At the bottom of the hill, they slid to a stop in front of a house that had once been slightly grander than its neighbors. It was larger and set further back from the road with a walled garden and unobstructed view of the coast, but the roof appeared frayed in patches and the paint around the doors and windows had begun to peel. Leaning their bicycles against the stacked stones, Hadley drew in a calming breath as she swept her hair behind her ears and smoothed the front of her riding jacket. When Eilian dismounted and reached for the bell, she pulled him to her level and flattened his hair down, but the moment he ducked away from her hand, the wayward spikes popped back up.
“You can’t fight it, Had,” he whispered as he rang the bell.
A grim-faced butler ushered them inside and disappeared with the cards Hadley pulled from her cramped bag. Her eyes swept over the wooden beams that cut through the plaster and disappeared into the next room. A fire crackled on the other side of the velvet curtain which had become threadbare at the edge where years of hands had pulled it aside. A board whined upstairs as Mrs. Rhodes’s head appeared at the top of the landing. Close behind, a man followed as she bustled down the steps. He was older than Eilian by at least five years with thick glasses, a paunch, and frizzy black muttonchops that connected into a mustache.
“Lord and Lady Dorset, we weren’t expecting you so soon,” Mrs. Rhodes said when she reached the bottom. “Allow me to introduce my husband, Argus Rhodes.”
Mr. Rhodes held out his right hand but quickly switched to his left when he noticed the earl’s metal hand.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Rhodes.” His brows furrowed as he turned the name over in his mind. “Did you recently write a paper for the Royal Egyptology Society? I think it was on Rome’s influence on the Ptolemaic dynasty?”
“Why, yes. You’ve read it?”
“Not yet, but I was reading the Chronicle last night and came across the review. It sounds fascinating.”
“Would you like to take a look at it? I have the manuscript in my office.”
“Argus, show him the printer’s copy instead,” his wife replied. “It’s in your desk, bottom-right drawer.”
When the men turned to leave, Hadley stepped to follow them, but Mrs. Rhodes laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Men are always talking shop, aren’t they? Let’s leave them to it.”
Before Hadley could reply, the woman led her into the parlor and offered her a seat. Ringing the bell beside her chair, she waited for the butler to appear again and asked him to bring them a tea tray. Mrs. Rhodes’s dark eyes lingered on the younger woman’s houndstooth trousers and riding boots as Hadley fidgeted in her chair.
“You rode a bicycle over from Brasshurst?”
“Yes, our steamer won’t be fixed for some time, and I was afraid everyone would think me rude if I didn’t pay some calls soon.”
As the butler returned to pour their tea, Mrs. Rhodes asked, “Do you have any causes, Lady Dorset?”
“Not really. I mean, not officially. I think I may get into women’s education or creating opportunities for female artisans. Being one myself, I would love to create a union of sorts. Wouldn’t it be lovely? Women supporting themselves and each other.”
Hadley looked up from her tea to see her hostess laughing into her cup. When Mrs. Rhodes noticed the countess wasn't laughing, she cleared her throat and focused on her tea.
“Then again, there’s always the poor,” Hadley murmured, her cheeks flushing.
“There are so many noble causes. I thought maybe you were part of the Rational Dress Society.”
“Why? Oh, the knickerbockers. I’m not officially part of anything, but once you catch your skirts in the spokes, you understand why trousers are preferable.”
Mrs. Rhodes nodded thoughtfully. “But aren’t you afraid of bicycle face?”
Hadley sighed as she listened to her husband and Mr. Rhodes chattering in the next room. She knew little about the Ptolemaic rulers and would have had nothing to contribute, but she would have liked to learn. Instead, she was stuck hoping her companion would strike up a conversation about herself so that she could focus on what the men were saying. Mrs. Rhodes was waiting, watching her with the same languorous stare laced with domestic authority that she had seen in her mother- and sister-in-law. If she couldn’t get through an afternoon with Mrs. Rhodes, how would she ever manage real society ladies?
