Page 1
Chapter One
WANTED: Secretary required for esteemed antiquities scholar. Respectable, unmarried, young (up to 30 years of age) lady, of good birth and character. Must have extensive knowledge of antiquities, excellent Latin and Greek, ability to sketch, and a neat and orderly mind. Experience with archaeological digs an advantage. This position is for a twelve-month project cataloguing dig sites and antiquities discovered in southern and central Britain and requires the lady to live in and be prepared for travel. All living expenses will be covered, and a generous salary will be payable to the right applicant. All proprieties will be adhered to.
Deodonatus Kininmounth, 6th Earl of Pendrell, Deo to his friends, reviewed for the dozenth time the advertisement he had placed last month in British Antiquities, his favorite journal. He had hoped to have received some applications for the post by now. Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned the living in bit? Was it putting them off? But he had wanted to be very transparent about his requirements without baldly stating that he was looking for a wife who would also fulfil the role of secretary.
If she has half a brain—and I certainly hope she does, or what is the point?—she will understand what is implied. How can the proprieties be adhered to if we are not married?
He was a single man living alone, after all—except for the servants.
He put the journal away and returned to his desk to complete the next chapter on his book, A Survey of Sussex Antiquities. Kester, his lolloping red Irish Setter, rearranged his long furry limbs under the desk with a flop and a sigh.
He glanced under the desk at the dog. “Your walk is not scheduled until ten o’clock, Kes. Have some patience,” he admonished gently. Kester raised his silky head with long floppy ears and rested it on Deo’s knee. Deo stroked the head and scratched the ears absently, contemplating his next sentence.
The prospect out the window from his desk showed the rolling green of the south lawn of his Sussex country estate, with a glimpse of blue ocean in the distance. He always resided here for the summer months, when London became stiflingly hot. Last summer he’d spent the entire time unearthing and cataloguing a new find right on his doorstep before it disappeared into the ocean: a small hoard of Saxon coins and church reliquaries. He’d worked flat out for weeks to get it all done before the wind and weather destroyed the find. It had underlined for him his need for an assistant.
Now he was itching to get started on the new project he had been assigned by the Society for Antiquaries, but for that he really needed his secretary-wife. The prospect of having a companion who shared his passion for antiquities, who understood—a woman he could talk to—set up an ache in his chest.
At the age of thirty-two he had despaired of finding a lady of suitable birth who shared his interests, whom he could, in short, contemplate living with for the rest of his life. He was not an easy man to live with. He knew this. Finding a lady who could tolerate him was a tall order. Then his friend Emrys, Viscount Ashford, had suggested he advertise. Deo had thought the idea was brilliant, but perhaps he was wrong, and he was destined to be alone as he dwindled into old age. The prospect was depressing.
He shook his head to dispel the thoughts, pushing his spectacles back up his hawklike nose, and focused on the page before him, reaching for his notes, with one large, freckled hand.
