By Jove (13 page)

The chat went on til nearly seven, so it only seemed sensible to accept Julian’s invitation to dinner at a little Greek restaurant just off-campus, where the owner himself, evidently an old friend of Julian’s, served them.

Once or twice Theo could hear Grant’s voice plead “be careful around him” in her mind. But Julian couldn’t have been nicer. He ordered their meal, then explained each item, comparing their preparations to what was known of ancient cuisine while chatting intermittently to the owner in flawless modern Greek.

When intense dark coffee in tiny cups and ouzo were finally brought, Theo had forgotten everything unpleasant. Julian’s turquoise eyes were warm and friendly as they rested on her, the ouzo and coffee danced sensuous tangos on her tongue, and though she couldn’t forget about Grant’s being late, she had put aside her unhappy thoughts of him, at least for now.

Julian sipped his coffee. “I notice that Grant Proctor isn’t back yet.”

Damn. Why did he have to bring that up now? “I think he’s due back tomorrow. At least, Dr. Waterman said he’d be here in time for his class Wednesday.”

“It’s a long drive from Eleusinian. Five or six hours, anyway. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it were already snowing up there. Still, it’s very beautiful, and quite comfortable for such a remote place.”

“You’ve been there?” Theo couldn’t help asking.

“Years ago, for a brief visit. When Olivia went up there. You’ve heard Grant mention Olivia Weaver, I’m sure.”

“Once or twice,” she said neutrally.

“Olivia taught here before she went up there. Does Grant enjoy being at Eleusinian with her? I suppose he must, if he couldn’t tear himself away. Ah, well. That’s Olivia for you. She has that effect. Poor Paul was devastated when she left us.”

Theo took a sip of coffee, hoping her hand didn’t shake too badly. “Was he?”

“Oh, yes. Inconsolable. But Olivia seems to have gotten over him now that Grant’s there. Quite well, from what one hears. Academia is a small world, you know. Rumors do circulate—here, Dmitri. Another ouzo for us both, please. Are you all right, my dear? You look a little pale. Another ouzo will fix that.”

…

When she finally did see Grant, it was late on Wednesday. She had poked her head around his door Wednesday morning after class, but he was busy explaining reflexive pronouns once again to a very earnest and inarticulate math major and did not see her. He didn’t meet her for their usual lunch together in the lounge or for coffee in the afternoon, and her mood plummeted; not even Marlowe’s delivering an invitation to the department’s Saturnalia party at the end of the term could make her smile. It wasn’t until nearly eight that night that he wandered into the Great Room, where Theo was working on a paper.

“Theo!” he said as he tossed his coat onto the table, which was covered with her books and laptop. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you all day.” He pulled a chair next to her and pecked her on the cheek.

She reached over and retrieved one of her books from under his coat. “Have you?”

“Well, of course. I missed you—”

“How’s Olivia?” The steadiness of her voice amazed her.

“She’s fine. I told her all about you, and she can’t wait to meet you. How was your dad? Did he do any orations? I kept thinking about that, and what fun it would have been to meet him.”

“No, he didn’t. But he made some suggestions on my rhetoric paper.”

“You’ll have to let me read it.” He leaned toward her again, his eyes serious. “I mean it, Theo. I really missed you. I didn’t know it would be so bad.”

“Did you take care of everything up at Eleusinian?” she asked, not looking at him.

“Mostly, I think. I’ll have to go back up at Christmas break to start on my project, but took care of everything else. Theo, stop typing for a minute and look at me. What are you working on that’s so absorbing?”

“My paper for Dr. Forge-Smythe’s class. Julian gave me a few ideas for my topic over dinner the other night, and I’m finding lots of interesting references, thanks to him.”

He was frowning. “You had dinner with Julian?”

“Yes, I did. Why not?” Her hands were frigid, poised over her keyboard, but she would not move them.

He took one and pulled her around in her seat. “Please look at me for a minute?” He took her chin in his hand and looked into her face. It was impossible to maintain her distance when he did things like that. She felt some of the ice in her midsection melt under his steady gaze.

