Kitabı oku: «The Gryphon», sayfa 3

What must she think of him now?

‘You’re very quiet tonight, dearest,’ Victoria observed from the seat opposite. ‘Did something happen at the reception to upset you?’

‘Hmm? Oh, no, not at all.’ Laurence drew his gaze from the window and rallied a smile. ‘The evening was a great success. You must have heard all the praise being lavished upon your plays.’

‘I did and it was flattering in the extreme, though even after all these months, it still seems strange to hear people talk about my plays as though they were yours,’ Victoria said. ‘Do you know, one elderly lady called me Miss Lawe the entire evening? I was happy to play along, of course, but it did make me smile, given that she was far more correct than she knew.’

‘Of course, because you are the famous playwright and the one deserving of all the praise,’ Laurence said. ‘God knows I’ve done nothing to warrant the attention.’

‘Don’t be silly. You stepped forwards and said you were Valentine Lawe at a time when it was most important that you did and I will always think you a hero for that,’ Victoria said. ‘Goodness knows what would have happened to our family’s reputation if you had said nothing. Still, hearing you talk about my plays as though you wrote them does take some getting used to.’

‘Sometimes, I almost forget I didn’t write them,’ Laurence mused. ‘But if I don’t talk about them that way, people won’t find me convincing.’

‘Exactly, and I am perfectly content to let my plays be thought the work of my brother so that I can still appear to be the very correct wife of Mr Alistair Devlin,’ Victoria said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘But are you sure there’s nothing bothering you, dearest? You seemed in a much better frame of mind upon arrival at Mrs Blough-Upton’s house than you do upon leaving it.’

‘It’s nothing,’ Laurence said, shaking his head. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Good, then you can tell me about the young lady I saw you with not long after we arrived,’ Victoria said eagerly. ‘The very pretty one with dark hair and rather astonishing green eyes. I noticed you talking to her just before Mrs Blough-Upton swooped down and carried you off again. Who was she?’

Laurence briefly debated the wisdom of pretending he didn’t know who Victoria was talking about, but, suspecting that his all-too-observant sister was unlikely to believe it, said, ‘Her name is Lady Joanna Northrup. We met in a bookshop earlier in the day.’

‘Lady Joanna.’ Victoria’s eyes widened. ‘Good Lord, isn’t her father the new earl? The one who assumed the title after his eldest brother fell off a cliff and his nephew was shot in a duel?’

Remembering fragments of the conversation he’d had with Lady Cynthia, Laurence nodded. ‘Yes, I believe so.’ He paused, frowning. ‘I thought duels weren’t fought any more?’

‘They’re not, but gossip has it that the husband of the lady with whom Lord Foster was involved was so incensed that he punched Lord Foster in the face—’

‘A crime punishable by death,’ Laurence observed.

‘Yes, and believing himself the superior marksman, Foster offered him a challenge, only to find out he was not superior in any way. But never mind that, tell me about Lady Joanna. Wasn’t her father an archaeologist of sorts before he inherited the title?’

‘Yes. He lectured at the university and is a recognised authority on Egyptian history.’

‘How delightful! You have finally met a woman who shares your fascination with the past.’

‘She may share my fascination with the past, but she was not at all impressed with my being Valentine Lawe,’ Laurence said in a rueful tone.

‘Ah, I see. And you’re afraid,’ Victoria said slowly, ‘that having first seen you in the guise of an academic, the young lady will doubt your credibility after having seen you tonight in a far more glamorous and, therefore, less admirable role.’

‘Something like that,’ Laurence murmured. ‘My being a famous playwright didn’t impress Lady Joanna nearly as much as it did her aunt.’

‘And do you wish to impress Lady Joanna?’

Yes, he did, Laurence admitted. He had been looking forward to attending her father’s lecture tomorrow night, not only because he was interested in hearing what her father had to say, but because he wanted to see more of her. He wanted to get to know her better, to find out what she thought about matters of interest to both of them and to ask her about the time she had spent in Egypt.

But how seriously was she going to take him after having seen him tonight in the guise of Valentine Lawe? There had been no mistaking the chilliness of her greeting, nor had her manner improved as the evening wore on, Laurence acknowledged grimly. Did she already believe him a fraud? Think the only reason he had come up to her in the bookshop was to initiate a flirtation? A woman that beautiful must have numerous suitors for her hand, not to mention the fact she was the daughter of an earl and well beyond the reach of a man like him.

