A Grand Tour (Timeless Victorian Collection Book 2)

by Anthea Lawson

  Harlan rubbed his eyes. “Ken, I assure you, we’ve not been improper. My aunt has remained with us, acting as chaperone the entire evening, and my intentions toward Miss Blakely are entirely honorable.” He put an arm around Rosalie’s waist.

  Ken nodded, feeling suddenly tired. “You’ll need to explain that to her sister and Miss Doyle, not to me. Come along. And try not to attract attention.”

  The carriage ride was silent. Rosalie wept quietly, and Harlan held her hand. The young man looked miserable, and Ken felt angry at their carelessness and sorry for both of them, but neither emotion accounted for the heaviness pressing down on his shoulders.

  Eleanor would blame herself for Rosalie’s misconduct, and she may decide to take the girls from Rome once and for all. The thought struck him hard, making his gut ache. He’d known, of course, that eventually they’d part ways and continue on their tours, but he’d not allowed himself to fully consider how it would be to bid Eleanor farewell. The ache inside him grew until it felt like a ball of lead, and he couldn’t help but compare this carriage ride to the one along these very roads only an hour earlier. How completely things could change.

  When Ken, Harlan, and Rosalie entered the sitting room, Eleanor and Lillian rose from the sofa. Lillian hurried forward to embraced Rosalie. “I was so worried about you.”

  “I’m sorry for leaving,” Rosalie said, not looking sorry in the least. “I simply couldn’t miss another party. And Harlan—I mean Mr. Reid—offered to take me.”

  “You shouldn’t have stolen away,” Eleanor said. Her jaw and shoulders were tight. “It was very wrong of you.” She directed her gaze to Harlan. “Of both of you.”

  Harlan crossed the room toward her. “Miss Doyle, I take full blame. I didn’t think through the consequences of my actions. I did not intend Miss Blakely any harm; I just wished to see her. Please accept my apology. All of you.”

  Ken felt proud of the young man for owning his responsibility in the situation, but it didn’t excuse his erroneous actions.

  “The fault was both of ours.” Rosalie held up her chin. “Though if you hadn’t been so strict, Miss Doyle, this entire thing would have been avoided.”

  Lillian frowned, the worry she’d felt for her sister replaced by disapproval.

  “That’s enough, Rosalie,” Eleanor said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but her tone left no room for argument. “We will discuss this in private in the morning.”

  The finality in her tone brought worry to the young lady’s face. “But Miss Doyle—”

  Eleanor shook her head. “Enough.” She turned to Harlan, clasping her hands and inclining her head. “Thank you, Mr. Reid, for your apology. Now it is time for all of us to get some sleep.”

  The men said their farewells and left.

  Eleanor followed them outside and closed the door behind her. “Ken? Might I speak with you for a moment?”

  Harlan climbed into the carriage, giving them privacy.

  Ken took her hands in his. “Eleanor, I’m so sorry.”

  “This is my fault,” she said.

  “No, of course it’s not. You can’t blame yourself for Rosalie’s decision. Or Harlan’s. The fault is not yours in the least.”

  Eleanor shook her head. “If I hadn’t left tonight . . .” She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath and letting it out. “I should have taken her away after Mrs. Daines’s party, but I didn’t . . . because I was selfish. I stayed because I . . .” She looked up at him. Her eyes were tight, as if the confession pained her.

  He should have felt elated at what she implied, but the anguish in her expression dampened any pleasure he might have had. Eleanor looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t know what.

  “I’m glad you stayed,” he said finally, squeezing her hands

  Eleanor sighed and extracted her hands from his. “Ken, we can’t do this again.” She took a step back. Reflexively, he reached for her, but she avoided his touch. “I did the very thing I asked Rosalie not to, and it could have cost us everything.” She looked over his shoulder, not meeting his gaze as she spoke. “I was so selfish. I lost sight of my responsibility—all because I let myself get swept up in this.” She motioned back and forth between them.

  “I know,” he said. “But—”

  “I can’t see you again.”

