Chapter Twenty
Tess barely slept a wink despite how exhausted she’d been when she returned to the cottage.
She had listened in the dark as Tristan and Justine tiptoed in hours later, and some part of her settled at the sound. They
had made it back safely, and that was something, at least.
She smiled to think that her brother had finally found the courage to give his heart to someone. What she asked herself over
and over was whether she had the courage to do the same.
Dominic had spoken of them making a life together, and yet nothing underscored the differences between them more sharply than
Miss Van Arsdale’s voice, clear and commanding, calling him back to join the adoring crowd who wanted to think of him as some
dashing treasure hunter.
Regret sat in her chest like a weight. She had given up her spot on the dig, but that didn’t mean she was finished. If Fenbridge
challenged Van Arsdale and took back control, she’d happily work all the hours of the day to continue excavating. Yet in the
cold light of day, it seemed a tenuous possibility—Fenbridge had signed a contract, and the Van Arsdales would not let the
dig go without a fight.
She feared her choice had put her and Dominic on opposing sides too. At the least, it put him in an awkward position, especially
if Fenbridge did challenge the Van Arsdales as she hoped he would. She hadn’t meant to do that to him, hadn’t even considered
it in the moment.
If he was forced to choose, she could not blame him for choosing his livelihood. His reputation. Even his family’s reputation. All could be at stake if he walked away from Van Arsdale’s patronage.
His words from the night before, so tantalizingly full of hope for their future together, played in her mind, made her heart
fill with warmth. But whenever she tried to imagine a practical means of making it happen, she couldn’t.
Even if she knew he was more than the man in the papers, he was that man too. People like Van Arsdale would insist upon it.
As the first rays of daylight peeked through her curtains, she sat up in bed and rubbed at her tired eyes.
To her surprise, she heard movement in the cottage’s kitchen.
After dressing quickly in a simple day dress—there would be no need for trousers if she wasn’t employed on the dig—she left
her room to find Tristan warming a teapot of water on the hearth.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked without looking up.
“I might ask you the same. It’s five in the morning.”
He huffed a rusty laugh, then scraped a hand through his mussed hair. “Justine decided to return home rather than stay. Propriety.
Her brothers. All that. So, no, I didn’t sleep well.”
Silence settled between them, broken only by the clink of porcelain as he prepared two cups of tea.
“I quit the dig, Tris,” Tess admitted as she sought some comfort by wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic.
He froze, the teacup midway to his lips. “What? Why on earth did you do that?”
Tess bristled at his tone. “Can you not guess? Did you not see how they treated the buckle? How they see it all as—”
“Baubles?”
Tess frowned. “It doesn’t disturb you?”
“Did you really expect anything more? They’re paying a ridiculous amount of money for the dig, and then they’ll pay through
the nose to transport it all back to New York, where there are already fine museums.” He looked at her expectantly, as if
astounded she’d missed some crucial detail. “It’s a vanity project for Van Arsdale. That’s always seemed obvious.”
“And that’s all right with you?”
He shrugged. “I thought you’d be happy for the chance to dig. You wanted it so much for so long.”
“Tris,” Tess said quietly, “I thought we both did.”
He sipped his tea and stared into the steaming cup as if looking for his next words. “I wanted you to be happy. You threw
yourself into it after . . .” He looked up at her bleakly. “After Shaw. After we lost Pater. It put a sparkle in your eye
when nothing else did. So I sure as hell was going to support it.”
Tess felt as if all the air was slowly being drawn from her lungs, leaving her hollow. Her mind spun. Over the last few days,
she’d learned that so much she believed wasn’t true at all.
Her parents’ love story hadn’t been a simple romance. Fenbridge’s refusal to let them dig hadn’t been a simple cruelty. Tristan’s
support of her goals hadn’t been a simple shared dream.
And her feelings for Dominic? They weren’t simple either. They were enormous, complicated, ready to consume her if she gave
into them.
“I don’t think I can quit the dig, Tess,” Tristan said quietly. “Not with the wedding approaching.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.” She bit her lip. “It seemed right last night, and I don’t wish to do this under the Van Arsdales’ control . . . but I have to admit I still want to go back out there and continue searching.”
“Then have Dominic speak to Van Arsdale. He can convince him to bring you back on board. I know it.” His lips twitched into
something like a grin. “Besides, we both know Dominic Prince would do anything for you.”
Would he? Even if he tried, she wasn’t convinced the Van Arsdales would let her set foot on their dig site again after her
snappish comments to Miss Van Arsdale.