“Okay,” she relented. “I missed you too. I was disappointed not to see you Monday, and a little hurt, I guess.” Or a lot. Julian’s conversation about Olivia had raised up the insecurities she thought she’d mostly laid to rest. But he should know, shouldn’t he?

“But I’m here now,” he began, then stopped. “You look different,” he said with a frown, turning her face from side to side. “You didn’t cut your hair or anything over Thanksgiving, did you?”

“I haven’t done anything to myself, except perhaps catch up on sleep a little.”

“Well, something’s different about you.” He sat back in his chair and looked at her, frowning. “Sometimes I’d almost swear—” He shook his head. “Anyway, it was so beautiful up there, the snow and ice and stillness. I kept wishing you were there to see it. And—” He hesitated, then said, almost in a rush, “I read another modern novel.”

That was such a non sequitur that Theo was forced to smile. But something in his voice made her glance up at him again. He was looking at her with an odd intensity, almost as if he’d never seen her before. And with something else, too—an uncertainty that made her put aside her pique and turn to him. “Which modern novel did you read?” she asked gently.

“
Pride and Prejudice
, by Jane Austen. You said you liked that one best next to
Persuasion
. So I read it.” Again there was that strange note in his voice.

“Did you like it?”

“Yes, of course. But that wasn’t important. It—
he
—helped me make a decision.”

“He?”

“Mr. Darcy.”

“Ah.” Again Theo wanted to smile, but Grant’s face wouldn’t let her. “What decision did he help you make?”

He stared down at his hands, clasped loosely between his knees. “I can’t tell you—not yet. I don’t even know if it’s possible, but I’m damned well going to try.” He swallowed. “Darcy fell in love with Elizabeth. But he couldn’t actually win her until he gave up Pemberley.”

“Darcy
didn’t
give up Pemberley.”

“No, not in the real sense. But he had to give up the old Darcy—everything that he’d always been, everything he’d always lived by—and become a different man before he could truly love her. That’s what I mean by Pemberley. He gave that up, but gained so much.” He looked up at her, and Theo drew in her breath. There was such longing in his eyes, and an enormous sadness, but also determination and hope. “I have to give up Pemberley too, I’ve decided. It’s as scary as hell to even think about. I wish Austen had spent more time in Darcy’s head, showing how he came through remaking himself, because I’m terrified. But I want my Elizabeth more than anything else I’ve ever wanted.
Anything
.” He reached up and touched her cheek, then slid off his chair to his knees and wrapped his arms around her.

Theo held him close, blinking back tears. Here she’d been nursing a silly grudge, and he’d been— “Oh, Grant. I—I don’t want you to have to give anything up for me,” she whispered into his hair.

“But I do want to. It’s the only way I’ll truly win you.” He drew back a little to look into her face, and now he was smiling, the sadness replaced by joy. “Trust me, dearest, loveliest Theo.” He kissed her, a lingering, tender kiss, then stood up. “You go back to your papers. I need to start figuring out how to get rid of Pemberley.”

…

“You’re getting frazzled, my dear. I’ve watched you reread that paragraph for the last five minutes. Come on up to my office for a moment. Dr. d’Amboise is prescribing some rest and medication.”

Theo looked up from her book to Julian, who stood over her at her table in the Great Room. “But it’s my last paper. I’m almost done with it,” she croaked. She had to be. Exams started in three days and she had to start reviewing.

“Fine. Take a break now so you can edit it tomorrow with a fresh mind.” He pulled her chair away from the table and took her hand. “But for now, come along, Miss Fairchild. My word is law here, you know.”

Theo smiled. “As you command.”

“That’s much better.”

In his office he handed her a glass of wine. “Just a small one. Enough to unkink the knots in your neck. You were trying to rub it while you stared at that paragraph.”

“Was I?” Theo took a sip, closed her eyes, and sighed as it trickled down her throat. She
did
need a break. It was so easy to get drawn into the words on the page and forget everything else.

“Which class is it for?” Julian asked, coming around behind her. “Hold still.” He set his glass on the desk next to hers and gently pushed her head down, then began to knead the muscles of her neck with strong, sure fingers.

