Page 6 of Guilty Pleasures

“Thank you,” she finally managed to call out as he moved toward the door, arm in arm with his sister, but he must not have heard her words, for he did not turn to look at her again.

The viscountess did, though, glancing over her shoulder at Daphne for a moment. There was something in the other woman’s face, a speculative and thoughtful expression Daphne did not attempt to interpret. Instead, she returned her gaze to the wide shoulders of the man walking out the door.

Excellent work, Miss Wade.

Those four simple words were enough to keep her walking on clouds for the remainder of the day.

Chapter 3

One of the many things for which Daphne admired Anthony was his practical good sense. When the duke had decided to begin excavations on his estate two years earlier, he had ordered that a cottage be built near the site that would act as the antika room for the dig, the place where artifacts could be kept until they were completely restored and taken to London.

The antika had three spacious rooms. One acted as a storehouse for all antiquities awaiting Daphne. Another served to house them after she had finished their restoration. The third room acted as her workroom, and Anthony had designed it well. Plenty of windows let in the natural light. The stone walls and floor kept the interior cool in summer, a fact which Mr. Bennington found very appealing, but which mattered not at all to Daphne. She found England pleasant in summer rather than hot, and a far more desirable place to be in August than the deserts of Morocco.

A pump and a drain had been installed, and several massive oak tables held her works in progress. One of those works was a mosaic pavement she was about to begin restoring.

Preoccupied with her task, Daphne did not observe Lady Hammond standing in the doorway until the other woman gave a slight cough.

“I hope I am not interrupting something of vital historical importance,” the viscountess said, smiling. “My brother was giving me another tour of the site this morning when we were suddenly interrupted. The workmen, it seems, have discovered a statue of great significance.”

“Really? What statue?”

Lady Hammond waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I have no idea. My brother was diverted to this new find, and I saw my opportunity to escape.”

Daphne was puzzled. “Escape?”

“Yes, indeed. When Anthony’s conversation turns to history and Roman antiquities, I confess I am bored to tears. Suppressing the desire to yawn yesterday as he showed me an endless array of clay pots and bronze hand-axes was difficult enough. Today’s tour of stone walls, broken roof tiles, and layers of dirt twenty feet high was too much for me, and I was compelled to run away. You are like Anthony, no doubt, and find such things fascinating. But I am not an intellectual person, I fear, and I cannot bear to devote myself to tedious discussions of broken wine amphorae.”

Daphne wondered how anyone could call such discussions tedious. In her daydreams, she had impassioned discussions with Anthony about such things every day, discussions that never happened in reality, of course, because she was usually at a loss for words whenever he was near.

“So,” Lady Hammond went on, breaking into her thoughts, “I left my brother and wandered in this direction. I spied you through the doorway and thought I might pause a moment for a visit with you. If you do not mind?”

Daphne hesitated, still feeling an acute sense of embarrassment about the sketch the viscountess had found the day before. No one liked having their deepest secrets revealed, especially to a stranger.

As if reading her mind, the Lady Hammond said, “I must warn you that I am very tiresome about secrets. I keep them.”

A look of understanding passed between the two women. “That is an admirable quality,” Daphne answered. “Your friends must be grateful for it.”

“Some of them, perhaps, although it causes my less discreet friends much vexation.”

Daphne could not help laughing at that. Anthony’s sister had a forthright friendliness she liked, and she beckoned her into the antika room. “I would be glad of your company.”

“Good.” Lady Hammond came inside and crossed the room to the table. She looked down at the dirty slab of tiled limestone on the table. “What is it you do here?”

“I am restoring a mosaic. Watch.” Daphne pulled on a pair of heavy leather gloves, then retrieved a glass bottle containing deutoxide of hydrogen from beneath the table. She pulled out the cork and slowly poured a generous amount of the liquid over the tiled surface. As the accumulated grime began to wash away, the image of a woman appeared, a naked woman lying on a shell-shaped boat.

“Isn’t she lovely!” the viscountess cried, studying the image. “Do you know who she is?”

“Venus,” Daphne answered at once. “The Roman goddess of love. This square was in front of the door into the main sleeping quarters of the master and mistress of the house. Because of this mosaic, the fact that they shared their sleeping quarters, and from other artifacts found at the site, I believe that this couple’s marriage, though arranged, became a love match.” She paused, looking at the image, then added, “I would like to think they were as happy as my own mother and father.”

“Was your parents’ marriage a love match, then?”

“Oh, yes. They had a depth of affection and companionship of which few can boast. I was only a child when my mother died, but even then, I knew how much in love they were.”

“You believe love is important in marriage, Miss Wade?”

Daphne looked at the viscountess across the table, astonished by a question for which the answer seemed so obvious. “Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”

“No, my dear,” Lady Hammond answered with a hint of irony in her voice that Daphne could not fathom. “Not everyone does. I have heard the opinion of late that love and marriage are two separate things, that they need not ever have anything to do with each other. What do you think of that?”

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