The Ruin Of A Rogue (14 page)

He began to doubt that the hardworking, antiquarian-loving, and sometimes cheeky maid could coexist in the same body with the haughty heiress. There was a real possibility that Anne Brotherton had been feigning the ugly side of her character.

He started to whistle the tune to a bawdy Italian song. Eventually he’d find out why.

Chapter 14

A
nne’s back ached—not as much as it had, she was getting stronger—but she forced herself to continue. She’d painstakingly cleared the top layer of soil from the atrium, making herself approach the task in a methodical manner. She felt a little lonely and would have enjoyed a companion in her work, even the dastardly Lithgow.

Especially the dastardly Lithgow. She must not let their pleasant morning weaken her defenses against him, or make the mistake of believing his interest in the ancient remains anything but feigned.

It was time to dig deeper and she could hardly wait. Her reward came quickly. A layer of sacking, rotten but stout enough to retain its shape, stretched over the ground six inches beneath the surface. Tearing off her earth-clogged glove, the better to explore by touch, she enlarged a hole in the burlap and found the unmistakable ridges of tiny tiles. Careful scraping with fingers, trowel, and her handkerchief cleared a section of mosaic about a foot square.

She scrambled upright to gain perspective. Staring at the pattern of black, brown, and orange tesserae, she thought she could make out the head of an animal and couldn’t wait to test the assumption.

“It’s a lion.”

She jumped and spun around. “What?”

A gentleman sat on one of the grassy mounds, leaning forward on a walking stick. “My apologies for shocking you. I’ve been watching for some time and didn’t want to disturb you.”

“What makes you think it’s a lion?” Anne asked.

“I saw it thirty years ago, before Hooke abandoned the work. The terrace was in quite a remarkable state of preservation, then.” He rose to stand beside her, regarding the mosaic from her viewpoint.

“Let’s hope it still is. At least someone had the sense to cover it.”

Anne studied the newcomer. He was older than she’d first thought, a handsome middle-aged man with cropped salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in sensible country clothing, but with a certain air of style. She did some rapid calculations.

“Were you a child, then?”

“You flatter me, madam. I was quite grown up when I became acquainted with Mr. Hooke.” There was something about his demeanor that didn’t quite fit the country gentleman.

“Do you live nearby, sir?”

“A few miles hence.” He waved in the direction of the hill behind Hinton Manor. “I heard a rumor that someone was digging again, and since I enjoy a good walk and the weather is uncommonly fine, I decided to investigate. I didn’t expect to find such a pretty explorer. Do you work alone?” His smile was charming, his voice mellifluous. Too much so.

“For the moment,” she said. “I have decided laborers may lack the delicate touch needed to excavate these fragile remains.” She stepped aside to put more distance between them.

“Are you planning on making a lengthy stay, then?”

“My plans are uncertain. Lord Lithgow has kindly given me permission to explore the site.”

“Lithgow, eh. Young Marcus. I heard about his good luck. A peerage and an estate, from different sides of his family.”

“Are you acquainted with him?”

“My visits to Hinton were before he was born. I live mostly in town and saw little of Hooke in later years.”

Despite her misgivings, Anne indulged the curiosity that had been raised by Sir John Bufton. “Did you know Lord Lithgow’s mother?”

“Ellen? I knew her long ago. She was a beautiful young woman.”

“I have the impression,” Anne said hesitantly, “that Lord Lithgow may wish to meet those who remember her. May I tell him your name and direction?”

“Bentley. David Bentley from Nether Barton. I look forward to seeing how the delightful Miss Hooke’s son turned out. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“I’m Miss Brotherton.” She dropped a reluctant curtsey but he showed no particular reaction. There were other Brothertons, though it wasn’t a common name. Her suspicions somewhat assuaged, she decided to see if he could be useful. “Please tell me, sir, anything you remember about the villa. It would help me plan where to look.”

