Anne Barbour (14 page)

Robert blew out his cheeks. “Thank you, sir. You will not mind then, if I return to my duties?”

James acquiesced with a wave of his hand, pausing only to give instructions to Robert to send a note of invitation to the Earl of Clarendon. In what was obviously a rush to escape, Robert mounted his horse and cantered rapidly out of sight.

“No harm?” said Hilary in a gritty voice from where she still stood, frozen in outrage.

“Why, no,” replied James in surprise. “Certainly, it would have been better if Robert had not been forced to such a ludicrous subterfuge, but with Rufus on the premises—” He lifted his brows. “It would not have done at all for Cheeke to become apprised of Rufus’ identity, you know.”

“Well, how in the world could he? At any rate, the man is a renowned antiquary. Could we not trust him with our secret? Would that not be better than having him think we are on the verge of a betrothal?”

“But it does not matter to me what he thinks about you. That is,” he amended hastily as Hilary’s fists clenched and her eyes shot sparks, “such an absurd notion is not liable to spread any farther. In the unlikely event that Cheeke were to repeat Robert’s faradiddle, who would believe him?”

A wave of mortification swept over Hilary. “Indeed?” she queried with great precision.

There was a moment’s awkward silence before James spoke again, his voice low and husky. “I only meant that every one of my acquaintance knows me for a confirmed bachelor—and you, I believe have also declared your intention to remain unmarried.”

To Hilary’s astonishment, James took her hand and gazed into her eyes with a sudden intensity. “Please do not misunderstand me. I meant you no insult.”

She managed a light, humorless, laugh. “None taken, James. However, I believe you mistake the matter. That man believes we are to be married. Do you not know how quickly a tidbit of this magnitude will be swept into the rumor mill? By tomorrow afternoon the vicar’s wife will have called to wish me happy.”

James stared at her. “Nonsense,” he said shortly. “Mordecai Cheeke is not a resident of these parts. The only person he knows here beside us, of course, is the man at whose home he is visiting, Sir Harvey Winslow.”

“Who lives less than twenty miles from here.”

“Y-yes. But—”

“Do you realize that he trades in the same village as we do? His servants are acquainted with those in nearly every other household in the neighborhood.”

By now, James had partially recovered his equilibrium. “Come, come now, Hilary. You are making too much of this. Surely, you cannot be concerned over a parcel of country gossips. Please believe me, I have been the object of that sort of tittle-tattle all my life. I have learned to ignore it, and you should, too.”

Really! The arrogance of the man. Hilary drew herself up. “Those country gossips are my friends, Mr. Wincanon. Being from the city you would not, of course, understands the bond among country folk. We rely on each other and we are interested in each other’s lives.”

“I did not mean to disparage your friends, Hilary. I’m sure they are all of sterling character and good intent. I’m merely saying that you should not allow the rumor mill to guide your life. In any event, a simple denial if anyone brings up the matter to you ought to suffice to stem the flow, and when the general populace realizes there is no truth to the rumor, some other juicy bit of news will soon occur to turn the stream into another direction altogether.”

Hilary sniffed. “All well and good for you to say.” She sighed. “I suppose there is nothing else to do. Except...”

“What?”

“Now, it will not do for me to spend as much time here as I had hoped. Particularly unchaperoned. For example, I believe it would be unwise for me to join you for dinner tonight.”

At this, James knew an unexpected pang of disappointment. “But,” he replied, listening with surprise to the crestfallen note in his voice, “Lord Clarendon will be here, as well.”

“Even more so. Everyone will assume our supposed union already has his blessing.”

Not, thought Hilary, that her father would not leap with open arms at an offer from James Wincanon.

There was a long pause as James digested this theory. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “It seems to me that, on the contrary, you should become a frequent visitor to my site and my home. From our demeanor, it will become perfectly obvious to anyone else on the premises—meaning those ubiquitous servants that concern you so—that our relationship is one of strict scholarship.”

Hilary contemplated his words. She was ashamed to admit how badly she wanted to accept his arguments. She was uneasily aware that it was not just James Wincanon’s Roman villa that intrigued her, nor the presence of Marcus Minimus Rufus in his house. No, it was the antiquary himself whose company she had begun to enjoy. He was infuriating, to be sure, and arrogant and at times downright obnoxious. And yet...

