A Grand Tour (Timeless Victorian Collection Book 2) Page 12

  A hand settled on his shoulder. “Don’t be discouraged, Ken.” Bodkin’s face was filled with compassion. “The fact that you tried, when it could have cost you the very opportunity you’ve dreamed of . . . Well, that is exceptionally admirable in my opinion.”

  Ken blew out a breath. “I think I love her.” Saying the words aloud made them real—and terrifying—but hearing them gave them authenticity. They were true.

  “Of course you do. If you’re just realizing that now, maybe you’re not as brilliant as the rest of the world thinks.” He grinned, but then his expression grew serious. “Love isn’t easy, my friend, and it’s seldom convenient.”

  Ken nodded, swallowing hard at the lump in his throat. He slipped the notebook back into his coat pocket.

  “I’ll speak to Romano,” Bodkin said. “And Fiorelli. He may be more amenable to the idea than his associate thinks.”

  “Thank you.”

  Bodkin patted Ken’s shoulder again, waggling his brows. “Chin up. You wouldn’t want your lady friend to see you looking glum.”

  Ken looked toward the doorway. “Is she . . . ?”

  Bodkin chuckled. He put a hand behind his ear and tilted his head. “Methinks I hear giggling.”

  Ken listened and, sure enough, he could hear that Rosalie had arrived. He stood. “You’re a good friend, Bodkin.”

  Bodkin shrugged, color rising to his face. “You’d do the same for me.”

  As the two exited the room, Ken wondered if that was true. Was he as loyal a friend as Bodkin? He hoped very much that he was.

  Ken saw Eleanor right away when he entered the room. She stood with the Blakely sisters near the entrance, greeting Mrs. Daines and looking beautiful in a lavender evening gown. Harlan was beside Rosalie, introducing her to his aunt, and the other two young men were talking with Lillian. The young lady had, of course, brought her sketchbook. and he imagined she would soon settle into a seat and begin to draw the least likely object in the room. Lillian’s passion for her work was truly endearing.

  Eleanor looked up, and when her gaze met his, Ken was rewarded with a bright smile. She excused herself and crossed the crowded room to join him. “Well, if it isn’t the famous Professor Kendrick, discoverer of the Temple of Caesar? You know, the entire city is talking about you, sir.”

  Ken’s neck heated. “I did not do it alone. In fact, I had a very capable partner.”

  She smiled, taking his offered arm as he led her to the side of the room. “Will you tell me how the excavation is progressing? What has been found so far?”

  “So far, a few column fragments and part of one wall. I don’t have high hopes for reconstructing the building.” He had visited the site daily over the past weeks and never failed to feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, even though there was very little to show for it. “I shall take you to see it once it’s further along. The site is rather dangerous at the moment.”

  They stopped at a large fireplace that was blessedly unlit this warm evening.

  Eleanor released his arm and turned to face him. “I should like that. Ken, I am so happy for you.” Her smile was tender and her eyes soft. “What you did is amazing.”

  He felt warm all over at her words. “Like I said, I didn’t do it alone. Without your knowledge and research . . .”

  She shook her head. “I only pointed out things you would eventually have seen on your own. You had it all there.”

  “You do not give yourself enough credit.”

  He leaned an arm on the mantel, looking at the hearth. This latest development should have him singing from the rooftops, but he felt heavy. Eleanor would leave Italy in just five weeks. How could he bear to say goodbye to her? His heart ached as he mulled over the dilemma. He couldn’t ask her to give up what she worked for and stay with him, but could he give up Pompeii for her?

  Eleanor stepped closer, studying his face. “Is everything all right? You seem . . .”

  “Tired.” He forced a smile. “I am tired.”

  “Yes, I can imagine. You must have a lot on your mind, and you’ve worked hard these last weeks.”

  “I fear I’ve neglected my friends.”

  “Not at all.” Eleanor took his arm and led him toward the sofa in the far corner of the room. “Your friends understand. Here, sit. I’ll fetch you a drink.”

  “No need. I—”

  But she’d already left, making her way toward a refreshment table. He stretched his arm over the back of the sofa, idly watching the people in the room. He wished he didn’t feel so despondent. He wished he didn’t have to choose between the things he wanted most.

