2
Levi
IT WAS TOUGH TO concentrate on work knowing she was about to say yes to that dufus.
I could have said something. I could have done something.
Come up with an excuse to keep her here all night, but what would that achieve?
He would propose the next time they were together, and then what would I have accomplished?
She would add it to all the other reasons she hated me, and I would deserve her ire.
I should have told her then and there why she should not marry him, but the words refused to come out.
Elle had the uncanny ability to get me tongue-tied at the oddest moments.
I don't know how to explain it, but there was something about her that made me want to protect her.
From what? Men like you , another voice said.
I ignored it and tried to get back to work again, but before I could, a call came through.
The phone rang for so long that I shouted, "Miss Edwards!
" only to remember that she was not around.
I cursed and answered the phone. "Levi Hawthorne speaking."
"Professor Hawthorne!" The English-accented voice sounded surprised to hear me, even though I was sure it was me they were calling to get. "Professor Hawthorne!" They said again.
"That's me."
"My name is Elizabeth Froume from the MMQ Society. We've been trying and failing to get an appointment with you."
I groaned inwardly. I had given Elvira express instructions not to send through anyone who wanted to discuss my interview and to block anyone from a historical society. I guess she had done a good job because this was the first time I had heard about this Society trying to get into contact with me.
"MMQ?"
"Mistresses' Mothers and Queens Historical Society. We are mainly focused on the preservation of the history of women during the Plantagenet and Tudor period."
"I've never heard of you." I wasn't in tune with what historical societies were around, but most usually focused on one person, usually a king, or a period.
"We are fairly new," the caller said.
"Right…" My hackles were rising. She could be a troll, and I was ready to end the call, but her high p accent and polite tone gave me pause.
"You're a hard man to reach."
"I've been busy these past few weeks," I said.
"Of course. And I understand. I wanted, we wanted, to know if you'd like to speak to us."
"You're speaking to me now." And if she was suggesting a talk, she was shit out of luck, because I wasn't doing those in the near future.
"You're a blunt man, Professor, I like that. We at the MMQ society saw your interview and—"
"I was misrepresented." I was about to end the call there and then. I didn't want to talk about that fucking interview anymore.
"And we agree. We believe in the claims you made in your book. Unlike a certain society that shall not be named, your claims hold water compared to those silly letters people are waving about."
"Okay. I am listening."
Elizabeth took a deep breath. "So we know that you are a scholar of not only the War of the Roses, but of Richard III. And unlike some of his fans, we know you see him for the flawed man that he is. And as such, you'd be better suited to help us with the project we are working on."
"Okay."
She took another deep breath. "We believe Richard III killed the princes in the tower; technically, they weren't princes, one was a king and the other a duke.
" She chuckled nervously. "Of course, you of all people know this.
Anyway, we believe we can find concrete proof that Richard III was responsible. "
"Concrete?" I swallowed a snicker at the idea. The case happened hundreds of years ago, and little evidence of what really happened is left. It's why it's regarded as history's greatest mystery.
"Not concrete exactly, but as sure as we can be. Better evidence than those stupid letters."
"I'm listening." The longer she spoke, the more she sounded like the people she was ridiculing. She was probably a historical conspiracy nut. There were plenty of those in my field of study, but I was too curious not to let her continue.
"We think we can prove your theory. The knife you mention in your book. Fantastic book, by the way. We've been using to research—"
"Elizabeth."
"Sorry. Sorry. So we believe we have three crucial things that can prove your theory.
The knife." The knife was a contentious piece of evidence, considering we don't know how they died.
"And the bones." The bones had a less than zero percent chance of getting tested since the royal family was against it. "And Johnson’s letters."
I sat up straight, my elbows leaning on the desk as I pressed the receiver close to my ear. "You have access to Johnson’s letters?"
"Not necessarily, but we have a way of getting to it."
I leaned back in the chair, deflated. "That's not the same now, is it?"
"That's why we need your help. We believe the letters are part of a collection that's going to be on auction at Christie's in two months' time. And we're afraid that the society that shall not be named will get its hands on that collection, and they will hide the evidence."
This time, I chuckled out loud. "Those people are a nuisance and can act like K-Pop fangirls, but they're historians at the end of the day."
"You don't know them like I do, Professor. They've been working on not only discrediting your book, but your reputation."
That took me back. As far as I was concerned, my reputation was under fire because I walked into an interview unprepared and got ambushed by a biased interviewer.
I didn't know she was going to bring on someone opposed to my theory and skewer me for an internet audience.
The words: Stupid Professor Destroyed by Facts and Logic are burned in my retina. I willed it away.
Elizabeth was still talking. "It's part of a large collection that would have information those Richard III fangirls would like, and if they get hold of it, who knows what they would do."
"So where do I come in?"
Elizabeth took another deep breath. "It's a priceless collection."
"I can imagine." So this is about money. I should have guessed. It was probably a scam. Elizabeth didn't sound like a scammer. But isn't that the best scam?
"The starting bid is two million dollars."
I whistled.
"And we would love to have your backing. We've been trying to raise funds, but what we have is nowhere near the bid."
"How much have you raised?"
"Fifty thousand."
I bellowed out a huge laugh. "Thanks for making my day, Elizabeth. I was feeling down, but you've made it better."
"If you help us buy the collection, you can keep it for yourself—"
I ended the call there. I was stupid enough to be ambushed by smart journalists, but not stupid enough to fall for an obvious scam.
The phone rang again, but I ignored it. Still, I was curious.
So I did what I wouldn't normally do, I looked her up and her society.
Two hours and several phone calls later, I was organizing a meeting with one of the members of the MMQ Society who lived locally.
He was a medieval history professor I knew very well.
An old friend from my short stint at Yale.
We had dinner together and he told me all about their project.
"It was awful what they did to you," Francis said as he swirled the red wine in his glass.
I casually dismissed him. "I'll survive.
" My eyes darted again around the room to see if she was there.
We were at the same restaurant as the one Elvira and Wyatt were supposed to be tonight, but I didn't see any sign of them.
My chest tightened at the thought of the two of them tangled in bed while some gaudy ring shone on Elvira's hand.
I wiped the offending image from my head.
What Elvira did with her life was none of my business.
I turned my attention to my companion, who in his tweed suit that was not far from my own looked like a quintessential history professor.
Francis had added inches around his waist since I last saw him, but it fit him.
Together with the thinning white hair, it made him appear like the dictionary definition of a historian.
Together, we must look like a bunch of nerds.
Or a gay couple, if the looks our server had given us were anything to go by.
Francis took a sip of the wine. "You should think of legal action. They can't drag your name in the mud like that." His voice was getting louder as the alcohol kicked in.
"It's nothing. It will fade away, and everyone will jump to another victim."
"Did you see this new video that's making the rounds?"
Before I could stop him from serving me further humiliation, he shoved his phone in my face.
It was a clip of the earlier lecture. Or should I say a clip of my exchange with the student who had challenged me.
It would have been fine if that were all, but there was more.
The video had an added caption saying, "When your professor is the idiot who doesn't believe in facts, and gets triggered when you mention it in class.
" The caption made it seem like I was acting irrationally for not accepting her irrational theory.
"The comments are sickening." Francis shook his head. "Do you want to see?"
"No. But there's one thing I'd like to do."
"Oh."
"Buy that fucking collection."