“There’s more,” Tess admitted. “Miss Van Arsdale found Dominic and I . . .”
Tristan arched a dark-gold brow. “Oh, I see. Do I need to call him out?” he asked in a teasing tone.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She gave him a playful shove. “I merely mentioned it to explain why her father may not wish to have
me on the dig any longer.”
Tristan scoffed. “That’s hypocritical if they keep Dominic on. And he would argue as much too, I suspect.”
Tess wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe in him. In the two of them together. But how could she when she wasn’t
certain she could even trust herself anymore?
She’d been wrong about so many things.
The only time her doubts faded was when she was in Dominic’s arms. No questions. No second-guessing. It was just . . . right.
Dom was up, dressed, and ready to seek out Tess by seven. He hesitated a moment at his door, fearful it might be too early,
but the thought of waiting was unbearable. He’d barely slept for how eager he was to resume what Miss Van Arsdale had interrupted.
He understood trust was hard for Tess. But her kisses, the way she touched him, the way she always pulled him closer. That was real. Her feelings were real. He felt it in his bones.
The notion of scanning the dig site all day and not seeing her there, working with methodical care, gnawed at him all night
too. He respected her decision to leave the Van Arsdales’ employment, but he also wanted her, needed her, as his partner in
this endeavor. Hell, she’d found the most significant artifact they’d yet dug from Fenbridge’s field, and she’d even found
the first one that proved they were on the right track.
He wouldn’t pressure her to return, but he would damn well make sure the Americans took her back if she wanted it.
As he latched his room door and headed down the stairs, he was stopped cold by the sound of voices below. The bloody Van Arsdales.
They were downstairs, speaking in boisterous terms to Mr. and Mrs. Randall.
He had a wild thought of climbing out the window of his room just to avoid them. The drop might be worth it.
Instead, with a sigh he felt bone-deep, he made his way to the lobby to face them.
“And there he is,” the innkeeper’s wife, Mrs. Randall, said cheerfully.
Whatever the Americans had said seemed to please her. They either appalled or charmed Wiggenstow’s inhabitants. There was
no in-between.
“Mr. Prince,” Miss Van Arsdale called, her gaze bold. “Your expression is so fierce this morning.” She plumped out her lower
lip as if pouting might change his mood.
“I’m on my way to pay a call,” he told them, nodding politely. “I hope you’ll excuse me.”
“We need to talk, Prince.” Van Arsdale’s booming voice made clear it was a command more than a request. “Perhaps that table in the corner will do.”
The taproom was quiet, all but unoccupied. Dom didn’t relish stopping to speak with them at all, but they’d positioned themselves
in front of him as if they’d tackle him bodily if he tried to escape.
“Very well. I can spare a few minutes.”
Van Arsdale’s brow jumped at that.
Once they were all seated, Mrs. Randall appeared with a tea service and a serving girl deposited a tray covered in pastries.
None of it boded well for Dom’s hopes for short conversation.
“Do you miss London, Prince?” Van Arsdale asked after taking a large slurp of black tea.
Dom frowned. “Not particularly.” Anytime he thought of London, it brought back memories of the day he’d met Tess, but Tess
was here, so Wiggenstow was where he was content to be. “Why?”
Miss Van Arsdale leaned both elbows on the table and propped her chin on her hands, beaming at him. “We’re departing today
and want you to join us.”
A flicker of pleasure lit in his chest. They were leaving. No more meddling. No more ridiculous social events. No more suffocating
oversight of the dig.
“I’ve spoken to Mrs. Randall,” Van Arsdale added, “and she’ll retain your room. I’ve paid up for the next fortnight. If the
dig takes longer, I’ll extend it.”
Dom narrowed his eyes. “Retain my room?”
“You’re coming with us, dear Mr. Prince,” Miss Van Arsdale gushed. “Oh, can I call you Dominic? And will you call me Sofia?
Papa says he approves.”
Dom offered the young woman a tight smile and picked up his cup, swigging down tea rather than letting loose the curses that were threatening to spill from his mouth.
“It’s not a good time to leave the dig.” He managed to keep his voice even. “It’s a crucial moment. My departure now is impossible.”
Van Arsdale raised a finger, stabbing into the air. “Already assumed as much. Already have a solution.” He yanked a slip of
paper from his pocket and slapped it onto the battered wood of the inn table.
Dom leaned in to see a telegram from his sister: Will arrive Wiggenstow Mon PM as requested. Eveline Prince