“I find it rather invigorating. There is something about working in the soil with one’s hands that is surprisingly life-giving. You might try it sometime, gentlemen.”
“You think so? Then I should like to see Perry’s field today.” Mr. Beaumont threw his napkin onto the table.
“Agreed,” Lord Ainsley said as he dabbed at his mouth, where a trace of yellow yolk clung to his chin. “I want to know how large this villa truly is. Imagine the presentation we’ll make at the next meeting.”
Their enthusiasm and certainty brought a prickle to my skin. Who exactly had stolen the Bacchus mosaic and hindered my letters to the magistrate? The men before me certainly knew the worth. The theft had occurred before their arrival, but were they above hiring someone to act as a scout? Hadn’t they toured the continent hunting for lost relics? And for what purpose?
It was one thing to have one’s research published and reviewed for the sake of educating the masses. It was a completely different thing to steal valuable pieces from other countries and flaunt such items as hunting trophies. One was an antiquarian, the other truly a grave robber.
My guests refused to be sequestered in the abbey. After breakfast, I rode alongside them toward Perry’s farm, the weight of their company heavier with each passing hour. As we approached the fields, my eyes sought out the guards I’d stationed days ago. There they were, Mr. Hinsley and Mr. Dixon, posted at the edge of the excavation site.
At least this part of my promise to Bridget was fulfilled. No thief would dare approach under their watchful gaze.
One of the guards tipped his hat, and I returned a nod, the smallest reassurance settling in my chest.
The field appeared a hive of activity as Mr. Harrington barked orders like a general on the battlefield. Off to one side, Mr. Barron stood near the edge of the site, chatting amiably with one of the workers while gesturing toward the uncovered mosaic as if he were the one in charge.
I paused when I spied Bridget kneeling by a mosaic. With her bonnet lowered, she didn’t see me, likely too absorbed withbrushing the tiles free of debris. Then she raised her head, her eyes widening at the sight of my guests and at last lingering on me for the briefest moment. Just as quickly, she ducked her head and continued her work. Coming here might prove a mistake, but I hoped I could keep the men in hand.
Mr. Harrington raised an eyebrow. “Gentlemen, to what do we owe the pleasure?” He glanced over his shoulder. “We have had a steady stream of guests today, including a Mr. Barron.”
Jim Barron doffed his beaver hat as soon as he spied my company. With hurried steps, almost stumbling in the soft dirt, he made his way to the Dilettanti.
“We’ve come to inspect your progress,” Mr. Beaumont declared loudly.
“Capital idea,” Mr. Barron said to my guests. “A fine day for antiquities. Surely you’ve had the opportunity to wander Lord Hawthorn’s orchards and the abbey by now. He and I have had the most delightful chats about the cider business. Not for this year, of course.”
The insinuation that Mr. Barron and I had a relationship couldn’t be further from the truth.
Lord Ainsley and Mr. Beaumont ignored the innkeeper and brushed past him to Mr. Harrington. They engaged the man in conversation while Mr. Barron fidgeted, his expression piqued.
“Deuced manners your guests have. I was hoping for an introduction.”
“Another day,” I told him.
Anger flickered within his gaze before the smile returned. “I look forward to your invitation.”
My guests also ignored Bridget entirely. Eager to escape Mr. Barron’s cloying presence, I headed to her, halting in front of the mosaic. She continued brushing the geometrical border stretchingwell beyond a trio of cupids, her head now averted. Nor did she acknowledge me when I stood in front of her.
I longed to see her expression, to offer some hope or encouragement.
When she at last raised her head, her features cooled. “Lord Hawthorn, have you brought your friends to inspect their future purchase?”
“That is not my intention. I had merely hoped to satisfy their curiosity. But I understand they have made Mr. Perry an offer for his field.”
She sighed and placed her brush on her satchel. Ignoring my proffered hand, she rose. “I am on limited time, it would appear. I see Mr. Beaumont is becoming fast friends with Mr. Harrington. Next he will charm Mr. Perry.”
I squinted, the sunlight far too bright. “Hardly. Mr. Perry can sense a viper near his boots.”
Mr. Beaumont nodded sagely as Mr. Harrington pointed to the recently uncovered pool. The memory of Bridget standing in it and me reaching for her, ever so curt, brought a flush of regret. What a boor I had been.
She tilted her head, studying me.
“And I don’t think you need to worry about Mr. Perry selling. He has refused all offers, including my steward’s. In fact, I bring news that I think will please you,” I hurried to add as I removed the letter and map from the magistrate and handed it to her. She took it after a brief hesitation. As she read I had an opportunity to observe her freely, and I watched an array of emotions play across her face. Her nose was slightly reddened from being in the sun, despite her hat. The smattering of freckles newly formed on her cheeks was adorable, to my way of thinking.
She folded the letter and said not a word, but her mouth trembled.
“Bri—Miss Littleton. I am truly sorry for any offense I have given you. I realize you believe me to be partnering with Mr. Beaumont. If you would allow me to explain further—”