‘Let’s just say, I would rather not have her doubting my reasons for attending a lecture her father is giving at the Apollo Club tomorrow evening,’ Laurence said, neatly sidestepping the question. ‘She may not believe a playwright would have a genuine interest in ancient Egypt.’

‘I cannot think why. We are all entitled to more than one interest in our lives,’ Victoria said. ‘Why should someone who writes plays be any different?’

‘I don’t know, but Lady Joanna was noticeably more distant when I spoke to her this evening than she was when we met in the bookshop this afternoon,’ Laurence said. ‘Which is why I intend to do everything I can to convince her that I am an avid student of history and that my appreciation of all things Egyptian is genuine. And you can be sure I plan on doing it sooner rather than later!’

Acting on his convictions, Laurence did not wait until the lecture to settle matters between Lady Joanna and himself. He suspected he wouldn’t have much time to talk to her after the lecture, and that even if he did, it would not be with any degree of privacy, so he decided to pay a call on her at home the following afternoon and to use Volney’s book as an excuse for stopping by.

As such, he dressed carefully for the interview, choosing a well-cut jacket of dark-green kerseymere over a linen shirt and breeches. With it, he wore a pristine white cravat, a very pale-gold waistcoat and boots that, though polished to a high sheen, bore no fancy tassels or spurs. He was determined that when he saw Lady Joanna again, his appearance would in no way remind her of the man she had seen last night.

Unfortunately, when he was shown into the elegant drawing room of the house on Eaton Place, it was to find her in the company of an older woman; one whose wide-eyed expression upon hearing his name confirmed Laurence’s fears that the anonymity he had hoped for would not be forthcoming.

He advanced, somewhat hesitantly, into the room. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Joanna.’

‘Mr Bretton.’ She looked like a vision of spring in a white-muslin gown encircled by a band of pale-green silk, with a darker paisley shawl draped over her shoulders. Her hair, reflecting shades of copper and gold in a bright shaft of sunlight, was arranged in a loose cluster of curls around her face and she looked, in every way, the picture of feminine grace and refinement. But her brow was furrowed and her expression left Laurence in no doubt as to where he stood in her estimation. ‘I had not thought to see you until the lecture this evening.’

‘That was my intention,’ Laurence said, ‘but I had errands that brought me in this direction and I decided to take the opportunity to drop off Volney’s Travels on the way.’ He set the book on the table beside her chair. ‘I thought you might like to start reading it before the weekend.’

‘How thoughtful.’ Her eyes fell hungrily to the book, but Laurence knew good manners would prevent her from opening it. Instead, she looked up at him and said, ‘Are you acquainted with my aunt, Mrs Gavin?’

‘I have not had the pleasure, no.’

‘Ah, but I know you, Mr Bretton,’ said that lady with a smile. ‘Or rather, I know of you and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. Unlike my niece, I have seen all of your plays and enjoyed them very much.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Gavin,’ Laurence said, liking the rosy-cheeked lady and grateful for her recommendation. ‘It is always a pleasure to hear that my work is being appreciated.’

‘Of that there can be no doubt. I hear there are even rumours that your next play will be produced at Drury Lane.’

‘We are only in the opening stages of negotiation,’ Laurence said, not entirely surprised that word of his uncle’s discussions with the manager of the Theatre Royal should have reached the streets. In London, only the wind travelled faster than gossip. ‘The play is not yet finished and there is still much to be discussed.’

‘Ah, but I am sure satisfactory terms will be reached by all parties. Not that I see anything wrong with your work continuing to be shown at the Gryphon,’ Mrs Gavin said. ‘It is a superb theatre and the cast is exceptional. Your uncle is to be commended for his efforts at making the Gryphon the success it is, as are you for contributing so greatly to it.’

Guiltily aware that he had contributed nothing to his uncle’s success, that it was his sister’s plays that had taken London by storm, Laurence gruffly cleared his throat. ‘Thank you. I will be sure to pass your compliments along to my uncle. But now, I must be on my way. I look forward to seeing you at the lecture this evening, Lady Joanna, and hopefully, to speaking with you afterwards.’

‘I doubt there will be time.’ The lady’s words were clipped, her tone discouraging. ‘I expect to be fully occupied assisting my father, both before and after the lecture.’

