By Jove (3 page)

“Oh, Theo.” Mom sighed. “You know you have to be careful with the sun. You and your father have such fair skin.”

“It’s not that bad. I just look kind of red, that’s all. It’s embarrassing, but at least no one will be able to see if I blush.”

“They will, too. You’ll turn purple,” said a new voice.

“Lionel!” said her mother. “Get off the extension!”

“Oh, hi, Dad. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Dad chuckled. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Send me your reading lists when you get them. I want to be able to quiz you when you come home.”

Theo groaned. “I think I’ll be getting enough quizzing here. I’ll email them when I can. Classes start tomorrow. Be nice to my cat, you hear?”

“Hmmph. She’s a spoiled brat, but I suppose I will.
Vale, cara rufula filia
.”

“Are you referring to my red skin or hair?
Vale, stercoreus senex. Amo te
.”

“Ah.” Dad chuckled again. “Good alliteration. Love you, too.
Vale
.” There was the beep of a phone being switched off.

“Theo, stop calling your father bad names in Latin,” Mom scolded. “Yes, I know you called him a nasty old man.”

“He called me ‘little red child’ first. And anyway, he loves it when I come up with new Latin insults. Mom, I’ve got to go get ready for the dinner.”

“All right, dear. Please wear your hair down and not screwed up in that tight little knob you used to wear it in at Sneed. You’re so pretty when you let yourself be.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Theo hung up and gathered her toiletries, then headed down the hall to shower in the communal bathroom. It
was
hard to go back to being a student after three years of paid working life and her own apartment. But she’d dreamed of coming here, dreamed of spending her time discussing the finer points of historical prose and making convoluted Latin puns over glasses of merlot at department gatherings. Most of all, she’d dreamed of being with people who understood her love of the past, who would share her enthusiasm and speak her language, in all senses of the word.

Gray eyes and unexpected dimples flashed across her mind’s eye again. Well, that was true. Not everyone she had met was that bad. Surely Grant Proctor would be at the dinner tonight.

Chapter Two

An hour later Theo stood in the Great Room at Hamilton Hall, clutching a glass of wine and exchanging nervous smiles with the other new grad students. Dozens of candles glowed on the long linen-covered table set in the center of the room. Undergrads in white tunics and garlands of ivy circulated with platters of stuffed mushrooms and smoked salmon canapés. She turned to the student standing next to her. He studied the scene before him with such a lack of surprise that she guessed he was in his second year.

“Are department gatherings always this, er, elaborate?” she ventured.

The young man shrugged. “This is how Julian likes it.” He made a grab at the tray of a passing server. “At least he feeds us well,” he said around a mouthful of stuffed mushroom. “New here, huh?”

“Yes.” Theo self-consciously sipped from her glass.

“You ought to see the
real
department dinners. The symposia. You’ll get to one if you’re lucky. The faculty has them every month, but they’re by invitation only. I’ve been
twice
,” he added with smug emphasis. “They’re the real thing. We eat reclining on couches, and drink from silver cups, and tell riddles and play Greek and Latin drinking games.”

“Wow. Really?” Not that it was terribly surprising. She could just picture Julian in a toga, looking autocratic and handsome in snowy white, like a statue of an Olympian god.

A tall woman in a long, gauzy peacock-blue dress walked by. The student next to Theo bobbed his head respectfully. “Hello, Ms. Cadwallader. Nice to see you.”

“Hello, Andrew,” the woman replied. She glanced at Theo with eyes as dark and sharp as flint and kept walking.

“I can’t picture her at one of those dinners,” Theo murmured. Those eyes had given her a chill all the way down to her toes.

“Oh, she’s there. That’s June Cadwallader. Julian’s secretary. More or less runs the department. Don’t get on her bad side. She can make life miserable if she doesn’t like you. You’re probably already screwed, though. She doesn’t like female students.”

“Why not—oh, who’s that?” She nodded toward a couple who had just entered.

The man, dark and bearded, leaned on a pair of crutches. His upper body appeared massive in contrast to his wasted legs. His much younger companion fussed and patted his arm when he paused.

Theo nearly gasped aloud; she had never seen such an exquisitely beautiful woman outside of a fashion magazine. Long blond hair tumbled over her shoulders, framing a face so symmetrical, so perfect, so pink and ivory and gold that Theo felt like one of the gargoyles carved on the building’s entries in comparison.

