"The military histories, of course. Though I've had thoughts about reorganizing that section. Let me show you what I'm considering."
They worked through the morning with careful professionalism, discussingorganizational principles and debating classification systems as if Friday had never happened. Morrison popped in periodically with questions about the French collection, his enthusiasm providing welcome breaks in the tension.
But underneath the scholarly discussion, awareness simmered. Every accidental touch as they reached for the same volume. Every moment when their eyes met across the table. Every time he leaned close to examine something she'd written, it made it impossible to bear.
By luncheon, her nerves were strung tight as piano wire. They ate in near silence, the clink of silverware abnormally loud in the small dining room. Morrison's cheerful chatter about his morning discoveries provided cover for their mutual preoccupation.
"Miss Whitcombe," the young man said, helping himself to more potatoes with the appetite of the young and oblivious, "I wonder if you might have time this afternoon to look at a peculiar annotation I found? It's in Greek, but the hand is unusual; possibly a later addition?"
"Of course," she replied, grateful for the distraction. "Greek paleography can be tricky, especially in medieval manuscripts."
"Mr. Morrison is lucky to have your expertise," Adrian said, his tone perfectly pleasant. "Few scholars combine linguistic knowledge with such keen paleographic instincts."
It should have sounded like professional appreciation. Instead, the warmth in his voice made her stomach flutter.
The afternoon brought new tortures. Working with Morrison on his Greek annotation required close consultation, heads bent together over the manuscript. She was intensely aware of Adrian watching from his desk, the scratching of his pen growing increasingly aggressive.
"Is this letter xi or chi?" Morrison asked, pointing to a particularly cramped piece of text. "The scribe's hand is so compressed here."
"Xi, I believe. See how the horizontal strokes..." She broke off as Adrian suddenly rose, his chair scraping against the floor.
"If you'll excuse me," he said tightly, "I have correspondence to attend to. Mr. Morrison, Miss Whitcombe." He strode from the room without looking at either of them.
Morrison blinked in confusion. "Did I say something wrong?"
"Not at all," Eveline assured him, though she knew exactly what had driven Adrian from the room. The same thing that made her hands unsteady as she pointed out paleographic features. The same thing that had been building all day despite their careful professionalism.
Jealousy. Pure, simple, and entirely inappropriate given their circumstances.
She worked with Morrison for another hour, helping him develop a system for tracking the annotations he'd discovered. He was a good student, quick to understand and eager to learn. Under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed teaching him.
"Thank you so much, Miss Whitcombe," he said as they finished. "I hope Ihaven't taken too much of your time? I know you have your own research to pursue."
"It's been a pleasure," she said, and meant it. "Your observations about the French manuscripts are quite insightful. Have you considered publishing your findings?"
His face lit up like Christmas morning. "Do you really think they're worthy of publication?"
"With proper development, certainly. Perhaps we could discuss potential journals next week?"
After he left, glowing with academic encouragement, Eveline sat alone in the library, trying to summon the energy to return to her own work. The Byzantine manuscripts beckoned, but her mind kept circling back to Adrian's abrupt departure, the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw had clenched when Morrison leaned close to examine the text.
She should leave. Pack up her materials and return tomorrow when they could maintain better equilibrium. But something kept her in her chair; stubbornness, perhaps, or the simple desire to prove she could work here without constantly fleeing.
The door opened, and Adrian returned, looking slightly more composed though shadows still lingered in his eyes.
"Morrison gone?" he asked, moving to his desk with careful casualness.
"Yes. He's made some interesting discoveries in the French collection."
"Good. Good." He shuffled papers without looking at them. "He seems... eager to learn."
"Very eager. A bit boyish in his enthusiasm, but that's not uncommon in recent graduates."
"Boyish." Something eased in his shoulders. "Yes, I suppose he is rather. All that bouncing about and wide-eyed wonder."
"Were you jealous?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
He looked up sharply. "Should I have been?"