The remark confirmed Laurence’s suspicions that the chances of his changing her mind were slim. Clearly, she had not appreciated his being less than honest with her upon the occasion of their first meeting and, having seen him as something of a performer last night, was not interested in furthering the acquaintance. It seemed that while the lady could keep secrets from him, he was not allowed to keep secrets from her.

‘I understand. Nevertheless, I look forward to the occasion.’ He turned to offer the other lady a smile. ‘It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs Gavin.’

‘And you, Mr Bretton. I look forward to seeing many more of your plays and wish you continued success with all of them.’

Grateful for having received at least one positive endorsement in Lady Joanna’s hearing, Laurence took his leave, keenly aware of two sets of eyes following him out of the room.

He had hoped to be able to explain to Lady Joanna why he hadn’t told her about his other life as Valentine Lawe, but clearly he was not to be given the opportunity. Whatever positive impression he might have made by offering to lend her Volney’s book had been overturned by his appearance at Lydia Blough-Upton’s soirée as Valentine Lawe. Lady Joanna was clearly not a fan of the theatre and had not been to see any of the plays. She was an academic and historian like her father and, despite Mrs Gavin’s glowing words of praise, Laurence knew her opinion of him was already formed.

It was going to take a lot more than an apology, however heartfelt, to change it.

Chapter Three

‘Well, it seems you have been keeping secrets from me, Joanna,’ Mrs Gavin said, breaking the silence that followed Mr Bretton’s departure. ‘You neglected to tell me you were such good friends with one of London’s most illustrious playwrights.’

‘We are not good friends, Aunt Florence,’ Joanna said, not quite sure how she was feeling in the wake of the gentleman’s unexpected appearance. ‘I had no idea he even was a playwright until I was informed of it at Mrs Blough-Upton’s reception last night. Mr Bretton and I simply met in a bookshop where he offered to lend me his copy of a book I happened to be looking for.’

Her aunt leaned over and peered at the title. ‘Travels through Syria and Egypt. Isn’t that more along your father’s line?’

‘It is.’

‘But Mr Bretton is a playwright.’

‘Yes, who professes an interest in ancient Egypt. He is coming to Papa’s lecture tonight.’

‘Is he indeed?’ Her aunt’s eyes twinkled. ‘Are you sure he isn’t using the book and the lecture as an excuse to further an acquaintance with you?’

‘I had no reason to think so at the time, but now I’m not so sure.’ Joanna nibbled on her bottom lip. ‘It does seem a little hard to believe after what I saw of him last night.’

‘Well, I have to believe all this attention is a problem of a most pleasurable sort,’ Mrs Gavin said, reaching for her cup and saucer. ‘I understand Captain Sterne has been paying marked attention to you of late and that Mr Osborne is in the habit of sending you posies.’

‘Yes, which I have asked him to stop,’ Joanna said. ‘I know he is related in some way to Lady Cynthia, but I cannot bring myself to like him. As for Captain Sterne, he had no time for me when I was plain Joanna Northrup, so naturally I am suspect of his affections now.’

‘But at least you have something in common with Captain Sterne,’ Mrs Gavin pointed out. ‘If memory serves, he accompanied your father on one of his early expeditions to Egypt, so his interest in the subject must be genuine.’

‘I believe it to be,’ Joanna allowed, ‘but I have always found him to be a rather arrogant man. Perhaps that is what comes of inheriting such great wealth at such a young age.’

Mrs Gavin smiled sympathetically. ‘I suspect it does change one’s circumstances. As does becoming the daughter of an earl. What about Mr Rowe? I hear you made his acquaintance last night.’

‘Yes, and I did not care for him in the least,’ Joanna said, remembering with distaste the objectionable way the man had leered at her. ‘He may be wealthy and heir to a viscountcy, but not even a king’s fortune would persuade me to marry him.’

‘Unfortunately, your aunt is using wealth as the criteria by which she determines your future husband’s suitability and, given the deplorable state of your father’s affairs, I suppose it must be a valid concern,’ Mrs Gavin said regretfully. ‘But I would not wish to see it be the only consideration when choosing the man you will marry.’

‘Neither would I, Aunt,’ Joanna acknowledged with a sigh. ‘I was far happier at the thought of marrying Mr Penscott,’ she said, referring to the young man who had worked as her father’s assistant for the past three years. ‘At least he liked me for who I was and we certainly shared an interest in Papa’s work. We could have travelled to Egypt together after we were married.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ her aunt said. ‘Mr Penscott hales from Yorkshire and northern men are very old fashioned in their notions. But it matters not since he is no longer a suitable companion for you. And I am sorry. I know you cared for him.’