***
Eilian followed Argus into his study. While it sat off the parlor, it opened into a glass conservatory just large enough to place his desk and a few potted spider plants. In the bookcases were rows of atlases and encyclopedias, and propped between pots filled with alien lilies and scruffy marsh plants were books on history and pharmacology. Tucked in the corner far from the sun’s harsh light sat a curio cabinet. Potshards, fragments of papyrus, and stone amulets littered the upper shelves. Below, busts of Caesar and half-worn Romans stared back from flattened coins that collected dust beside a nearly intact amphora.
“Do you read The Royal Egyptology Society Chronicle often, Lord Dorset?” Mr. Rhodes asked as he knelt beside his desk and opened the bottom drawer.
“Only since I joined it a few years ago. I like to see what others have uncovered. Sometimes it inspires my own research.”
He flipped through the papers within before trying the drawer above it. “Are you an Egyptologist or a backer?”
“Neither, I’m a mechano-archaeologist. I’ve conducted excavations in Egypt in the past, but I tend to work more in Greece and the Middle East.” A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “The last thing I expected to find in Folkesbury was an Egyptologist.”
Slamming the drawer shut, Argus tried the last one and withdrew a typed manuscript. He ran his eyes over his name as a swell of pride rose in his breast, but when he reached the rows of text below, all meaningless and shifting, he quickly handed it to the earl. “You can borrow it for as long as you would like. It would take too long to read it here.”
Eilian thanked him and let his gaze trail to the photograph beside the desk where Mr. Rhodes sat atop a camel with his wife riding sidesaddle beside him. Upon closer inspection, he realized the camel was stuffed and the desert landscape was no more than a painted screen.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why settle here? Surely you would have an easier time making a living near a city or a university.”
For a moment, Argus stared at him. Swallowing hard, he fiddled with his glasses before turning to the side table. “Would you care for a drink?”
“No, thank you,” Eilian replied and watched the other man’s hands shake as he poured himself a healthy portion of brandy.
Drawing in a deep breath, he threw back half the glass and wiped away what clung to his mustache. “I— I only recently began pursuing Egyptology as an amateur. I’ve always been interested, but I never thought I would get anywhere with it. I could go elsewhere, I suppose, but it would be hard to leave this house. The house, along with the inheritance from my aunt, has supported me and allowed me to do what I please. That and the misses keeping the books. I don’t suppose I could manage that in a city.”
The earl nodded and drifted back to the bookshelves. Titles flashed through his mind, ticking off his mental inventory, until he reached a book on hieroglyphics he didn’t own. “May I?”
“Of course.” As he sipped his drink, Mr. Rhodes watched Lord Dorset flip through the pages of hieroglyphs with their translations written neatly beneath them. With each mouthful, his chest flooded with heat and the knot within it loosened. “The thing is, Lord Dorset, I’m self-taught. Anything I know about Egypt I learned on my own. I never went to university. I don’t think I would have even gotten in then, so why would they want to hire me?”
“That makes two of us.”
Mr. Rhodes raised his heavy brows.
“Don’t look so surprised. My father tried to send me to university, but I left after a month. I decided to travel and get some first-hand experience instead, much to his d
ismay. At that age, I couldn’t sit still. My tutors taught me Greek and Latin as a child, but I taught myself hieroglyphics, Hindi, Urdu, and Arabic on boats or dirigibles when there was nothing else to do.”
“Don’t tell Nash that, though he probably already knows.”
“Why?” Eilian asked, slipping the book back into the shelf.
“He’s a snob. He’s well-educated and lords it over everyone. I wanted to ask him a few questions about the Roman economy at the time of the Ptolemaic dynasty since he used to be a big name at Cambridge, but when he saw me, he gave me this disgusted look and slammed the door in my face.”
Eilian gave him a sympathetic nod. “I’m surprised he’s a scholar. I would have sooner taken him for a burglar. Lady Dorset and I found him in the greenhouse.”
Argus raised his heavy brows as he threw back the rest of his brandy. “Sounds like him. I don’t think he’s been right since the scandal.”
“Scandal?”