  Ken felt cold. “Eleanor?”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and he reached for her again, but she leaned away. “The girls and I will leave Rome tomorrow.” She clasped her fingers together, turning her gaze down. “This must be farewell.”

  He swallowed, making a decision. He couldn’t lose Eleanor, though it meant rejecting Signore Romano’s offer. “Perhaps not.”

  Her gaze rose, and she looked at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

  “This will be only a short farewell. I’ve been offered a position at Oxford. We’ll be together in London, and we—”

  “No.” Her voice lashed out, startling him. “Do not do that, Ken. Do not come to London because of me.”

  He gaped, unable to understand what she meant. A moment ago, it seemed as if she wished for them to be together. Had he misunderstood her? Were his feelings unreciprocated? “But, Eleanor, I don’t . . .”

  “Goodbye, Ken.” Her tears spilled over, and she rushed inside.

  Ken stared at the closed door. What had happened? How had this gone so completely wrong? He clenched his eyes shut and pushed his fist against his chest, willing the pain to lessen. Something inside seemed to be damaged. He turned away, leaving a piece of himself behind as he walked toward the carriage.

  As Eleanor made her way back up the stairs, the sound of weeping grew louder, but when she arrived in the sitting room, she was surprised to see it was not Rosalie, but Lillian in tears. The young woman sat on the couch, her face in her hands and her shoulders shaking.

  Rosalie stood in the doorway to her bedchamber looking as bewildered as Eleanor felt.

  “Lillian,” Eleanor crossed the room and sat beside her. “Whatever is the matter?”

  “She thinks only of herself,” Lillian said through her sobs. She lifted her head and glared at her younger sister. “Your heart isn’t the only one broken, Rosalie. Because you were selfish, I shall not see Mr. Curtis again.”

  Eleanor took Lillian’s hand. Dear shy Lillian. “I had no idea.” She offered a handkerchief. “You care for Mr. Curtis?”

  Lillian nodded and sniffed. “I couldn’t . . . ” She turned back to her sister. “I’ve guarded my feelings, as you are apparently unable to. Someone must care for our reputation.”

  Rosalie glared back at her sister. “Well, you’ve guarded them so well that Mr. Curtis hasn’t the foggiest notion and will move on.” She whirled and slammed the door.

  A moment later, Lillian’s door was slammed in return.

  Eleanor did not bother to sleep through what remained of the night. She sorted through her clothing, determining how best to pack their trunks. Keeping herself busy prevented her from breaking down, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she couldn’t find anything else to occupy her mind and the tears would come. They were there, waiting, prickling against her eyes, tightening her throat.

  As soon as it was morning, she penned a note to the travel agency, requesting accommodation on the afternoon train to Genoa, then passage on the first steamship to London. That should give them time to pack their things. Anything else could be sent on after.

  As soon as the messenger left, she sank into the sofa, her head in her hands. Had she done the right thing? She couldn’t allow Ken to sacrifice the position in Naples. He would always wonder how it would have been; perhaps he would even grow to resent her. And she cared about him too much to allow him to give up his dream.

  She wished she hadn’t had to be cruel to do it. But if she’d acted at all as if it was a possibility, he’d have done it without a second thought. That’s the type of man Ken was. Selfless, giving. That’s why she loved him.


  The thought carried a wave of pain, and Eleanor gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth. But she was unable to stop the torrent of tears.

  A knock sounded, followed by footsteps on the stairs. Signora Dellucci entered the room. “Pardon me, miss, but I didn’t know if you were taking visitors so early.”

  Bodkin stepped in behind her. “I hoped to catch you before—” He broke off, hurrying toward Eleanor. “But, Miss Doyle, what is the matter?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “I’m sorry.” Her words came out in gasps.

  Bodkin sat on the sofa. He offered a handkerchief and patted her hand. “No need to apologize, my dear. Are you unwell? What can I do?” He looked toward the doorway. “Pronto, signora, please fetch Miss Doyle some tea.”

  Eleanor shook her head, willing herself, unsuccessfully, to get ahold of her emotions. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I am not ill.” Her chin trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “My heart aches.” She felt immediately vulnerable at revealing something so personal, but she was exhausted, and her defenses had crumpled.

