Her eyes met his, bright with engagement. For a moment, the room was still as he regarded her. Not only had she noticed the inconsistency without prompting, but she had offered a sensible, time-saving solution. Admiration rose swiftly in him, mingled with the rare pleasure of camaraderie.
He cleared his throat.
“You have a remarkable eye for structure, Catherine,” he said.
She gave a small shrug; her cheeks touched with colour. “I have always liked to see disorder resolved into pattern.”
Marcus chuckled. “Then you have married into a house most in need of such a gift.”
Her lips curved, though she did not look away.
“If that is true, I am content indeed.”
They resumed their work, though Marcus found his attention straying toward her more than toward the scattered fragments of Roman pottery. When she leaned forward to examine a shard, a lock of hair slipped forward; he watched as she tucked it back, the gesture graceful and unstudied.
“Have you ever presented your findings formally before?” she asked.
Marcus shook his head.
“Only in writing,” he said. “My last paper appeared four years ago in the Society’s quarterly. I rarely speak at meetings. I prefer to listen.”
Catherine gave him a warm smile.
“Then perhaps this gathering will prove different,” she said.
Marcus met her gaze with firm intensity.
“In some respects, it already has.”
Colour deepened in her cheeks, and she returned her focus to a fragment in her hand.
“This piece still has visible scoring. It may have belonged to a larger vessel.”
He stepped nearer. “May I?” he asked.
She passed it to him, their fingers brushing. The contact was fleeting, yet his awareness lingered. He studied the fragment, then set it down with care.
“You are very adept at this. I hope you know that.”
Her shoulder lifted lightly, though her eyes remained bright.
“I have always liked puzzles. And you have given me a vast one.”
He smiled faintly. “If we continue so, I may soon find myself unnecessary.”
She glanced up at him in disbelief.
“You will never be unnecessary,” she said. Then, realising the implication, she added, “Your knowledge, I mean. These fragments would mean nothing without your years of research.”
Marcus returned to his place across the table, though his mind had not returned to the work. He watched her arrange the small objects with care, matching edge to curve with practised precision. She had brought clarity to his clutter, method to his instinct—and had done so without lessening him. Rather, she had strengthened the work they now shared.
As the afternoon wore on, Catherine continued refining the catalogue. Marcus located a small parcel wrapped in linen and placed it beside her.
“These are from the 1813 excavation. I had nearly forgotten them.”
Catherine looked at it with interest.
Then we must rediscover them properly,” she said.