‘Yes, I did. However, I suppose it is better to use one’s head than one’s heart when it comes to choosing the man with whom one will spend the rest of one’s life,’ Joanna said in a pragmatic tone. ‘The heart is notoriously unreliable.’

‘You’re thinking about Mr Patterson again, aren’t you?’

Joanna blushed, the unwelcome heat giving her away. ‘I wasn’t aware you knew about him.’

‘Of course I knew about him, child,’ her aunt said gently. ‘You were madly in love with the man, or believed yourself to be. And why would you not feel that way? He was as handsome as a young god and equally blessed when it came to the gift of oratory. I once heard him recite a poem at Lady Saxton’s summer fête and by the time he’d finished, I all but fancied myself in love with him,’ Mrs Gavin said in a wry tone. ‘But, I feared he would break your heart. He was very good at flirting with the young ladies, but not so good at following through on his promises to them.’

Joanna glanced down at her hands. ‘It all seems so silly now. But it was very painful at the time.’

‘First love always is. And you didn’t have my sister around to give you the guidance and support you so desperately needed.’

Joanna nodded, remembering how much she had longed for her mother’s advice at the time. ‘He wrote such romantic poetry. I thought … I truly believed that he had written the words just for me.’

‘No doubt he told you he had,’ her aunt said with an understanding smile. ‘But I am not sorry nothing came of it, Joanna. Mr Patterson would not have made you a good husband. Men like that never do. Most likely he’ll end up some rich woman’s cher ami, or wind up in debtor’s prison. Creativity is all very well, but sometimes the more brilliant the mind, the more unstable the person.’

Joanna smoothed her hand over her skirt, wondering why Laurence Bretton’s face suddenly came to mind. He hadn’t struck her as being in the least unstable, though there was no denying that he was two very different people—and extremely convincing in both roles.

‘So Mr Bretton is planning to attend your father’s lecture,’ her aunt said, unwittingly tapping into Joanna’s thoughts. ‘Interesting. I suspect you will see him in a very different light this evening.’

‘Of course, but in which light does he shine the truest? Writing plays must take a great deal of dedication, especially plays as successful as his,’ Joanna said, getting to her feet. ‘How can he divide his time between that and the study of ancient Egypt?’

‘Obviously, he makes time for both. It is not a bad thing to have such diverse interests.’

Joanna managed a grudging smile. ‘You like him.’

‘Yes, I do. I sense he is a good man and I like his manners and humility very much,’ her aunt said. ‘You were not kind to him today yet he did not speak harshly to you.’

Joanna flushed at the criticism. ‘He was not honest with me when we first met. He should have told me who he was and what he did, rather than leave me to find out at Mrs Blough-Upton’s reception.’

‘I suspect he had his reasons for keeping silent. Nor am I saying that you should think of Mr Bretton as someone you might wish to marry because quite clearly he is not. He is far from being your social equal and that is something you must now constantly bear in mind.’

It was a truism Joanna had not yet come to terms with, even though it was one of the principles that guided society. ‘I fail to see why. Dukes marry actresses and are not thought any the less of for it.’

‘Unfortunately, dukes can do whatever they wish,’ Mrs Gavin said, chuckling. ‘With rank comes privilege and I know a number of ladies and gentlemen who have made excellent use of both. But I am confident you will make the right choice when the time comes,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Just remember that a promise once given is difficult to retract and a vow once spoken is spoken for life.’

Joanna glanced at the book Mr Bretton had left for her, beginning to wish she had never encouraged the conversation with him in the bookshop. He confused her … and Joanna didn’t like being confused. Indeed, life in general seemed to have become a great deal more complicated since her father had become Lord Bonnington. ‘Thank you, Aunt Florence,’ Joanna said, slipping an arm around her aunt’s waist. ‘You know how much I value your opinion.’

‘Poppycock. You likely think my notions as old fashioned as I am, but are too kind to say so. Well, never mind. All I want is to see you happy. Money is not the only reason to wed, just as having your heart broken once is no reason to shy away from love. But I’m sure you already know that.’

Joanna nodded and kissed her aunt’s cheek before bidding her a fond farewell. Only then did she turn her attention to the book Mr Bretton had left for her. She was glad the brusqueness of her words at Mrs Blough-Upton’s reception had not affected his decision to lend it to her, but she was sorry his arrival today had coincided with her aunt’s—who seemed as enamoured of the man as everyone else.

