Evie’s mother and father were the next to emerge, their breathlessness showing they’d come from their corners of the house with as much haste. Mrs. McKnight still held a garden trowel in her mud-covered gloves.
“Sir, Ma’am.” Jamie continued his greeting without pause. “I have come to invite Miss McKnight for a drive, if she is free.” His blue eyes sparkled with humor as he took in Evie.
“I am Miss McKnight,” Marjorie said at once, bounding forward. “And I happen to be free this morning.”
“He means, Evie, goose,” Clara said, aghast.
“I know.” Marjorie wrinkled her nose at Jamie. “I was teasing. You know I was teasing, don’t you, Mr. Mackenzie?”
“You are a true wit.” Jamie winked at her. “I should be more precise. I have come to invite Miss Evie McKnight for a drive, if she is free.”
All eyes turned to Evie.
“Well.” Evie could barely form words. “I will have to check my diary.”
A chorus of Evie! and Go on! burst around her, Jamie’s grin flashing as Evie’s sisters and parents chorused.
Jamie jogged around the motorcar and opened the passenger door. Evie, heart banging, slid into the seat, pretending to coolly smooth her hair while Jamie returned to the driver’s side. He waved an arm to Evie’s family and glided the motorcar forward.
“Where are we going?” Evie asked as they rumbled down the drive. This car moved much faster than the electric one had but lacked its smoothness.
Jamie sent her a wry glance. He pulled onto the main road, the tires bumping over wagon ruts. “In my father’s day, when a young man called for a lady in his two-seater buggy, was this the first question from her lips? Or was she flattered by his attention?”
“A motorcar is different,” Evie said. “The vehicle is always more exciting than its driver.”
“Crush a man, will you? Where we are going remains to be seen. By you, that is. I know where it is.”
“Rowing again?” Evie asked. “I’ve left my scull.”
She couldn’t halt the flip words rolling from her tongue. She wanted to demand to know what the devil Jamie had been up to in the last five weeks. Five weeks, three days, four hours.
She wanted to tell him how she’d feared she’d never see him again, blurt out all the words she’d wanted to shout at him, both angry and loving.
Instead, only silly banter emerged, nothing at all what she meant.
“Not this time. Though—” Jamie broke off. “Never mind. I have difficulty keeping a secret.”
“I’ve watched you play poker. You hold your cards very close to your chest, I’d say.”
“Very droll, my lady.” Jamie reached across Evie to a compartment in the dashboard, his arm just brushing her chest. A drop of perspiration rolled down the back of her neck.
Jamie retrieved what looked like a newspaper cutting, one with dried dark blotches in the margins. “This is your doing, I take it?”
Evie studied the paper he handed her. It was the story from the Illustrated London News about the alabastron making its way back to Greece.
“Oh, yes.” Evie put a hint of surprise in her tone, as though she’d forgotten this trivial event. “I thought it best. Iris was very upset when her father caught her trying to hide the alabastron in her luggage—they were packing up to return to Athens.”
“You thought it best, did you?” Jamie slowed at a fork in the road, peering down each turning as though trying to remember directions. He jerked the car along the left-hand route. “And you persuaded Sir Geoffrey Hammond to allow Iris’s dad to return it and pretend they’d decided this together?”
“Yes.”
Jamie slammed the car to a halt, the tires skidding, and swung to her.
“I love you madly, Evie, but will you please cease tormenting me? How did you do it? You have a honeyed tongue—I well know—but persuading the arrogant and dim Sir Geoffrey to go along with your ruse? How the devil did ye manage it?”
Evie wanted to laugh. Jamie was itching to know, wild to hear about an adventure he’d had no part of. When Evie had received Iris’s telegram, she’d immediately longed to seek him out but had stopped herself. It was something she’d had to do on her own.
Or at least, somewhat on her own.
“Perhaps we should continue on our way,” she said. “Before a farm wagon comes along and runs us down. I’ll explain everything. I promise.”
Jamie changed the gear and moved the car forward once more. “It will be about twenty more minutes to our destination. Plenty of time for a story.”
Evie could have pointed out that he was keeping their destination a secret from her, but she relented.
“I consulted with your Uncle Hart,” she said. “Or rather, with Gavina, who took me to your Aunt Eleanor, and thence to Uncle Hart.”
“Uncle Hart?” Jamie repeated in amazement. “A good choice, I grant you, but you rather rushed into the lion’s den.”
“He’s not so terrible.” Evie had taken to calling him Uncle Hart, and the formidable man had not minded. “He knew the minister in question and introduced me to him. Uncle Hart also brought your father with us to help persuade the minister to do as I suggested.”
Jamie put one gloved hand to his mouth as though pained. “Oh, love, I’m imagining it.”
The minister had been very flattered at the attention of the lofty duke, Evie told Jamie, though he’d made a few digs at him. Apparently the two did not see eye to eye politically.
Sir Geoffrey, at Hart’s request, had been prepared to humor Evie and listen to her, but with an air of one utterly patronizing a young lady. When Ian had entered the room, however, everything changed.
Ian had done nothing, only regarded the man while Evie explained what she needed Sir Geoffrey to do. When Evie had finished, she had seen in Sir Geoffrey’s eyes that he would refuse, simply because he could.
Then Ian had moved to stand behind him. He’d leaned from his tall height to speak words into Sir Geoffrey’s ear that Evie hadn’t heard. Sir Geoffrey had jumped.
Hart had moved to his other side, laying a hand on his shoulder, and Sir Geoffrey had abruptly started babbling that he’d help Evie all he could.
Hart had added the incentive that Sir Geoffrey would have his name put before the public, who would admire him for his generosity. Sir Geoffrey had agreed to do exactly as they’d outlined.
After that, they’d brought in Mr. Georgiou, who had been waiting with the alabastron, and a journalist Hart had alerted. The journalist eagerly lapped up the story, and the photographer with him had snapped pictures.
“The photographer was the one from the docks in Southampton,” Evie said. “Remember?”
“Aye, I remember him.” Jamie’s scowl was dark. “The one who made me look like a mooning fool over one young lady, when I was entirely absorbed in another.”
The way Jamie’s eyes went straight to her made Evie’s heart tremble. “I set him straight, by the way,” she said quickly. “Miss Carmichael is reprieved from your advances. I feel this photographer has redeemed himself by catching such a nice image of Iris’s father becoming a national hero.”