  Eleanor was returning with two glasses when Bodkin stopped her. Ken watched as Eleanor was introduced to Signore Romano. She curtsied and smiled. The three spoke together for a moment, and Ken would have given nearly anything to hear what they were saying. He felt a tug of sadness knowing that no matter how she wanted it or how qualified she was, she’d not have the opportunities he had.

  Bodkin said something that sounded very complimentary. Eleanor smiled, glancing toward Ken. Then a moment later, the Italian man spoke, and she laughed politely. After a short time, she excused herself and continued to where Ken sat.

  Behind her, Bodkin whispered something to Signore Romano. The man nodded, his lips pursing pensively.

  Eleanor handed Ken a drink and sat beside him. “That was interesting. Mr. Bodkin introduced me to an associate of Giuseppe Fiorelli’s.”

  “Oh?” Ken tried to look innocent, as if he hadn’t been spying and watching her every move over the back of the couch. “And what did he say?”

  “Nothing significant,” she replied, setting her glass onto a low table. “Just pleasantries. He does have a very high opinion of you, though.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Perhaps he thinks to offer you a position at Pompeii. Wouldn’t that be grand?”

  Ken looked away, his throat tight. His mouth tasted of the most bitter guilt. “I can’t imagine he would,” he managed to say.

  “But if he did . . .” Her voice trailed off. She turned her head slightly, as if listening.

  Ken glanced behind her and saw a group of matronly women gathered near the sofa. One woman was leaning in, speaking in a low voice. “Yes, I was correct. That is indeed Miss Rosalie Blakely.” The woman spoke the name with a sneer. “I wonder if Mrs. Daines knows the young lady has been very exclusive with her nephew since she arrived in Rome—improperly so.”

  “A flirt,” another of the ladies said, wrinkling her lip like it was the worst insult she could call another person.

  The third lady leaned in, looking as if she had a treat to share with her friends. “I do believe there was some scandal surrounding Miss Blakely last Season.” She paused for dramatic effect. “I heard she was involved with a sailor.” The last word was whispered.

  The first woman nodded sagely. “I remember hearing about it as well.”

  Another of the women looked shocked, holding a hand in front of her mouth. “Do you suppose it’s true?”

  “I wager that’s the reason her parents rushed her away to the continent in the middle of her coming out Season.”

  The woman with the curled lip grunted. “And now here she is, at it again. Some people just cannot be depended upon to behave appropriately.”

  The first woman shook her head, clucking her tongue. “What a disgrace to a fine family name.”

  Ken looked at Eleanor, rolling his eyes at the gossiping old hags and ready with a retort about minding one’s own business, but he stopped.

  Eleanor sat frozen, her face white as a sheet.

  He touched her hand. “Eleanor?”

  Her eyes darted to him, then to the women and around the room. “I must go. I must take the girls and . . .”

  And in that moment, he understood. No wonder Eleanor had been so worried about Harlan and Rosalie being seen together. The young lady had already been involved in one scandal. Her reputation hung by a thread. With the young lady’s history, anoth
er disgrace, whether true or simply perceived, would devastate her family.

  And Eleanor would be caught up in the outcome.

  Ken’s first reaction was anger. How could Rosalie’s parents place such a responsibility on Eleanor? It wasn’t fair for her to carry this burden. But anger wouldn’t solve anything. She looked close to falling to pieces. Eleanor needed him.

  “I’ll get Lillian,” he said. “We’ll meet you at the entrance hall.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I’ll find Rosalie.”

  He helped her to her feet, holding on to her arm until he was certain she was steady. He led her around the sofa, then nodded and started toward where he’d last seen Lillian. Eleanor grasped his arm.

  When he turned, he saw tears in her eyes. “I can’t allow Rosalie to see Mr. Reid anymore. If there is gossip about their association, it will only make things worse, for both of them.”

  “I know,” Ken said.

  “And that means I won’t . . . We won’t . . .”

  “I understand.”

  Her chin quavered as she nodded.

  And Ken knew he would give up Pompeii a hundred times to be with her.