Was she the only one who thought his not telling her the truth was a problem?

Joanna picked up the book and held it reverently in her hands. It was a lovely copy: leather bound, beautifully engraved and in excellent condition. Mr Bretton certainly took good care of his books, but then, who would have more respect for the written word than a man who made his living by them? A playwright would be as respectful of books as her father and Mr Penscott were of the ancient scrolls they found buried in the tombs.

But could the dashing Laurence Bretton, more famously known as Valentine Lawe, really be as interested in those artefacts as he was in his wildly successful plays? Did his reasons for wanting to attend the lecture tonight stem from a genuine desire to learn more about the distant past? Or were they, as Joanna was beginning to fear, little more than an excuse for spending time with her, as her aunt was all too inclined to think?

The Apollo Club was a favoured haunt of gentlemen who gathered to share ideas and exchange views on a variety of interesting and diverse topics. It was also where Ben Jonson had written The Devil is an Asse, thereby serving to unite Laurence’s literary leanings with his more historical ones. No doubt that was why he felt so at home as he strolled into the room known as the Oracle of Apollo a full fifteen minutes before the clock struck seven.

For once, he was in his element, surrounded by fellow students of history all caught up in the excitement of hearing about William Northrup’s—correction, Lord Bonnington’s—latest expedition to Egypt and of the wondrous things he had seen there. Valentine Lawe didn’t belong here any more than an orchid belonged in the desert and Laurence was heartily relieved when no one seemed to recognise him. No doubt the conservative clothes and spectacles helped.

He glanced towards the front of the room where Lady Joanna and her father were busy getting ready for the lecture and allowed himself the pleasure of watching her unobserved for a few minutes. She was dressed in a dark-blue pelisse over a pale-blue gown, the fitted lines of the garment making her look even more slender than she had in the bookshop. She had set her bonnet aside, allowing the candlelight to catch the highlights in her hair, and her cheeks were slightly flushed as a result of her efforts at getting everything ready.

‘Joanna, where are my samples of pottery from the fourth week’s dig?’ her father asked abruptly. ‘Don’t tell me I forgot to bring them!’

‘You did, Papa, but I did not,’ Lady Joanna said, calmly lifting a wooden box on to the table. ‘All ten pieces are here, labelled as to their place of origin and date of discovery.’

‘And the papyrus scrolls?’

‘In the glass cases. I wasn’t willing to risk curious onlookers being overly enthusiastic in their handling of them.’

‘Excellent,’ Lord Bonnington said, regarding the neat arrangement of glass display cases with approval. ‘Now, if we can just get these last few pieces of statuary in place—ah, there you are, Mr Penscott,’ he said as a lanky young man wearing a dark-brown jacket over fawn-coloured breeches walked up to the table. ‘Give me a hand with this stone head, will you?’

‘Of course, my lord,’ Penscott said, bending to pick it up. His sandy-coloured hair was swept back from a wide forehead bronzed by the sun and he had a pleasant, amiable countenance. ‘It’s my job to do the heavy lifting. Isn’t that right, Lady Joanna?’

The tone was affectionate and the remark, judging from the colour that blossomed in Lady Joanna’s cheeks, was not entirely unwelcome, making Laurence wonder as to the nature of the relationship. ‘It is indeed, Mr Penscott.’ She looked up from her notes and smiled. ‘That, and making tea over a campfire, which you do exceptionally well.’ Then she saw Laurence and the smile froze on her lips. ‘Mr Bretton. You’re … early.’

‘Am I?’ Laurence pulled out his pocket watch and flicked open the lid. ‘A few minutes, perhaps, but you did tell me I should come early if I wished to secure a good seat. A sound piece of advice given how crowded the room is already.’

She appeared flustered, as though she hadn’t really expected him to come. ‘Yes, well, as I said, this is the … first opportunity my father has had to speak about his trip to Dendera since we emerged from mourning. It is only to be expected that there would be … a great deal of curiosity about what he found.’

Laurence closed the watch and slipped it back into his pocket, finding her distress curious. Was she embarrassed that he had witnessed her light-hearted exchange with the other man?

