The question hung in the air between them, too honest for comfortable social discourse. Harriet sighed, and in that sound was all the frustration of a friend who'd watched two people circle each other like wary combatants rather thanpotential lovers.
"She loves you to distraction," she said finally. "Which is precisely why she's trying so hard to leave. You terrify her, Your Grace. Not because of your power or position, but because of how thoroughly you could destroy her if she let you close enough. She's already lost her reputation for you. She can't afford to lose herself as well."
Adrian absorbed this like a blow, though part of him was thrilled to hear Eveline's feelings confirmed. "I won't destroy her."
"Won't you?" Harriet's gaze was steady, challenging. "Can you honestly say you know how to love her without trying to possess her? How to support her work without overshadowing it? How to be a partner rather than a protector?"
The questions stung because they struck at fears he'd barely acknowledged. Could he do those things? Could Adrian Blackburn, Duke of Everleigh, raised to command and control, learn to love as an equal rather than a superior?
"I can learn," he said finally.
"Then I suggest you learn quickly." Harriet moved past him to open the door, a clear dismissal. "The Manchester coach leaves in three days.”
Chapter 17
"Harwick, I need you to clear your schedule for the remainder of the day. We have considerable work ahead of us."
Adrian's solicitor, a man who'd weathered twenty years of Everleigh family business without so much as a raised eyebrow, actually blinked at the urgency in his employer's tone. Adrian had burst into the Inner Temple chambers like a force of nature, still damp from the morning drizzle and carrying what appeared to be hastily folded papers in his coat pocket.
"Your Grace," Harwick began carefully, setting aside the brief he'd been reviewing, "might I inquire as to the nature of this urgent business? The last time you arrived in such a state, you were attempting to break a betrothal without causing a Continental war."
"This is rather the opposite problem." Adrian withdrew the translation samples from his pocket, smoothing them on Harwick's mahogany desk with hands that betrayed only the slightest tremor. "I need to create a position, a legitimate, respectable scholarly position with contracts and terms that would stand up to the closest scrutiny. And I need it done within two days."
Harwick's eyebrows climbed toward his receding hairline as he examined the papers. His expression shifted from skepticism to interest as he read, occasionally murmuring appreciation at a particularly elegant turn of phrase. "This is quite sophisticated work. Ovid, isn't it? The translator shows remarkable sensitivity to both meaning and metre."
"Miss Eveline Whitcombe," Adrian said, watching his solicitor's face carefully. "I trust you've heard the name?"
"Ah." Harwick's expression grew carefully neutral, the look of a man who'd navigated too many society scandals to show surprise. "The young lady who catalogued your library. There has been some... discussion about her circumstances."
"Discussion." Adrian's laugh held no humor. "Is that what we're calling the systematic destruction of an innocent woman's reputation? She's been offered a position as a governess in Manchester, Harwick. A governess. One of the finest classical scholars in England, and she's being forced to teach basic Latin to millowners' daughters because society has decided she's unfit for anything else."
"Your Grace," Harwick said slowly, "while I sympathize with Miss Whitcombe's plight, creating a position simply to..."
"Not simply to do anything." Adrian began pacing the small office, energy crackling from him like electricity before a storm. "I want to establish her properly, legitimately, in a role that utilizes her abilities and provides her the recognition she deserves. Think, Harwick! What positions exist for scholars of her caliber?"
"Well, there are university posts, but women..."
"Cannot hold them, yes. What else?"
"Private librarians, though that's what caused the current difficulty. Translators for publishing houses, perhaps, though they typically work on contract rather than salary. Museum positions, possibly, though again the gender question..."
"What if we created something new?" Adrian stopped pacing, an idea taking shape with the kind of clarity that only came from desperation mixed with inspiration. "What if we established a position that combined all of those elements? Private scholar and translator, with a salary and proper contracts, but also with connections to legitimate institutions?"
Harwick leaned back in his chair, fingers pressed together as he considered. "It would need to be carefully structured to avoid any appearance of impropriety. The position would need genuine duties, genuine oversight, genuine production of scholarly work."
"Then we'll make it genuine." Adrian pulled out a chair and sat, leaning forward with intensity. "I want you to draw up contracts for the position of Senior Classical Scholar and Translation Specialist. The role would involve completing the Everleigh library catalogue, but also translating and preparing classical texts for publication. She would have the right to publish under her own name, with a percentage of any profits from sales."
"That's quite generous."
"I'm not finished. I also want provisions for her to lecture—privately at first, perhaps at ladies' educational societies or scholarly gatherings. A schedule that allows for research trips to other collections. An annual budget for acquiring texts relevant to her work. Essentially, Harwick, I want to create the kind of position that should exist for scholars of her caliber but doesn't because of society's ridiculous limitations."
Harwick had begun taking notes, his legal mind clearly engaged by the challenge. "The salary?"
"Two hundred pounds per annum to start, with increases based on publication success."
"Your Grace, that's more than many university professors..."
"And considerably less than her work is worth." Adrian's tone brooked no argument. "Draw it up, Harwick. Make it ironclad. I want no one to be able to suggest this is anything other than a legitimate professional arrangement."