  The creak of the carriage and the sound of the horses’ hooves on the paving stones were not enough to drown out Rosalie’s weeping. Eleanor had apologized countless times since they left Mrs. Daines’s residence, but her young charge wouldn’t hear it.

  Lillian sat beside her sister. She slid an arm around her shoulders and gave her a handkerchief. “Rosalie, it is just one party. The world isn’t coming to an end.”

  Eleanor winced. If only that were the case, this would be so much easier. “Actually, I think it would be best if we didn’t attend any more gatherings in Rome. In fact, tomorrow I will start making arrangements to leave the city.” Her heart hurt as the words left her mouth. She’d loved Rome—loved the history and their new friends and all they’d experienced. She’d miss this city, but above everything else, she’d miss Ken.

  “Leave the city?” Rosalie cried. “But what about my Mr. Reid?” Through the small window, streetlamps illuminated Rosalie’s tear-streaked cheeks and red nose at regular intervals.

  “Mr. Reid is precisely why we must go.” Eleanor tried to make her voice gentle, while leaving no room for discussion. “I’m sorry, Rosalie. I promised your parents to do all within my power to protect your name.”

  “But I did nothing wrong. I followed all the rules. I was not alone with Mr. Reid, not once. I did what you asked.”

  Eleanor felt a wave a pity for the young lady, who had behaved as she should, yet it hadn’t been enough to keep the gossips from speculating.

  “I know you did. But the fact is that others perceive you’re spending too much time with the gentleman. It only takes one person’s speculation and a few whispers—”

  “But Mr. Reid and I are in love,” Rosalie burst out, her words hardly understandable between her sniffles and sobs. “Not seeing him will . . . it will break my heart.”

  “Rosalie,” Lillian said. “It is not forever. Soon enough, you will both be back in London, and in the meantime, you can write letters—”

  “But that is months away, maybe even a year,” Rosalie said. “Miss Doyle, you can’t do this to me. You don’t understand how it feels to be in love. Leaving behind the man I care for . . . I just can’t. You can’t force me to leave.”

  “Perhaps if we were to . . . avoid certain company for a few weeks?” Lillian proposed. “Surely speculation would die down if Rosalie were not seen with Mr. Reid as often?”

  Eleanor considered. They’d planned to spend at least two more months in Rome. In that time, surely the nosy Englishwomen would either move on with their tour or lose interest in Rosalie’s affairs, especially if she were not seen with Mr. Reid. Besides, as she said, Rosalie was obeying the rules. It seemed cruel to punish her based on another person’s assumptions.

  And as Eleanor thought about it, a much more selfish motive came into play that she couldn’t ignore. She didn’t want to leave. Once she left Rome, she would not see Ken again. Signore Romano told her he’d offered Ken a position in Naples, and of course he’d accept it. It was the very thing he’d wished for. He deserved it. She coughed, her throat constricting as tears pushed against the back of her eyes.

  She turned to the side, discreetly wiping a tear from her cheek, grateful for the darkness. “I think that is a very reasonable compromise, Lillian,” Eleanor said, once she had control of her voice. “Taking some time away from Mr. Reid—”

  “This is too cruel,” Rosalie sobbed. “We’ve just found one another, and to be separated . . .” She threw down the handkerchief, balling her fists. “You, neither of you, could possibly know how my heart is breaking.”

  A very miserable week passed, in which the women paid social calls, visited the Doria Palace Gallery, the Borghese Gardens, and St. Peters. Eleanor enjoyed the outings, and Lillian found content for her sketchbook, but Rosalie was miserable.

  “How can I bear this tedium?” Rosalie slumped back into the sofa in the common room of their suite as another evening without an engagement dragged on. “We’ve refused so many invitations, and I am suffering for it. Why at this very moment, ladies could be flirting with my Mr. Reid at the Wheelers’ ball.” She sat upright. “Do you think he is dancing with one of them?” She hid her face in her hand and wept.

  “I don’t think he has had time for flirting,” Lillian said, looking up from her sketchbook. She motioned toward the pile of letters on the table by the window. “Not with all the letters he’s been writing.”

