For how long? He’d stayed away two weeks without a word. And she remembered Mrs. Meacham’s magazines saying that he sought a high-born wife.
A faint smile warmed his expression. “I promise it won’t bite.”
Reluctantly she opened the letter, then gasped in surprise when she saw the heading. She sank back onto the window seat. “It’s from the British Museum.”
His smile intensified. “Yes, it is.”
Curiosity forced its way through the fog of misery that had enveloped her since he’d marched away in a temper. “It invites me to lecture next month.” She raised her head and stared at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
He stood. “I showed them the jewel and told them what a genius you are. Dr. Partridge had given me a copy of the article so I had more than my limited eloquence to bolster my claims. The trustees were slavering to have you address them before I’d finished.”
“But—”
He swept over her quibbling. “You won’t surrender your dreams because of me, Genevieve.”
“I wrote to Dr. Partridge withdrawing the article.”
“He’s merely delayed publication while you reconsidered. I told him you had some final threads to tie up.”
“You visited him?”
“He’s not the world’s most scintillating company.”
No, he wasn’t. She blinked at Richard in speechless admiration.
He stepped toward her. “Don’t be angry. You’ll have everything you ever wanted.”
Except you.
The thought went unvoiced. He still hadn’t mentioned love.
He eyed her with uncharacteristic diffidence. “Are you angry?”
“I feel like I’ve been carried away in a whirlwind.” She glanced down at the letter on her lap. “The British Museum?”
His smile conveyed satisfaction. “You can’t say no. If you do, I’ll look like a deuced fool.”
“It feels unreal.”
“You’ll be famous.”
Famous and alone. Right now, that seemed a punishment rather than a reward. “But it will bring the Harmsworth name into disrepute.”
He shrugged. “We Harmsworths are used to that.” He paused. “Don’t deny me the pleasure of seeing you take your rightful place in the world, Genevieve. Between lawyers and magistrates, I’ve spent the last two weeks chasing dry-as-dust scholars. If you cheat me of my triumph, I’
ll sulk until Christmas.”
So like him to trivialize his massive efforts on her behalf. She’d be churlish to refuse something that he’d taken so much trouble over. She didn’t underestimate the obstacles to gaining her a public hearing at such a prestigious institution.
She’d once called him St. George—now he’d set himself to slay all the dragons standing in the way of her success. Her objections to exposing the jewel’s origins persisted, but his gargantuan efforts proved that he could live with any consequences.
His advocacy left her winded, astonished, moved. After a lifetime of dealing with the closed minds of male academics, she could imagine the battle he’d fought even to get the authorities at the museum to listen, let alone accept her as a fellow expert.
She should be grateful. She was. But he didn’t act the lover and he’d had a fortnight back in his real world. Was this extravagant gesture meant to celebrate his love or mark his departure? The most likely answer was that he’d decided his idyll in Little Derrick was over. Not that it had been much of an idyll, with homicidal noblemen, voluble vicars, and prickly bluestockings wherever he looked.
“Thank you.” She struggled to sound pleased. “It was kind of you to do this. And to come all this way to tell me in person.”
His mouth flattened. “I’m not bloody kind.”