“Apparently, years ago he tried to convince everyone he had grown a silphium plant. Said he found it right here in town”
“Really? Imagine that. Silphium in Dorset. Do you think he was telling the truth?”
“Nash is a nutter. The plant’s been gone since Nero.”
***
Why had she told Mrs. Rhodes they had only been married a few days ago? After recounting and fabricating details about the flowers, the courses served, the guest list—of which her hostess certainly knew no one—and their living arrangements in Greenwich, the woman was giving her marriage advice. Nodding and smiling as she went on about wives being a reflection on their husbands, Hadley let her eyes trail to the window behind her head. The wind wove through the grass, blowing bits of seeds and pollen over the bluff. If she made a run for it, would anyone stop her?
“Always make certain your staff is keeping an accurate ledger. You never know if—”
The front door squealed open and a motley figure strutted past the doorway.
“Nadir? Nadir darling, is that you?”
“Did you know someone left their filthy velocipedes against your fence? Should I alert the sergeant? Get him off his lazy duff for once,” the voice replied.
“Nadir, we have guests. Come introduce yourself to Lord and Lady Dorset.”
“Busy, Leona,” he called, the stairs creaked in time with his steps.
Mrs. Rhodes’s face blanched before reddening. “He must not have heard me. Nadir, come down here and meet our guests now.”
The footsteps stopped and retreated down to the parlor door. The young man who pushed back the curtain was not what Hadley was expecting. Knowing he was a man who wrote romantic adventures women clamored for, she had expected someone older, more distinguished, or at least someone less of a dandy like her brother. While Nadir Talbot shared Leona Rhodes’ black brows and Mediterranean complexion, his hair hung in loose waves to his shoulders and a shadow of stubble already outlined his jaw. Even in the warm weather, he wore a teal velveteen jacket over a lilac vest with a Damask rose tucked into his lapel. Her brother would have certainly envied Mr. Talbot’s perfectly tailored wardrobe.
Locking eyes with his cousin from behind his sun-spectacles, Nadir dropped his walking stick into the stand near the door with a clatter and stood with his hands on his hips. He folded his glasses, barely giving Hadley a second glance, before proffering his hand and bringing the countess’s to his lips with a graceful bow.
“I’m sure it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Dorset, and that you are a very charming person, but I have things to do. My dear cousin seems to think books magically write themselves when no one is looking. Now, if you will excuse me, I will be upstairs getting some work done.”
With a flourish, he deflected his cousin’s dirty look and disappeared into the hall. Hadley suppressed a grin as Mrs. Rhodes stared at the curtain in disbelief. If only she could have been so bold as to excuse herself to the other room.
“Mr. Talbot seems charming,” Hadley said sweetly as she poured each of them another cup of tea while Mrs. Rhodes’ attention was elsewhere.
“I must apologize for my cousin; he is so dreadfully focused on his career. Those publishers are always breathing down his neck for the next book.” She shivered and rubbed her arms, watching the fire falter and wave. Ringing her bell, she swallowed hard. “Nadir must have let the chill in. Barnes will take care of it.”
Staring at the study door, Hadley willed Eilian to come out. What excuse could she make to leave? If she were by herself, she could have feigned fatigue or left for another appointment, but she couldn’t leave without him. Mrs. Rhodes was staring at her as if waiting for her to speak again. Suppressing the urge to groan, Hadley turned her gaze to the window and the fields beyond it. The bell’s jarring peels grew louder as the other woman shifted and sighed huffed excuses for her butler. Hadley rubbed her temple and let her eyes roll back to the fireplace. Sitting beside it just out of arm’s reach was a stack of firewood in a brass bucket.
Mrs. Rhodes rang the bell again.
“For God’s sake!” Hadley cried as she threw a log in.
Leona sunk back in her chair, eyes wide as if the countess had struck her. Eilian and Argus peered around the parlor door, looking from the noblewoman to the fireplace. Hadley’s hair was askew and she stood with her hand out as if they had interrupted some impassioned moment. Swallowing hard, she tucked her hair back and smoothed her jacket before meeting her husband’s gaze.