  A knock came at the door, and Signora Dellucci entered. “Another letter for you, Miss Blakely,” she said, crossing the room and handing an envelope to Rosalie.

  Rosalie tore it open and began reading.

  “What did I tell you?” Lillian said.

  “And a delivery for you as well, Miss Doyle.”

  Eleanor took the parcel from Signora Dellucci. “Grazie,” she muttered as she unwrapped it. Inside, she found her notebook. She’d meant to ask Ken about it when she realized she’d left it among his books at the Forum excavation. An envelope poked out of the pages. She unfolded the paper, the racing of her heartbeat attesting to how few letters she’d received from gentlemen in her life.

  Miss Eleanor Doyle,

  I find myself as of late quite missing the company of my dear friend. As the necessity for our separation is essential for our young charges and does not issue from any desires of our own, I propose an excursion.

  I do not wish for you to think my intentions are at all inappropriate, but if it is all the same to you, I’d prefer to keep the destination a secret. I shouldn’t want to pass up the opportunity to see your eyes light up in surprise when you realize where we’ve gone.

  If you do not send a message to the contrary, Bodkin and I will be waiting outside your pensione at midnight, ready to whisk you off on an adventure. I hope that is sufficient time for your young ladies to be safely asleep. We will return well before they wake.

  Yours in anticipation,

  Ken

  P.S. For this particular adventure, I recommend a coat.

  Eleanor stared at the letter, then reread it. She could feel that her cheeks were red and looked up to see if either of the Blakelys noticed. Both were occupied—Lillian with her drawing and Rosalie with her own letter. Neither paid attention to Eleanor’s delivery.

  Eleanor moved to the window, feeling overly warm. Should she accept? The invitation was rather presumptuous. A clandestine midnight meeting?

  But it wouldn’t be just the pair of them. Bodkin would be there. A third party kept the outing from being improper.

  She tapped her fingers on the windowsill, excitement making her nerves tingle. She looked back at the letter. Ken had missed her, and he’d arranged . . . something. Where could he possibly take her that she’d need a coat?

  “I am so tired,” Rosalie said abruptly. She stood, letter in hand. “I think I shall go to sleep.”


  “So early?” Lillian asked. “Surely you can’t be ready to sleep. The hour is not yet nine.”

  Rosalie’s face shone. She dabbed her forehead with a handkerchief, looking toward the clock, then toward her bedchamber. “Yes, well, I’ve nothing else to do this evening.” She gave a peculiar smile. “Well, then. Good night.”

  “How odd,” Lillian said once her sister’s door was closed.

  “She may wish to read her letters in private,” Eleanor reasoned. “Or perhaps she really is tired. The heat was quite oppressive today. I feel rather worn out myself.”

  “Yes, that must be it,” Lillian said.

  Three hours later, Eleanor stood at the same window, anticipation making her stomach fluttery. The pensione was in a relatively quiet area of the city, but even at this hour, a carriage wasn’t unusual. Two conveyances had passed before one finally stopped and Ken stepped out.

  He looked up and waved. The light of a gas lamp revealed a large smile.

  Eleanor waved in return and crept down the stairs. She slipped out through the pensione door, closing it quietly behind her. She’d never done anything secretive in her entire life, and she was shaking, both from excitement and nervousness.

  Ken took her hand, helping her inside the carriage.

  “Delighted to see you, my dear.” Bodkin sat on the seat across from her. He inclined his head and reached across the space to squeeze her hand.

  “I’m so glad you came.” Ken climbed inside and took the seat beside her. “And you brought your coat.” He tapped the ceiling, and the carriage started off.

  Eleanor folded the coat on her lap. “Are we going to the Alpine Mountains? I didn’t realize we could make the journey there and back so quickly.”

  “Antarctica.” Ken kept his face serious, though he couldn’t prevent his eyes from sparkling.

  “Ah,” Eleanor said. “I should have known.”

  “It’s been too long,” Bodkin said. “I’ve missed you, Miss Doyle.”

  She smiled. “I’ve missed you as well, sir.” Her eyes darted to Ken and away quickly. “Both of you.”