  “There, there. You are sad to leave Rome.”

  “Ken.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I am in love with him, you see.”

  “Of course you are, my dear. I hope you didn’t think you were doing a good job of concealing it.” His voice carried equal amounts of compassion and humor, which, surprisingly, helped calm her. “Leaving behind one’s beloved is always painful.”

  She wiped the handkerchief beneath her eyes, her breathing still uneven. “He offered to come to London and take a position at Oxford to be near me, but I refused. I told him not to come.”

  “Oxford isn’t a bad arrangement,” Bodkin said. “Don’t you wish to be together?”

  “You saw him at the Forum site. He loves this, being part of the discovery, instead of just teaching about it. The position in Naples is what he wants. I can’t ask him to turn it down.”

  Bodkin studied her for a moment. “Would you?”

  “Would I what?” she asked.

  “Would you turn down the position at the Royal Holloway College to stay here with Ken?”

  “I would. In a heartbeat.” She looked down at the handkerchief in her lap. “But he didn’t ask me.”

  Bodkin leaned back. He nodded, scratching his cheek. “I see. You’re both so concerned for the other’s happiness that you’re unwilling to accept a sacrifice on either side to be together, is that it?”

  When he put it that way, it did sound rather simple.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said.

  The tea was delivered, and Eleanor poured each of them a cup.

  “I can’t say I blame you for your sorrow,” Bodkin said, taking the offered tea. “Men like Russell Kendrick are few and far between. Unfortunately, not many of my gender would tolerate a woman of your intellect. Most would be intimidated or disturbed by it, but not Ken. He boasts of your abilities to anyone who will listen. It’s true.” Bodkin gave a fond smile. “Did you know he showed your writing notebook to Signore Romano at Mrs. Daines’s party?”

  Eleanor’s throat tightened, forcing more tears free, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. She stared at Bodkin. “He did? Why would he do that?”

  He smiled, shrugged, and set his cup onto the low table in front of them. “He’s a good man, Miss Doyle.”

  She nodded. “I wish I could change all this, that I knew what to do.” She let out a sigh. “But it seems impossible.”

  “Difficult, yes. But not impossible.” He shifted, knitting his fingers together over his belly. “Love is not easy, Miss Doyle. In the real world, love stories are not tidily wrapped up like they are in novels or fairy tales. Things don’t work out perfectly, feelings are damaged, practical matters must be considered, and sometimes, instead of a fairy godmother bringing glass slippers, a balding man brings a letter.” He slipped an envelope from inside his jacket, holding it toward her.

  “What is this?”

  He gave a knowing smile, nodding toward it. “I suggest you read it.”

  Eleanor opened the envelope and began to read. Her heart pounded in her ears. The letter was from Giuseppe Fiorelli of the University of Naples. “He writes to offer me a position at Pompeii,” she whispered. “As a translator.”

  Bodkin grinned, clapping his hands together. “I must say I’m pleased as could be. Signore Romano had some concerns that a woman would weaken the program’s credibility, but I told him that was nonsense. You are the most intelligent woman I’ve ever known.” He held up a finger and winked. “Though if my wife should ask, I’ll deny I ever made that statement.”

  “They want me at Pompeii. I can’t believe it.”

  Eleanor read the letter again, unable to accept it as truth. This would fix everything. She and Ken could be together, each working in the post they’d dreamed of. But . . . “I don’t know what to say to Ken,” she admitted. “I rejected him—rather rudely. What if he’s made up his mind against me?” She could hardly tell Ken that because circumstances had turned in her favor, she’d changed her mind about him, about them. That he would be insulted was an understatement.

  Bodkin set down his tea and stood. “There, I cannot help you, my dear. Like I said, you’re intelligent. You’ll think of what to say. Personally, I recommend honesty—even though it is usually uncomfortable, and of course it is difficult to make oneself vulnerable.” He took her hand as she rose, placing his other atop it. “If Ken truly cares for you as we hope, he’ll understand.”

  Eleanor threw her arms around the man, feeling him chuckle as he patted her back. “Thank you, Bodkin.”

