Chapter 18 #3
"Exceedingly so." His smile was warm and, she realized with relief, completely without romantic undertones. "I've heard about your museum appointment...congratulations! Thornbury's lucky to have you."
"You're very kind. I wasn't sure... that is, after the ball..."
"You refused my proposal honestly and with grace," Theodore said simply. "I won't pretend it didn't sting at the time, but upon reflection, you did us both a service. We would have been content together, I think, but contentment isn't love."
"No," Eveline agreed softly. "It's not."
"Besides," he continued with a slightly self-conscious air, "I've recently begun corresponding with a widow in Yorkshire.
Mrs. Helena Hale. She's translating Sappho, if you can believe it.
Her approach to the fragmentary texts is absolutely fascinating as she considers them almost like archaeological puzzles, piecing together meaning from context and contemporary sources. "
"She sounds remarkable," Harriet said, and Eveline could hear the smile in her voice.
"She is. We've been debating translation philosophy through letters for two months now. I'm actually considering a trip to Yorkshire to see her source materials." He colored slightly. "For scholarly purposes, naturally."
"Naturally," Eveline agreed, feeling a weight she hadn't realized she'd been carrying, lift from her shoulders. "I'm glad, Theodore. Truly."
"As am I. And I meant what I said. Thornbury and the museum are fortunate to have secured your expertise." He tipped his hat. "Ladies, a pleasure as always. Miss Whitcombe, I look forward to reading your Byzantine findings. Perhaps you'll revolutionize that field as well."
He continued into the museum, leaving them standing in the afternoon sun. Eveline watched him go, seeing in his eager steps a man looking forward rather than back.
"Well," Harriet said after a moment. "That was remarkably civilized."
"He's a good man. He deserves someone who can match his enthusiasm for Sappho's fragments."
"And you deserve someone who makes you forget about fragments entirely." Harriet linked their arms. "Come, you need to tell Adrian about the museum terms. Unless you plan to negotiate that contract entirely by correspondence?"
The thought of seeing Adrian, of discussing terms and positions and carefully professional arrangements while remembering his declaration of love, made Eveline's stomach perform elaborate acrobatics. But Harriet was right; some conversations couldn't be conducted by letter.
"We could stop for tea first?" she suggested hopefully.
"Procrastination doesn't become you. March, my dear. Time to face your duke."
"He's not my duke."
"No? Then why are you already composing arguments in your head about the salary being too generous?"
Eveline had no good answer for that.
***
Everleigh Manor looked different in afternoon light, less imposing and more welcoming, though that might have been her imagination supplying what her heart wanted to see. Graves answered their knock with his usual expression of dignified suffering.
"Miss Whitcombe. Miss Fairweather." His bow was precisely calibrated to acknowledge their social status. "His Grace is in the library."
Of course he was. Where else would Adrian be when wrestling with questions of contracts and compensation? Eveline smoothed her skirts, aware that she looked provincial compared to the surroundings but determined not to let it matter.
"Shall I announce you?"
"No need, Graves. His Grace is expecting me." It was only half a lie because Adrian might not have known she'd come today specifically, but he'd certainly been expecting her response to his offer.
The library doors stood open, afternoon sunlight streaming through tall windows to paint golden stripes across the floor she'd once catalogued with such care.
Adrian stood with his back to them, apparently absorbed in a volume, though something in the tension of his shoulders suggested he'd heard their approach.
"Herodotus again?" Eveline asked, proud that her voice remained steady. "You really must diversify in your ancient historians."
He turned, and the look on his face made her breath catch. Not the controlled duke or the passionate man who'd kissed her in stairwells, but something in between; uncertain, hopeful, trying so hard not to presume.
"Thucydides, actually. I thought I should prepare for the inevitable debate about historical methodology you'll insist on having once you're officially installed here."
"Confident, aren't you?"
"Hopeful." He set the book aside, nodding to Harriet. "Miss Fairweather, a pleasure. Would you care for tea while Eveline destroys my generous offers with logic and principle?"
"I shall explore the collection, if I may," Harriet said with the air of someone providing tactical retreat. "I've been curious about your novel section since Eveline described it."