“Dr. Forge-Smythe! Mrs. Frothington-Forge-Smythe!” breathed Andrew. He shoved his wineglass at Theo and hurried over to them.

“Frothington-Forge-Smythe? That’s a mouthful,” Theo murmured, watching the pair greet the student. Dr. Forge-Smythe’s manner was warm enough as he shifted his crutches to shake Andrew’s hand, but his wife’s smile lit up the space around them like a klieg light. Andrew swayed as if he were going to faint under its impact.

“She never did have a sense of proportion,” murmured someone behind her. Theo turned to see Grant Proctor watching the professor and his wife.

“She doesn’t have to, looking like that.” Theo shook her head in admiration, then turned to him. Yup, just as good-looking as he’d been this morning. “I was hoping you’d be here. I want to hear more about your erudite moose.” She handed her and Andrew’s wineglasses to a wandering toga-ed server.

He nodded. “They’re good, but they’re nothing compared to the porcupines. We’ve trained them to do the choruses in Aeschylus and Euripides. Their diction is better than the moose’s, but they do tend to overact shamelessly.”

She giggled, and he smiled with her. “I’d love to see them.”

“It’s very funny, especially when their quills get entangled. I’d like to switch them to comedies, but they’re too in love with doing the
Oresteia
every fall before they hibernate.” He shrugged.

“You might read Aristophanes to them in their sleep over the winter. Subliminal suggestion might work,” she said, matching his serious tone.

“That’s a very good idea. I’ll have to try it. Though I think they’re a little too touchy to deal with satire well. The moose have a much better innate grasp of comedy.” He leaned a little closer to her. “Mind you, we might get the bears back if we did comedies. They marched out last year and swore they wouldn’t come back until we promised not to make them do
Trojan Women
in drag again.”

She laughed out loud. The sound attracted the attention of the trio standing nearby. Mrs. Frothington-Forge-Smythe looked at them in surprise. When she saw Grant, her eyes widened. She walked over to them, followed by Dr. Forge-Smythe and Andrew.

“Hello, Renee,” Grant said as the woman glided up, her megawatt smile trained on him.

Theo felt even more awkward. Renee Frothington-Forge-Smythe was inches shorter than she, but so well proportioned that Theo amended her comparison: now she felt like a gargoyle on a ladder.

“Hello,” the woman purred back at him. “Do my eyes deceive me? Is it—?”

“Grant Proctor.” He nodded to her.

Theo watched him from the corners of her eyes and held her breath, waiting to see if he would be transformed into a fawning puddle like Andrew. But his expression of polite interest didn’t change.

“Pro—ah, yes, of course. How lovely to see you after all these years. What brings you here?” The woman’s violet-blue eyes raked over him, a speculative gleam lurking in their depths. She leaned toward him with a sinuous movement, and Theo saw Andrew swallow hard.

“A visiting fellowship. I’m looking forward to working with my new colleagues.” He smiled at Theo. She felt her heart beat faster. Did he—could it be that he—that he liked her better than this elegant beauty?

Renee caught the smile and frowned. She moved closer to her husband and took his arm. “Dear Henry. Do you remember, uh, Mr. Proctor?”

Dr. Forge-Smythe peered at him uncertainly. “Hmm? No, can’t say I do. Pleased to meet you, though. And you are?” he continued, turning to Theo.

“Theodora Fairchild. I’m pleased to meet you, Dr. Forge-Smythe.”

“Ah, yes. You’re in my pre-Roman class. Arthur’s spoken to me of you. Renee, dear, this is one of my new students.”

Renee turned to Theo. Her glance was dismissive. “How nice to meet you. Dear me, child, is that a sunburn? Is it as painful as it looks?”

Theo felt herself flush at Renee’s tone, silky and edged all at once. She’d forgotten her blazing cheeks and nose during Grant’s cheerful conversation. Now she remembered her father’s dire prediction. Another correction, she thought: bright purplish-red gargoyle on a rickety crimson ladder.

A sudden movement at her side caught her attention. “I’m sure it’s uncomfortable, Renee, but certainly not as bad as you make it out to be.” Julian had materialized next to her, his voice chilly as he surveyed them. He’d changed into another crisp button-down, white this time, and looked even more tanned and suave.

Theo felt her blushes redouble. Why hadn’t she just stayed in her room and hidden under the bed?

“Evening, Julian,” Dr. Forge-Smythe said. “Nice party.”