At his first touch Theo jumped—there were rules about contact between students and faculty, after all—but it just felt so
good
. “Roman Religion and Philosophy. I’m writing about the concept of divinity through Roman history. Oh jeez, that’s wonderful,” she managed to answer.

“Of course it feels good. Tell me, what is your view of the divine? Does it coincide with the Romans’?” His hands were in her hair, massaging her scalp. The tension in her forehead and temples melted away.

I know what I think is divine right now,
she wanted to say but didn’t. “For the Romans there were different levels of divinity, because their religion—mmm, yeah—was so full of borrowings from other people. I’m not sure there was an absolute. I have to admire their—their, uh, pragmatism, though. I think their chief embodiment of the eternal was Rome itself.”

“Turn your head a little—there. Isn’t that better? They still call Rome the eternal city, so I suppose in a way they were right.” Julian’s hands worked their way down her neck and onto her shoulders. “The Greek concept of divinity was something else again. We talked about the gods once before, didn’t we?”

Theo made herself focus on his words, not his hands. “The Romans borrowed a lot of their religious concepts from the Greeks. If it worked for them, they appropriated it and made it their own.”

“I’ve often thought about that.” He gave her shoulders a final squeeze and waved away her thanks as he moved back to his chair. “You look better already. Now, where was I? Ah, utility and the divine. Think about this for a moment, my dear. Picture the Roman Empire, expanding out of Italy and spreading across much of the known world, encompassing dozens of cultures and societies within its borders, taking in ideas as well as trade goods and taxes. Isis and Mithras and other gods imported from other lands became popular as time went by, and took their places by the old gods.

“But what happened to those old gods who were pushed aside when they were no longer wanted or needed? What happened to the millions of prayers and sacrifices that were made in their names? If one were fanciful, one could feel sorry for those old gods, called into being by human need and then cast aside by human inconstancy. A melancholy fate, don’t you think?”

Theo smiled and sipped her wine. This was almost as much fun as their conversation about the heroes of mythology. “It must have been. Imagine how they must have felt when Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity. It was the beginning of their end. Their altars bare, no prayers and songs of praise to listen to, less and less worship to bask in. How sad for them.”

“Ah, you follow me precisely. Your reputed ancestor, godly Emperor Constantine. He has a great deal to answer for, don’t you think? Casting the poor Olympians from their homes in men’s hearts? Dying peacefully in his bed was far too good a fate for him. So what does a god do when he is no longer a god? One must pity him, no?” Julian heaved a melancholy sigh, but his eyes still twinkled at her.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Would he stop being a god, even though no one worships him?”

“A good point, my dear. A leopard cannot change its spots.”

“Then it might be a rather nice existence for them, don’t you think? All the advantages of being gods, with none of that tiresome having to answer prayers and perform miracles for ungrateful humans. And none of those dreadful burnt offerings.” She smiled at him. “The smell must have been awful.”

Julian laughed in delight. “You’re wonderful, my dear Theodora. Absolutely perfect. I love to play with these ideas with you, because you always understand. I can’t be the stern academic all the time. Now, you must forgive me my musings, and I must let you get back to your work.” He bent and refilled her glass. “After you’ve finished your medicine, that is.”

Chapter Nine

It was the final day of term. Theo had taken her last exam that morning. Now she was having lunch with Grant before she went back to her room to pack and go home for Christmas.

She stared out the window at the bedraggled courtyard below. The inch of snowfall the night before did little to beautify the flowerbeds below, empty save for decaying dead leaves and litter blown in by the wind. She felt almost as empty, all the words in her brain poured into papers and exams. And as for her heart—that was feeling the emptiest of all.

In the three and a half weeks since that evening in the Great Room, she’d barely seen him. He’d been as absorbed in books as she, consulting obscure texts in the department’s rare-book library, firing off questions to other universities, and emailing Olivia. Theo had tried her best not to mind about that, but it had been one more thing to trouble her. She’d thought that their relationship had turned a corner; his talk of Darcy and Pemberley had sounded almost like—like a declaration. But maybe she’d been wrong; it was almost as if he’d forgotten she existed. He’d sounded almost surprised when she called him to make this lunch date. She was surprised that he’d even answered his phone. She closed her eyes and leaned her head on her hands.