphrey?”

  “What? Oh yes, I just had a feeling—I get them sometimes, you know.” He looked up at Olivia like he knew all her secrets, and in a tremulous voice said, “It’s the ring. You were meant to have it. It’s important that you know that.”

  “I understand,” she lied, because it seemed like what the old man needed to hear.

  “Very good.” He released her, laid his head against the chair, and closed his eyes like he was weary to the bone.

  James smiled and raised a finger to his lips, then walked her toward the front door of the cottage. He leaned in as though he wanted to kiss her, but Olivia pretended not to notice. “Your uncle is a treasure. Thank you for the introduction.”

  “Are you sure I can’t convince you to go to the river with me?”

  She shook her head and started out the door. “I have some correspondence to tend to.”

  “I believe you mentioned that. Is something troubling you?”

  “Of course not.” She didn’t look at him. “I’ve just been neglecting certain things, and while I’ve greatly, ah, enjoyed our afternoons at the river, I cannot squander every day there.”

  The hurt look that crossed his face made her want to throw her arms around him, but she couldn’t give in to weakness. She was doing this for him.

  He recovered quickly and smiled. “I do realize that I cannot demand your undivided attention all the time. Even if I wish I could.”

  “I appreciate your understanding.”

  He frowned. “You would tell me if anything was amiss, wouldn’t you?”

  “I would. In fact, there is something you should know.” Blast, this was difficult. “You were concerned last week that after our, ah…”

  “Lovemaking?”

  “Yes. That I might be…”

  “With child?” Something akin to hopefulness flashed in his eyes.

  She nodded. “I’m not. I wanted to put your fears to rest.”

  “They weren’t exactly fears, Olivia. I—” He looked like he wanted to say more, but clamped his lips shut.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she continued, “that it would be prudent to postpone any further… lovemaking… until after we are wed.” And until after he returned from Egypt.

  “I don’t mind waiting, Olivia. It will only be another week or so.” Indeed, Owen would be returning to Haven Bridge with the marriage license any day now. “But we can still spend time together, can’t we?”

  How she longed to say yes, that she would happily spend every waking and nonwaking moment with him from now till eternity, doing anything he liked from digging, to drawing, to making love. “I don’t think we should. It’s bad luck for the bride to see her groom before the wedding.”

  “Superstitious tripe.”


  “I see no reason to tempt Fate.”

  He reached out, as though he intended to pull her close, kiss her till she was warm and pliable, and put an end to this nonsense. She stepped back.

  His brow furrowed. “Did something happen? Uncle Humphrey didn’t say something to make you uncomfortable, did he?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Not at all. I’m sure most brides feel a bit anxious in the days leading up to their nuptials.” It was remarkable how the lies came faster and easier now.

  “Very well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But you’ll go back to being the Olivia I know right after the wedding, I hope.”

  “I’m certain I shall.” She waved and set off down the walk, without looking back—so James wouldn’t see her cry.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Hieroglyphs: (1) Early Egyptian picture symbols, dating to the fourth millennium BC. (2) Indecipherable handwriting, as in

  Olivia’s hastily scrawled letter was approximately as legible as hieroglyphs.

  Olivia had thought she’d return to the inn, ponder what Humphrey had told her, and consider how best to persuade James to go to Egypt. But the moment that she opened the door, Hildy pulled her into their room and glanced nervously into the hallway before closing the door. “A young woman was here, looking for you, my lady.”

  Olivia sucked in a breath. She’d all but given up on the hope that Sophia would respond to her letter. In retrospect, Olivia’s invitation to meet her in this remote village had seemed silly at best and presumptuous at worst. “Who was it?”

  “A Miss Sophia Rolfe.”

  Her heart beat faster. Her half sister was here. “Was she alone?”

  “She was, indeed. I told her that you were out. She said that she’s taken a room here for the night and would wait for you downstairs in the taproom.”