Chapter Five #2
Dom reached up gently and ran his fingers along the fabric across her shoulder, laying it so that the ruffles were folded
neatly.
“There,” he said, stepping back and catching her gaze. “Eminently presentable, Miss Hawthorne. One might even say lovely.”
He wasn’t sure how it would land, but he kept his tone light, felt his mouth tipping in a smile.
She smiled too, and he felt as if he’d won. Passed some very important test.
“You’re incorrigible,” she whispered.
“I promise not to be to Lord Fenbridge. I can play the proper gentleman when necessary.”
Miss Hawthorne’s brow shot up, but she said nothing as she lifted the polished bronze knocker affixed to the massive front
door.
It slid open a few moments later, and a tall, austere white-haired man looked down at them through a pair of silver-rimmed
spectacles.
“Dominic Prince and Miss Tess Hawthorne to see Lord Fenbridge,” Dom told the man, presumably the butler.
At mention of Tess’s name, the old man jolted.
“Miss Hawthorne?” The man’s cold, thin-lipped expression melted into a genuine grin. “My goodness, it’s been too many years.”
He leaned a bit closer. “The spitting image of your dear mother, you are.”
“It’s good to see you, Teague.”
“Come.” He reached out an arm, and Tess laid a hand on it as she stepped into the house.
Dom followed her inside.
“Is he awake?” Miss Hawthorne asked the butler, who she seemed to know well. “He will be expecting a visit from Mr. Prince,
but he doesn’t know I’ll be accompanying him.” She and the butler exchanged a look that Dom couldn’t decipher.
“Very well.” Teague nodded. “Wait here, and I shall prepare the way.”
The high-ceilinged entry hall was dim, with doors of nearby rooms closed and no lamps lit. The only light filtered in from
a half-moon window above the door’s lintel. The house felt as if it rarely admitted visitors.
“This way,” Teague called from a spot near the stairwell.
When they joined him, he directed them to a room near the end of the hall. Dom heard the groan of a chair’s springs and footsteps
as they crossed the enormous library’s threshold.
“We had no appointment, Mr. Prince. You’ve told my retainer a lie.”
“Forgive me, Lord Fenbridge,” Dom offered in a warm tone, determined to win the gruff-looking man over. Though he had no intention of groveling and suspected Fenbridge wouldn’t like him much if he did. “Mr. Van Arsdale would have apprised you of my arrival via letter. Have you not received it?”
The gaunt, broad-shouldered man with overlong silver hair swiped an arm through the air. “He did not indicate the day of your
visit, Mr. Prince. Do not prevaricate.”
“Regardless”—Miss Hawthorne stepped forward, positioning herself at Dom’s side—“you did know Mr. Prince would show up on your
doorstep. Though my presence may be a surprise, here we are.”
Lord Fenbridge’s eyes, which had been squinted in irritation, opened wide at the sight of Miss Hawthorne.
“Teague did not exaggerate,” he murmured as he stepped out from behind a massive desk and approached her, his gold-tipped
cane thudding on the carpet with every step. “You are quite like her, but, most of all, I see your father staring back at
me through those green eyes. So sharp. So knowing. As if you’re as ready to find fault with me as he was.”
“My father visited you nearly every day, my lord, so he must not have found you too distasteful.”
“Pert-tongued too.” The merest hint of a smile seemed to twitch under his mustache. “That is very much like your mother.”
“I appreciate that you find traces of my parents in me, but I come on my own merits,” she told him with a boldness Dom couldn’t
help but admire. “I’ve agreed to serve as advisor to Mr. Prince during his time in Norfolk.” She gestured to the messy pile
of documents on his desk. “Will you sign the agreement from the American and allow us to dig on Fenbridge land?”
The nobleman swung his gaze at Dom, and he felt the scrape of it.
It was as if Lord Fenbridge was attempting to weigh his very soul.
His father had a similar way of sizing up the merit of a man.
Dom had always felt unnerved under such scrutiny.
But unlike his gregarious father, Fenbridge had a grim air about him.
The old man’s miseries seemed to fill the air around him with an oppressive weight.
Dom wondered if it was the weight of regrets.
“You’ll be heading this dig? Octavius Prince’s boy, are you?”
“Boy” was no doubt meant to provoke him, but Dom merely nodded. “Did you know my father?”
“Know him personally? No. Know of him? Of course. The man was a treasure seeker. Acclaim seeker. Prince had a craven need
for fame, it seemed.” Fenbridge swept his gaze over Dom again. “Is that same hunger in you, boy? Is that why you want to dig
up my hills?”
Dom felt Miss Hawthorne’s gaze on him as Fenbridge waited for an answer.
It was rare to not be eager to claim his father’s treasure-lust or admit how much they were alike, but this was one of those
moments. The Hawthornes cared about the history of this swath of England, and Fenbridge cared about the land that had likely
been in his family for many generations. He sensed his own shallowness in how clearly he could envision the write-up in the
London papers if they found the hoard he and Eve suspected was buried under Fenbridge’s fields.
“Any antiquarian worth their salt would wish to find something of value when they dig into the earth.” The words didn’t satisfy
the old man. They sounded thin to Dom’s ears too.
“And to have the Prince name associated with it is a boon indeed, yes?”
“Yes,” Dom admitted through a clenched jaw.
“Mm-hmm.” Fenbridge’s murmur was knowing and dismissive, and he seemed pleased to finally be able to turn his attention back to Tess Hawthorne.
“You want to help a fame chaser such as this Prince whelp?”
She hesitated for a breath. “I have agreed to. Yes.”
“Your seal of approval will carry great sway in Wiggenstow, Miss Hawthorne.” He slid one narrow-eyed look Dom’s way. “Indeed,
that is precisely why Hawthorne assistance was desired to achieve the American’s aims.”
After one glance at the thick carpet below their feet, she tipped her gaze up. “Will you agree, Lord Fenbridge?”
“You wanted to find it yourself, girl. Why have you given up your aims to help this glory chaser?”
“Because you refused me, my lord.” She hitched up her chin and shot him a look that would chill most men’s bollocks. “Will
you sign Van Arsdale’s papers or not?”
The old devil drew out the suspense, his dark eyes flitting from Miss Hawthorne to Dom and back again. Fenbridge’s gaze finally
held on hers, and then the edges of his mouth inched up in a smirk.
“On one condition.” He lifted a gnarled, bony finger. “I will be apprised of your progress.”
“Of course,” Dom agreed.
“No,” Fenbridge all but shouted. “Apprised by Miss Hawthorne. You will come visit me, young lady. Daily. In the morning. As
your father used to do.”
Dom watched her, trying to read her reaction. If she refused, he’d back her. The man’s demand struck him as overreaching.
“Very well,” she finally said. “I shall come each morning while the dig is underway.”
Fenbridge turned back to his desk, brushing a hand across the piles of papers until he snatched up a particular document. With dramatic flair, he swiped up his pen and signed his name in a messy black scrawl. As the ink dried, he shot a look back at Miss Hawthorne.
“The dig is underway now. As soon as you take this document away with you and I take the lucre Van Arsdale sent my way. And
you, Miss Hawthorne, will begin visiting me on Monday.”