CHAPTER TEN THE RAKE RETREATS #4
Eleanor practised lowering her voice. The result sounded like a woman with a cold.
Frances suggested whispering mysteriously.
Arabella threatened to remove her from the room.
By evening, Eleanor could cross the library without swaying her hips, bow without curtsying and accept a question without softening her answer to preserve a man’s pride.
Mr. Fenwick looked young, severe and permanently unimpressed.
Eleanor found him alarmingly easy to inhabit.
The following morning, she met Julian at Calder House.
He listened to the plan in silence. Beatrice had already told him most of it, though her version apparently involved considerably more criticism.
“You will have men at every entrance,” Eleanor said. “One inside the public hall, two near the archive corridor and another beside the servants’ stair.”
Julian reviewed the building plan.
“Hargreaves will attend as a government patron. I will remain in the lecture hall.”
“Not beside my father.”
“No.”
“No move is made until I confirm the manuscript exchange.”
Julian looked up.
“If the collector attempts to leave?”
“Follow, but do not arrest them unless necessary. We need the route to Vesper.”
“That risks losing the papers.”
“They are copies.”
“Finch may have included original notes.”
“Then I will identify them.”
Julian folded the plan.
“Gabriel should know.”
Eleanor’s pulse altered despite the preparation.
“No.”
“He knows the Mercury members and may recognise the intermediary.”
“Hargreaves can do that.”
“Gabriel also knows how you behave under pressure.”
“He ended our arrangement.”
Julian’s expression remained unreadable.
“He ended the lessons.”
“He directed the investigation through you.”
“He was afraid.”
Eleanor looked toward the window.
“So am I.”
“Fear does not remove usefulness.”
“Nor does usefulness create a right to every decision.”
Julian absorbed the rebuke.
She continued, “Gabriel has no claim over where I go or what risks I choose.”
“No.”
The quiet agreement surprised her. Julian placed the plan upon the desk.
“Love is not a legal claim.”
Eleanor’s throat tightened.
“I know.”
“It is relevant information.”
“That does not mean he receives authority.”
“No.”
“Then do not tell him.”
Julian said nothing. Eleanor recognised the silence of a man deciding whether obedience to one request might create danger elsewhere.
“You promised Beatrice honesty,” she said.
“I did.”
“Would you break her confidence because another person loved her?”
“No.”
“Then offer me the same respect.”
Julian’s expression altered slightly.
“Very well.”
Eleanor suspected he had not precisely agreed. It was the closest concession she would obtain.
* * *
Dr. Finch’s lecture began at eight the following evening.
The Royal Antiquarian Society hall appeared much as it had when Eleanor sat near the rear and listened to another man receive applause for her work.
Marble busts watched from alcoves. Lamps burned along the walls.
Scholars gathered in dark coats, carrying notebooks and the confidence of men who assumed every important mind in the building looked like theirs.
Eleanor entered as Mr. Elias Fenwick. No one stopped her.
A clerk glanced at Sophia’s forged letter of introduction, saw a male name and waved her toward the rows reserved for junior scholars.
No one asked who escorted her, whether she possessed permission or why study might endanger her chances of marriage.
The freedom infuriated her. She moved toward the rear of the hall, keeping her steps slightly wider than usual and resisting the instinct to make herself small when older scholars passed.
Professor Alderton nearly collided with her. He frowned.
“Mind yourself, young man.”
“My apologies, sir.”
Her altered voice held. Alderton looked at the spectacles, plain robes and unremarkable face, then dismissed her completely.
Mr. Fenwick had achieved invisibility in a new form.
Eleanor selected a seat near the aisle. Her father stood upon the stage arranging papers for the lecture.
He looked tired. The confidence he displayed at the previous event remained, but the lines around his mouth had deepened.
A leather manuscript case rested upon the table behind him. The Thessalian exchange.
Hargreaves sat near the front beside two university patrons.
Beatrice occupied a gallery box with Arabella, their attendance explained by fashionable interest in antiquities.
Sophia was nowhere visible, which meant she had obtained the servants’ corridor.
Eleanor searched for Julian. She found him in the third row.
Gabriel sat beside him. Fury struck first. Julian had told him.
Then Gabriel turned. His gaze travelled across the hall with the casual attention of a man surveying exits, allies and threats.
It passed over professors, patrons and junior scholars. It reached Eleanor.
Stopped. No one else reacted. No one else saw Miss Finch beneath the loose robes, darkened brows, spectacles and pinned hair.
Gabriel recognised her instantly. His face did not change, but every line of his body became still.
Eleanor met his gaze across the crowded lecture hall.
She saw anger. Fear. Relief. And beneath all three, desire fierce enough to make the male disguise feel like another garment he intended to remove.
Gabriel leaned toward Julian without looking away from her.
Whatever he said made the duke close his eyes briefly. Then Gabriel stood. His expression communicated a promise more clearly than words could have done. The lessons were not over.