Mr. Bentley turned out to have a considerable knowledge of his subject and an excellent memory. As they walked around the site together, the shape and arrangement of the rooms came to life before Anne’s eyes.

“I believe the remains of a hypocaust were found along that side of the building and Hooke speculated that the furnace lay at one end.” He pointed out a corner that appeared never to have been touched. “But he kept trying new areas willy-nilly. He didn’t proceed methodically, like you.”

“As soon as I have cleared the terrace and the rest of the atrium I shall start on that area. I’m quite fascinated at the ingenuity of the Romans in heating their houses.”

“I’ve always thought it a tragedy for the English that they lost the art. I must be off if I’m to be home before dark. May I come again and see your progress?” He held out his hand and reawakened her discomfort by raising hers to his lips.

“I’m usually to be found here from the middle of the morning onward,” she said stiffly, snatching it away and tucking both hands behind her back. Mr. Bentley was a useful consultant but there was something about him she didn’t like. Their encounter reminded her of her first meeting with Lithgow, though the latter’s initial advances had been far more subtle.

“And does Lithgow join you?”

“When his estate doesn’t keep him busy,” she said, not anxious to confide her opinion about his incredible lack of interest.

As she stared in blissful admiration at the mosaic terrace, she forgot about the departed Bentley and thought about its owner. Surely anyone, even the ruthless Lithgow, would be thrilled by such an amazing discovery on his land. To tell the truth, she couldn’t wait to show him.

A
nne was bright-eyed this morning, no trace of reserve or arrogance about her. Marcus found her adorable as she burst out her big news.

“The terrace? That’s wonderful!” he said. “I truly doubted you’d find anything of value.”

“I knew it had to be there! I cleared almost all the earth away before the carriage arrived to collect me at dusk. I can’t wait to see it in daylight.”

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go and look at it.”

“Immediately?” Her lips pursed and she shook her head. “I’d rather do my work here first. Once I get to the villa I won’t want to leave it.”

“My dear Anne. A discovery like this is worthy of celebration and a celebration means a holiday. No housework for you today. Besides, I want to see it too.”

“Aren’t you too busy?” She was halfway out of the door as she threw the words over her shoulder with a hint of a taunt but no bite in her sarcasm.

The chill mist failed to dampen her spirits. She hurried across the meadow, her skirts gathering water from the long wet grass. “I worried all last night that the rain might damage the tiles,” she said, running the last fifty feet. “It’s all right! The water has washed them. Oh Marcus! Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

The mosaic glistened wet under the gray sky in shades of brown, yellow, black, and white, forming the figure of a ferocious lion, fully four or five feet wide. Here and there a small section of tiles was lost but she was right. It was a fine example. Marcus had, of course, seen better. This couldn’t compare to the intricacy and splendor of bright colors and gold under blue Italian skies. But none of those, he was certain, had ever evoked greater delight by its discovery. Anne gazed down at it, hands clasped and eyes bright with ecstasy.

And she’d called him Marcus.

“It’s marvelous, Anne.” He put his arm around her, a spontaneous gesture of congratulation and shared joy. “Who would think to find the king of beasts under a muddy field?”

She didn’t pull away. “He’s very fierce, isn’t he? Perhaps he’s angry about the cold.”

“Maybe he wants to frighten away marauding mice.”

“Or badgers.”

“You deserve credit for uncovering him. It was a lot of work.”

“I never enjoyed anything so much in my life.” She looked it over with a critical eye. “I wonder if the border is undamaged all the way around, and how wide it is. There may be a great deal left to do.”

“Shall we start?”

They knelt in the mud at either end of the terrace. Even Travis would never be able to clean his breeches, but to hell with them. As they scraped away, Marcus following the example of Anne’s method, they speculated on the possible age of the villa, fruitlessly since neither had the knowledge to place it.

“We could make a drawing and send it to an expert,” he suggested.

“Mr. Warner of Bath, perhaps?”

“Ah yes, Mr. Warner. How did you find his book?”

“Tedious beyond belief.”