Mr Penscott didn’t seem to care. After a cursory glance in Laurence’s direction, he went back to unpacking boxes and even her father didn’t raise his head. Clearly, the reasons for the lady’s discomfort were her own. Deciding not to make an issue of it, Laurence said, ‘I would not have expected otherwise. Your father’s reputation is well known in London.’ He set his satchel on one of the vacant seats. ‘For that reason, I hope there will be an opportunity to speak to him after the lecture concludes.’

‘That will depend on how many questions he is asked,’ Lady Joanna said. ‘Upon occasion, he has been known to run very late.’

‘Except when you are on hand to keep him to his schedule,’ Laurence said, gently reminding her of the comment she had made upon the occasion of their first meeting. ‘I’m sure he is grateful for your help in that regard, as well as in the organising of matters beforehand.’

‘It is … a necessary part of planning the evening,’ Lady Joanna agreed. She glanced back down at her notes, her brow furrowing. ‘Now if you will excuse me, I must get back to work. There is still much to be done before the lecture gets underway.’

Laurence inclined his head. ‘Of course. I would hate to be the cause of any delay.’

Joanna glanced at him briefly, then turned and walked away. She wasn’t sure why she felt so flustered all of a sudden. She had done enough of these presentations that standing in front of a room full of men didn’t bother her any more. What, then? Embarrassment that he witnessed her comfortable exchange with Mr Penscott?

Surely not. There was nothing wrong with colleagues enjoying a laugh together. Certainly no one else seemed to think so. After a brief glance at the newcomer, Mr Penscott had gone back to unpacking boxes and her father seemed not to have heard the exchange at all. Even Mr Bretton did not seem unduly concerned. Following his last comment, he had sat down and taken a small leather-bound notebook from his satchel, which he had proceeded to open and lay flat upon his lap. Joanna had seen lines of writing, along with what looked like hieroglyphic symbols covering the page from top to bottom. A moment later, he’d taken out a pencil and began making notes and hadn’t looked at her again.

Unreasonably miffed, Joanna had carried on with her preparations. So, the great Valentine Lawe had deigned to make an appearance. How gracious of him. He had even dressed for the part, looking every inch the academic in a dark jacket over breeches and boots, his appearance smart but decidedly understated. He had abandoned his fancy lace jabot for a conservatively striped neckcloth and the signature rose was nowhere in sight. He was even wearing his wire-rimmed spectacles again.

Did he really need them, Joanna wondered, or were they little more than a contrivance?

Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. Laurence Bretton was only one of the many gentlemen who had come to hear her father speak and though she had given him an invitation, it did not entitle him to any special consideration. She had extended the invitation for the same reason he had offered to lend her the book—because they shared a common interest in Egypt.

That was all. Joanna had no intention of getting to know the gentleman better because despite Lady Cynthia’s beliefs that Mr Bretton was interested in her, Joanna knew all too well the fickleness of the writer’s heart. She had experienced it firsthand. Her infatuation with Aldwyn Patterson had scarred her to a far greater degree than anyone knew because only Joanna knew what he had whispered to her in the folly when they were alone. Only she knew the sweet promises he had made and the lyrical poetry he had written extolling her glorious emerald eyes and the sweetness of her face.

Only she knew how madly and stupidly she had fallen in love—only to discover his true nature when she had found out she was not the only young lady to be on the receiving end of his flattery.

Such was her disappointment in having discovered Laurence Bretton’s true calling. Though he was a different kind of writer, Joanna had no reason to suspect he was any different at heart. He lived in a world of fictional characters and implausible scenarios.

Witness his appearance as Valentine Lawe. What was that if not just another role in his world of make believe?

But her world wasn’t like that any more. Joanna was no longer in control of her own destiny. She was the daughter of an impoverished earl, fated to marry a man of means; one who possessed either wealth or a title, or better yet, wealth and a title, and who was willing to spend a large part of that wealth on the restoration of Joanna’s home.

That was the only hope her family had. Personal feelings didn’t enter into it. She was to be married off to the highest bidder—and she was deceiving herself if she thought to call it anything else.

For Laurence, the next two hours flew by. Lord Bonnington offered a highly informative talk concerning his explorations of the ruins at Dendera and of the many unexpected finds he and his team had made along the way. Numerous samples were documented and described, some that were passed around during the course of the discussion, while the more delicate articles were kept at the front of the room for viewing. Mr Penscott, who turned out to be a former student of Bonnington’s as well as his assistant, was often called upon to elaborate a point, though his explanations, being more straightforward than the earl’s, were better suited to the laymen in the audience.