“Thank you, Henry. Hello, Mr. Proctor. Welcome back, Andrew. My dear Theodora.” Julian smiled at each of them, pointedly passing over Renee. Theo saw her pout but hold her tongue. Odd. Why wasn’t she turning her feminine magnetism from “stun” to “kill”? Surely Julian, handsome as he was, would be a prime candidate in her eyes?

“Now, my dear, let me see that sunburn.” Julian’s voice interrupted her musings.

“Oh, it’s nothing, real—” Before she could finish, he’d tilted her chin toward him and fastened that blue gaze on her, then brushed his fingertips over her forehead. A blessed coolness quenched the fire in her skin as he touched her.

Julian smiled in satisfaction. “Not bad at all. Can I get you another glass of wine, Theodora? You really ought to wear your hair down like that all the time. That golden red is stunning.”

“You look tired, my pet. Let’s find you a chair, shall we?” cooed Renee, tugging on her husband’s arm. She ignored Theo and gave Julian a reproachful frown. He smiled and shook his head at her as she and Dr. Forge-Smythe moved toward the table, still trailed by the eager Andrew.

Theo wished she could run off to the ladies’ room and have a quick look in the mirror. What had Julian done? She glanced beside her at Grant and saw that his face was carefully blank as he looked at Julian. But then he met her eyes, and she felt her confusion and discomfort fade.

Julian waved his hand negligently in the air. One of the garlanded undergraduates appeared at his side, holding a tray of full glasses. He handed one to her. “You mustn’t mind Renee. She’s quite devoted to Henry, so we tolerate her. But she doesn’t like competition.”

“I can’t imagine she ever has any. She’s gorgeous.”

“Not frequently. But it does happen.” He looked at Theo and repeated softly, “It does happen.”

A loud
clang
directly behind her made her jump. June Cadwallader stood there, holding a small bronze gong and looking grim.

“Ah, June,” Julian said with a bright smile. “Have you met Theodora yet? My dear, this is June Cadwallader, chief prop and mainstay of the department. We’d all be in desperate trouble without her firm hand on the wheel.”

“You generally are, even with it,” Ms. Cadwallader said. She scrutinized Theo, her expression stony and her lips pursed. “It’s time for dinner.”

“Dear me, is it really? Well, I’ll let you get on with the summoning.” Julian turned from her and held out a hand to Theo. “Won’t you join me?”

Grant cleared his throat beside her. “I’ll just—”

Theo turned to him and put a hand on his arm. “Oh, but you were about to tell me about the bears in drag. Please don’t go.” Why did their conversations always seem to be interrupted? And why wouldn’t June and Julian and everyone else just go away?

Julian’s smile dimmed as he and Grant exchanged glances. “Indeed? I would like to hear about that too.” He gestured politely that they should precede him to the table, seating himself at the table’s head and placing Theo at his right hand. To her delight, Grant seated himself next to her, ignoring Julian’s gesture at the chair across the table. Julian scowled.

Theo saw Dr. Waterman sit a few chairs down on the other side of the table, next to a sturdily built young woman with short hair and a deep tan. She was chatting with a handsome man with shoulder-length blond hair and delicate features.

“We’ve definitely got a shot at the division title this year,” Theo heard her say. “We’re into our second week of practice, and it’s really coming together. We’ll bring that trophy down yet, you’ll see. They’re a dedicated group of women.”

“Not bad-looking, too, if you’d ever let them out of uniform,” the man drawled. He toyed with a bread knife, stroking its flared blade with long, slender fingers.

“You keep your hands off ’em, you. Those are my girls, and I want them focused on hockey, not hormones.”

“You’re such a single-minded bore,” the man returned amiably, throwing a piece of roll at her. He missed. She nipped it up and landed it squarely on his nose.

“I never miss, remember? Don’t get into a bunfight with me or you might regret it,” she said, wiping the butter off his nose with her napkin and grinning at him.

“Children,” Julian sighed. He turned to Theo. “That irresponsible pair are Diana Hunter and Paul Harriman, and they teach Greek with me when they’re not squabbling. Diana also coaches women’s field hockey, and Paul dabbles in early music.”

“Dabbles? I beg your pardon, Julian. I don’t call a two-album recording contract dabbling,” sniffed Paul. He looked at Theo and his expression altered. “Hello,” he said, turning a sunny smile on her.