And yet, there was his humor, his intelligence, and the basic decency she was sure lurked beneath the forbidding exterior. Yes, she would like to get to know James Wincanon better—on a purely platonic basis, of course. She would like to bring him out of his shell and make him a part of the neighborhood. In short, she would like to make him happy—or at least happier than he seemed to be now.

Not that it would be at all wise to let him suspect her intentions.

“Mm,” she replied coolly at length. “You may be right. Very well, Father and I will be among those present tonight at your home for dinner.”

How the devil, wondered James, had the situation changed so drastically? His invitation to her had been unwilling, and now, a scant half hour later, he knew an urge to grin idiotically and dance a small jig at her acceptance.

“Very good,” he said stiffly.

James gestured Hilary to the stone wall near where Rufus sat, gazing about him in boredom. Hilary, however, remained standing. “You don’t seem to like Mr. Cheeke,” she said, her voice rising in a question.

“Um, no I don’t. Frankly, I think him little more than a charlatan.” To his surprise, Hilary chuckled.

“I must say, my own impression of him was not favorable, but he seems as harmless as the veriest infant. Do you really believe he has come to winkle secrets from you about your new toy?” She gestured toward the villa.

“There is not the slightest doubt in my mind,” replied James promptly. “However, the villa has taken second place in my list of items to be kept secret from Mordecai Cheeke. If he were to get wind of Rufus’ true identity—”

“But surely he would not believe that Rufus is a traveler through time!”

“I did not believe it, either, if you will recall, but it did not take long to convince me.”

“Yes, but I was trying to make you believe what had happened. If-”  James lifted his hand in an impatient gesture. “In all probability you are right, but if, for example, Rufus inadvertently spoke to him in Latin, he would become immediately suspicious. I don’t think it would take much after that for Cheeke to put two and two together, incredible as the possibility might seem to him. Once he realized what he had discovered, there would be no stopping him. It’s my belief he wouldn’t rest until he’d got Rufus into his own hands, and then he’d put the old fellow on exhibition like a two-headed pig at Bartholomew Fair.”

“Oh, dear.” Hilary frowned in thought. “I suppose he would attempt to thwart our efforts to get Rufus back to his own time, as well.”

“Precisely.”

Hilary shook her head distastefully. “I must say, if what you suppose is true, Mordecai Cheeke is a perfectly dreadful man— and must be kept out of our plans at all costs. Your plans, that is,” she amended hastily as he sent her a minatory glance.

James paused a moment before saying quietly, “No, Hilary. You were right the first time. Rufus was your discovery, and you have more right than I to plan his future in this time period—inasmuch as he will let you.”

Hilary’s breath caught. She knew it must have cost him a great deal to utter those words. Did this mean that he had come to accept her as an equal? Or at least one who could make a meaningful contribution to the burgeoning science of archaeology?

“Thank you,” she said simply.

Lord, James thought, observing the glow that sprang to her eyes like the fire from a roomful of candles, you’d think he’d just gifted her with the crown jewels. He knew an urge to warm himself with that glow, and it was only the presence of Rufus, scuffing at one of the ruined walls of the villa, that prevented him from brushing his fingers along her cheek.

“You have never told me,” he said rather huskily, “how it was that you came to be interested in the ancient Romans.”

She laughed softly. “Oddly enough, it was the tower that snared me. I made up stories about it, picturing the troops who must have built it, and tended it, and their families who lived nearby. What a sight the soldiers must have been, with their polished helmets and their flashing swords.”

“I see your fascination springs from the romantic,” James said austerely. “My interest is purely academic. I have always been motivated by a desire to learn more of the history of the invaders and the effect their presence had on our own civilization.”

“Pooh,” responded Hilary. “You make the Romans sound as though they belonged in the pages of some dusty old tome. To me, they were living, breathing souls, with aspirations and problems— just like you and me. Many of them—like Rufus—came here and fell in love with British women. They married and raised families and died here.”

James snorted. “They were the same as any other conquering race. They looted and pillaged and impressed their culture on the Britons with studded boot heels.”