She drifted away toward the fiction shelves, maintaining the polite pretense that she couldn't overhear every word in the echoing space. Adrian gestured to the chairs by the fire—the same chairs where they'd once discussed Latin pronunciation with barely concealed attraction.
"You've been to the museum," he said, not quite a question. "Thornbury sent word that you'd accepted the consultancy."
"With modifications to the terms."
His eyebrows rose. "Oh?"
"Publication rights needed clarification. I won't have my work absorbed into institutional anonymity, not after fighting so hard to publish under my own name." She withdrew Thornbury's letter. "He was quite accommodating, actually. More so than I expected."
Adrian read through the terms, his expression thoughtful. "This is good. Fair, even. Though thirty pounds per annum for that level of expertise..."
"Is what they can afford. Thornbury was refreshingly honest about institutional limitations." She paused, gathering courage. "I also confirmed the details with Cadwell. The Ovid translation will take approximately six months, with potential for additional projects after."
"All excellent news. Which brings us to my offer."
"Your absurdly generous offer."
"My entirely appropriate offer." He pulled out the contracts Harwick had prepared, setting them on the small table between their chairs. "Read them again. Without prejudice this time."
She wanted to argue, but something in his expression stopped her. This wasn't the duke making pronouncements or the man trying to save her. This was Adrian asking her to see his offer as he did; not charity but genuine valuation.
The terms remained as generous as she remembered. Two hundred pounds per annum, rising with successful publications. Complete autonomy over the library organization. Budget for acquisitions. Most importantly, intellectual freedom to pursue whatever scholarly interests caught her attention.
"This is a fortune," she said quietly.
"This is what the position is worth. Less than what it's worth, actually, but I didn't want to seem..." He paused, searching for words. "I didn't want you to think I was trying to buy you."
"Aren't you?"
"No." The simple denial carried weight. "I'm trying to ensure that one of the finest minds I've encountered has the resources to flourish. If you were a man with your qualifications, no one would blink at this compensation."
"But I'm not a man."
"Thank Heavens for that." The words slipped out with feeling, and color rose in his cheeks. "That is, I mean..."
"I know what you mean." She set down the contracts, meeting his gaze directly. "But Adrian, if we do this, if I accept this position, it has to be real. Not a convenient fiction to keep me in London, not a duke's folly, but genuine employment with genuine expectations."
"Of course."
"I mean it. I won't be a kept woman with scholarly pretensions. If my work isn't meeting standards, you tell me. If the arrangement isn't serving its purpose, we modify it. No special treatment because of... whatever this is between us."
"'Whatever this is?'" He leaned forward slightly. "Is that how we're referring to it now?"
"How would you prefer to refer to it?"
"I believe I used the word 'love' rather clearly yesterday."
Heat flooded her cheeks. "You did. But love and professional arrangements make uncomfortable bedfellows."
"Only if we let them." He reached across the small space between them, taking her hand. "Eveline, I'm not offering you this position because I love you. I'm offering it because you're brilliant. The fact that I also love you is... a complication, indeed, but not one that invalidates your worth."
"Pretty words, Your Grace."
"True words." His thumb traced circles on her palm, the simple touch making her pulse race. "Would it help if I told you I've already informed Harwick to build in termination clauses? If either of us finds the arrangement untenable, you can leave with six months' severance and glowing references."
"You thought of that?"
"I thought of everything. Including the fact that you'd need reassurance this wasn't a cage." He released her hand, sitting back. "Read clause seven."
She found the relevant section, eyes widening. "Annual review of terms with mandatory renegotiation?"
"If your work exceeds expectations, which it will, your compensation should reflect that. If your interests shift, the position should accommodate. Nothing about this is fixed, Eveline. It can grow and change as you do."
"And if my growth takes me away from Everleigh Manor?"
Something flickered in his eyes; pain, mayhap, quickly suppressed. "Then I'll write you the finest reference letter ever penned and try not to drink myself into oblivion afterward."
"Adrian..."
"I mean it. This position doesn't bind you to me personally. Your freedom to leave is written into every clause." He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Harwick was horrified. Apparently, it's terrible business practice to make it easy for valuable employees to depart."