  Rosalie wept throughout the entire carriage ride. “It is all too cruel,” she said.

  Lillian fixed her sister with a flat stare. “I think Miss Doyle is being very kind—giving us a chance to say goodbye.”

  “But what will I do without my beloved Harlan?” Rosalie wailed.

  Lillian turned to look out the window.

  Once the carriage stopped, Eleanor left the girls in the shade and walked toward the fountain, just as she’d done a month earlier. Though, this time, her feelings were quite different. Anxiety made her stomach roil, and she clenched her hands to keep from fidgeting.

  She stopped beside the fountain pool in the very same place where she’d spoken to Ken for the first time, staring at the sculptures and praying she would know what to say. And that Ken would understand.

  She heard a carriage enter the piazza and turned, watching with a pounding heart as Mr. Darrington, Mr. Curtis, and Mr. Reid exited.

  Rosalie ran directly to Harlan, throwing herself into his arms. Eleanor found herself envious of the girl’s abandon. Rosalie was irresponsible and silly, but she didn’t hide her feelings. Eleanor sighed. How had her own relationship become so complicated?

  Mr. Curtis joined Lillian, offering his arm so the pair could stroll.

  Ken stepped from the carriage and greeted the young ladies. He turned toward the fountain and hesitated before starting toward Eleanor. His face was unreadable beneath the shade of his hat brim. Her shaking increased.

  When he arrived, he inclined his head and clasped his hands behind his back. “Miss Doyle.” His tone was polite and his expression guarded.

  Eleanor was in danger of losing her breakfast. “Thank you for coming.”

  Ken raised his brows, waiting.

  She opened her hand, revealing a coin in her palm. “I wanted you to be here when I tossed my second coin into the fountain,” she said.

  Ken didn’t answer.

  She threw the coin, hearing its plop as it hit the water, hoping the gesture would soften his heart toward her.

  Ken remained silent, and Eleanor’s stomach grew sicker. The demonstration hadn’t had the effect she’d hoped for.

  She drew a shaky breath. “Ken, I lied to you. I told you not to come to Oxford because I couldn’t bear for you to sacrifice the opportunity in Naples.” His face was impassive, but at least he was listening, so she continued
. “Signore Romano told me about it at Mrs. Daines’s party, and I knew it was the perfect thing for you. I—”

  “Perhaps I might decide what is the perfect thing for me.” His words were soft, but she felt the reprimand. “Eleanor, Oxford is an excellent prospect as well. And you would be there, working at a position you’ve aspired to. In my mind, that is the perfect thing for me.”

  She closed her eyes and drew a breath, then pushed out the words before she changed her mind. “Ken, ask me to stay in Italy.”

  “I can’t expect you to sacrifice your position in London . . .”

  “Please.” She lowered her voice nearly to a whisper. “Ask me to stay. ” Heat flooded her cheeks at the boldness of the request, but there was no turning back now. “You said you wanted to be with me, so ask me.” She waited for his response, feeling completely exposed. What if he rejected her?

  He squinted, studying her for a long moment. Her hopes dwindled. Her brashness had ruined everything.

  Finally, Ken reached for her hand. “Eleanor Doyle, will you stay with me in Italy?”

  She let out a shaky breath and collapsed into his arms. “Yes.” Every bit of her was trembling. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Ken’s arms tightened around her, and her tension left in a shuddering exhalation.

  He pulled back, slipping a hand beneath her ear to cup the back of her neck. His gaze held hers as he leaned forward. He spoke her name in a deep, breathy voice against her lips. “Eleanor.”

  She closed the space, heat filling all her empty places as his lips moved against hers. When she pulled away, she rested her hands on his chest lapels, her mind reeling. His eyes were dark, a fire burning inside them she never would have imagined the mild-mannered teacher possessed. The sight stole her breath, but she forced herself to focus. She grasped the remaining bit of her courage and plunged onward. “Ken, there is something else I need to tell you.”

  “Could it wait?” He leaned forward again, but she touched his lips, stopping him.

  She shook her head and took the letter from her reticule.