“Yes, but—”

They had continued their conversation in Latin, and now Rufus interrupted. “The devil you say! Studded boot heels, indeed. The imperial policy has always been one of assimilation. We demand obedience to our laws and our regulations, of course, but we have always encouraged conquered subjects to retain their own customs—their native religions. Perhaps you are unaware,” he continued somewhat pontifically, “that the new temple to Minerva at Aquae Sulis is dedicated to Minerva Sulis, in honor of the spring’s local deity.”

“By Jove!” exclaimed James. “Is that right? The marble head of a deity thought to be Minerva was recently unearthed in Bath— that is, quae Sulis, but we did not know the whole spring was dedicated to her.” His face fell. “It would be impossible to dig there, of course. The whole area is a clutter of pavement and buildings—mainly the abbey and the pump room, which rest atop the probable complex.”

Rufus, whose interest in the matter seemed minimal, at best, shrugged. He glanced at the sun, which had begun its descent toward the western horizon. “Did you say something about dinner?” he asked hopefully.

“Oh!” exclaimed Hilary. “I should return home to change and accompany Father back to your home.”

James glanced at her abstractedly. “Robert will have sent a note to Lord Clarendon on his arrival at the house, and there is no need for you to change. You look perfectly acceptable in your present ensemble.”

Hilary knew a twinge of irritation. She had chosen her gown carefully this morning, knowing she would be spending most of the day in James’s company. Why it seemed necessary to her to appear in her most becoming outfit, she preferred not to ponder, but she had tried on a number of gowns before she was satisfied she looked her best. Apparently, to no avail, she thought dispiritedly. She merely nodded in acquiescence, however, and allowed herself to be handed into the carriage.

Chapter Twelve

Dinner was a pleasant affair. Lord Clarendon professed himself pleased to meet Mr. Wincanon’s somewhat unorthodox guest and the conversation around the table was general. Rufus had been warned again not to speak in Latin, for the earl, though not fluent in that tongue, possessed the usual gentleman’s knowledge of it, gained in his school days. Rufus startled his host, instead, with a brief but impressive display of English. His primary acquisition appeared to be the word, “more.”

“More wine,” he instructed the footman, with an expansive gesture. “More meat. More cakes.” And later, when Hilary had taken herself off to the music room, leaving me gentlemen to their postprandial decanters, “More brandy.”

Not long before bedtime, however, the soldier’s indulgence appeared to take its toll. Lord Clarendon and Hilary had just taken their departure, when, as he had earlier in the day, Rufus grew exceedingly pale. He swayed where he stood, near the fireplace in the music room, and James grasped his arm.

“No, no,” declared Rufus at James’s expression of concern. “I am fine.” But his words were spoken weakly and he was obliged to sit down rather suddenly. ‘Too much wine, perhaps. I feel a bit queasy. I think maybe I’ll just go to bed.”

James assisted him to his feet, noting the perspiration that once more dampened Rufus’ brow and the palms of his hands. By the time they had reached the top of the stairs, however, the warrior had regained a little color and seemed to feel better.

“Until tomorrow,
optima,”
said James courteously. Rufus returned his wish for a good night and waved a genial hand as he disappeared inside his chamber. James turned toward his own suite, an expression of concern on his features.

On the path between Goodhurst and Whiteleaves, Lord Clarendon spoke in his most paternal manner.

“James Wincanon seems a very nice young man.”

“Mm, yes.”

“You and he seem to share the same interests.”

“Indeed, he is one of the most knowledgeable gentlemen I have ever met on the subject of Roman Britain,” Hilary said brightly.

“Do you think, my dear, that perhaps—”

“No, Papa,” said Hilary patiently.

Lord Clarendon sighed.

Later, in her bedchamber, having been divested of the becoming ensemble and her hair brushed for the night, Hilary stared into her mirror. Contemplatively, she twisted one carroty lock of hair around her finger. What was it, she wondered, that James Wincanon looked for in a woman? Certainly more than her own meager attributes. Why, she wondered again, could she not have been born with dark hair? And eyes that were dark, liquid pools? A high forehead and a classical nose would have been nice, too. To say nothing of a few feminine curves.