“Oh, dear. I hope you will forgive us, Mrs. Rhodes, but we are late for an appointment, right, Eilian?”
He frowned and glanced at his watch. He didn’t think they had any plans. When he looked up, his wife’s eyes were wide as she twitched her head toward the door. “Ah, yes, the solicitor. Mr. Rhodes, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and thank you for letting me borrow your paper. Hopefully we can speak again soon.”
Once he had repeated his good-byes to the lady of the house, they were ushered outside with promises of seeing the couple again soon. As they waved and led their bicycles up the path, Hadley leaned close and hissed into her husband’s ear, “You better not leave me alone with that woman again.”
Chapter Four
The Letter
Nadir took the stairs two at a time, bounding past oil landscapes of waves, overgrown ruins, and pirates’ coves painted long ago. Shutting the door on the bell jangling below, he tossed his jacket onto the coverlet and rolled the tension from his shoulders. As much as he didn’t feel like dealing with guests, he hoped the earl and countess would stay long enough that his cousin would forget he was upstairs. Then, maybe he could get some work done without her barging in.
The sun shone through the old bleary glass, casting its gaze across his manuscript. Pages lay scattered on the desk and stacked in a hat box on the floor beside it, but when he shuffled the blank pages into a neat pile, he sighed. They still vastly outnumbered the pages he had written. A trip to the country was supposed to rouse his characters from their slumber, not send them further into the recesses. He stared down at the page of script and scribble. Well, if they wouldn’t come out, he would chase them out. Sinking into the hardback chair, he cracked his knuckles, loosened his tie, and reread what he had written a week before.
His pen flew across the page, crossing out whole sentences and rewording others, but as he reached the end of the chapter, his gaze trailed to the world beyond the window. As much as he enjoyed the fresh air and scenery, he missed the vitality of London: the din and haze of smoke in his parlor when his friends stayed late into the night, the thrum of parties, the women. The country was too damn quiet.
Pushing open the pane, he leaned out with his elbows on the sill and drew in a gulp of salt air. He raked his hand through his hair and pulled his lucky talisman from his pocket. Turning the misshapen bead of Roman glass between his fingers, he sighed. What would he do if he didn’t write something soon? Rogers was already breathing down his neck. His valet kept forwarding the letters
his publisher sent to his house in Bloomsbury asking for the next section, but he had nothing to send. Of course he had the sales of his other books to fall back on for a time. He swallowed hard. That would only last so long until he faded into obscurity and another writer rose to take his place.
The door below whined, breaking him from his morose thoughts. Craning his neck, he watched the Earl and Countess of Dorset emerge from the house with his cousin close on their heels. She patted the Countess’s hand, and the woman’s face contorted into something between a grimace and a smile. His cousin had that effect on people.
“You must call on us again soon!”
“Please don’t,” Nadir whispered as they waved and walked their bicycles up to the road. At least his cousin would have someone new to bother.
As soon as Leona was back in the house, Lady Dorset admonished her husband, he couldn’t hear for what, but the man bowed his head and nodded. Nadir clicked his tongue and settled back at his desk. He watched the blank pages futilely flap against his paperweight. Maybe a pot of coffee would help get things going. At the top of the stairs, he listened for Leona moving below. She rustled through the parlor, clicking shut her sewing box before the springs of her chair whined. With Argus in his study and Leona’s attention turned to her latest project, Nadir crept down the steps.
Slipping into the dining room and down the servant’s stairs into the kitchen, he smiled at his luck; the butler was occupied elsewhere. In the cool space beneath the house, he set to work filling the pot and loading the coffee grinder with beans, both of which he brought from home. He should have brought his valet. At least then someone could make him a real cup of coffee. Barnes still ignored him and made dishwater coffee. As he counted the rotations of the crank, a gentle rapping came from the side door. Pursing his lips and drawing in a deep breath, Nadir put the grinder aside with a thunk. He had expected to find the butler or grocer red-faced and waiting impatiently at the door with a crate of supplies, but instead he found a woman. She reminded him of a splotch of ink, all middling hues of black and white with narrow features that were more shadow than line.
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