“I apologize for the recommendation then.”

“Some of the content was interesting but I see no reason why scholarship has to be presented in such dull prose.”

“I’ve often thought the same myself. When you write your report on the Hinton find you must make it as entertaining as a novel.”

“How would I do that? I’ve never written anything except letters and I’m not at all amusing.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You have quite a ready wit under your prim exterior.”

She looked up, always suspicious of compliments. “Oh no,” she said. “I’m quite dull and too prosaic for wit.” Then she grinned. “Anyone seeing us on our hands and knees, staring at each other, might think us a pair of dogs fighting over the carcass of our lion.”

Our lion
. He liked the implication of shared ownership.

“He needs a name.”

“A Roman lion should be Leo,” Marcus said.

“Commonplace.”

“Richard, for King Richard the Lionheart since we’re in England.”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t look like a Richard to me.”

“Leonidas? Lancelot? Lorenzo?”

“Or Lewis. Wasn’t your father Lewis?”

“I think not,” he said. “What was your father’s name?”

“I’m sorry to say that Brotherton eldest sons are always named Chauncey.”

“
No.
” They spoke in unison.

“F—” He was about to suggest Felix, a suitably catlike name, but thought better of it. He didn’t want her thinking fondly of her late fiancé. “Frederick.”

“Frederick.” She tilted her head this way and that. “Fred. Frederick. I like it. Frederick it shall be. Well, Frederick, I think you’re as clean as we can get you when the ground is so muddy.” She scrambled upright and, after carefully stepping away from the terrace, flung her arms wide and her head back. “I do believe Hinton Manor is the most amazing place in the whole world. You are so lucky to own it.”

This was the perfect moment to suggest it could be hers if she wed him. He was already on his knees. The words of a graceful proposal of marriage formed in his brain, but they felt wrong. There was something honest and true about the morning they’d spent with Frederick, and their conversation had been without either pretense or rancor. He wanted to maintain this new friendship. Besides, she’d probably turn him down and feel called upon to leave Hinton. With the worsening weather there’d be less and less time for digging and she’d surely like to escape her housecleaning duties. In fact he had precious little time to win her—or compromise her reputation beyond hope of recovery.

“I am lucky,” he said instead. “And I thank you for improving my property this way.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my lord. What shall we do next?”

“It’s up to you. Your methods have been effective so far. Clearly you have a talent.”

She might shrink from compliments to her person, but this kind of praise delighted her. “Thank you. It’s the only useful thing I’ve done in my life and I was afraid of making mistakes. It seemed to me an orderly system is best.”

“I like order.” He’d never thought it of himself but it was true.

“On the other hand . . .” She looked longingly at the west side of the villa, several yards away.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Bentley said the hypocaust was over there and I would dearly love to see it.”

“Who is Mr. Bentley?”

“I forgot to tell you. He’s a neighbor who stopped and spoke to me yesterday. An interesting man. He saw the villa when Mr. Hooke originally found it. He knew your mother too.”

“I expect I’ll meet him sometime,” Marcus said, relieved that Bentley wasn’t a young man. “You know, Anne, method and order are all very well but don’t you think occasionally one is allowed to follow one’s fancy? If you want to look for the hypocaust next, I think you should.”

“Since I have the permission of the owner, that’s what we shall do.”

Digging in ground softened by rain was easier and dirtier. Working side by side—Anne’s shovel technique had improved—they cleared the accumulated earth from around one column of bricks, about three feet tall.

“Remarkable,” Marcus said, hopping down into the hole to get a closer look. “Very similar to ones I saw at Pompeii. Which way now?”

“Mr. Bentley speculated that the furnace was over there. I’d like to find it and see if we can work out how the hot air was projected between the columns of the hypocaust.”

“You’re in charge.”

Judging by the compacted earth, Mr. Hooke hadn’t reached this section and they found it hard going. Anne fussed about causing damage and her care was proven necessary when Marcus’s spade dislodged a small metal object, caked in mud.