“Mostly hieroglyphics.” Shifting position, he crossed one leg over the other at the knee. “We haven’t worked out how to read the symbols yet but we’ll decipher them eventually. I wanted a good record for their study. I was careful not to remove anything from the site that was integral to the structure. Some ain’t so particular about dismantling ancient ruins but I consider it a crime to damage the heritage of another civilization.”
Cornelia had no trouble agreeing with that sentiment. As great as her fascination was with all things ancient, she’d never been comfortable with the number of pieces within the British Museum that had been plundered without consent.
She was about to say so when she noticed how he was looking at her. Not in a superior way, as many people did, but as if he were keen to hear what she thought. Something else too, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. Nothing about her appearance was designed to encourage a speculative male gaze, yet Mr. Burnell’s was unwavering.
All at once, the train rocked. There was a rushing darkness as they plunged through a tunnel. The air changed, confined and compressed. She gasped, feeling dizzy, but just as swiftly they emerged again and she was blinking.
As before, he was looking at her in that steady, unapologetic way, as if he had every right to do so, and she none at all to refuse him the pleasure. Was there a word for this; when a man looked at a woman this way? There ought to be one, and a word for how she was feeling too: far too hot, her chest tight and mouth dry. She made herself breathe deeply but the exhale emerged as a nervous laugh.
“Mr. Burnell, I fear you must be fatigued—with the view from our window so unchanging. Perhaps you have a newspaper or something else to pass the time. I shan’t be offended if you read.”
“I’m not in the least bit bored, and quite the opposite of tired. Just restless is all.” He cocked his head to one side. “And a mite curious.”
Cornelia was aware of her heart beating a little faster. “Then, that makes two of us. If I may speak openly, until recent times, my aunts resided in their own cottage near Osmington, barely four miles from Studborne, and though they maintained a cordial correspondence with your sister, they never before received an invitation.” She looked down at Minnie, still asleep but now licking her lips, as if the rabbits had all turned to sausages.
She was aware that she sounded churlish—discourteous, even. One did not ask for invitations to be explained; still less so when they were issued by such illustrious hosts.
He hesitated a moment before answering. “I admit to selfish reasons, Mrs. Mortmain. I feared, if I didn’t lure you to this house party, I might never see you again and, as you know, I’m curious about everything that seems puzzlesome.”
“There’s very little to be curious about, I assure you. I live very quietly.”
“Quietly, huh?” He folded his arms. “Except for when you’re taking down burglars in the night.”
Something hard lodged in Cornelia’s throat. All this time he’d known, and had no doubt been laughing at her. It bothered her more than she expected.
“Calm yourself, ma’am.” His eyes flashed with amusement. “No one needs to know about your alter-ego, though I’ve a feeling it would be a deal more entertaining if you let that side out to play now and then.”
Cornelia disliked this sort of jesting, where one person made the other squirm. “If you’ve nothing else to say, Mr. Burnell, perhaps return to your contemplation of the countryside.”
Her abruptness had him raising his hands. “Whoah there! I meant no offence. Only that there’s more to you than meets the eye. Most people would consider that a compliment.”
Still peeved, Cornelia chose not to reply.
“As I say, I’m curious, most especially as to why you haven’t found yourself another husband; after all, you’re not so bad looking.” From his grin, it was obvious he was teasing.
“Your courtesy knows no bounds. If you really want to know, I’ve not ‘found’ anyone because I haven’t been looking. It is possible for a woman to have a fulfilling life without a man in tow, and there are a great many freedoms a widow may enjoy that a young unmarried woman may not.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “I hadn’t pegged you for that sort of widow.”
“Really! If you’re going to be crude, this conversation is at a close.” Cornelia gave him the benefit of her most penetrating glare. She had an urge to turn the tables on him and see how he liked being under scrutiny. “So, what’s prevented you from finding wedded bliss, Mr. Burnell? Too much time spent with willing widows?”
“Touché, Mrs. Mortmain, but I don’t suppose it would be difficult to find someone to walk up the aisle. A healthy figure at the bank is enough to ensure that for any man, and one thing I don’t lack is funds.” He lounged back in the seat. “But, seeing as you’ve asked, I’ll oblige you with an answer. My father and I didn’t get along. He wanted me to take over the business. I disagreed. Being the bastard he was, forgive my language, he said he’d cut me off unless I found a bride and provided an heir for his precious empire.”
Cornelia chose to ignore the uncouth choice of words. Despite everything, her interest was piqued. “Most men would see that as a reason to marry, rather than the opposite.”
“For some, maybe. I called his bluff and walked out the next day. I’d only been gone a few hours when the mean old devil had some sort of seizure.”
Dear God! Cornelia’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
Mr. Burnell had told his story without indication of distress; without any sign of emotion at all, his face expressionless. But, no-one could be so unfeeling. She understood he was an only son. As such, his relationship with his father must have been close, even if they had disagreed on various matters.
But, he only shrugged. “I sold everything and I’ve been directing the proceeds into my work ever since. As for an heir, I vowed not to give him that satisfaction. As such, I’ve no interest in being fixed up with a bride. Rosamund’s intentions are good, but she was the one who escaped. I spent years living with the man who commanded my filial duty.”
Cornelia was speechless. She knew people held grudges, with good reason on occasion, but she couldn’t imagine what had driven such a wedge between Ethan and his father; a hatred he was nursing long after his father’s passing.
Better than anyone, she knew that painful memories ought to be let lie. No doubt, he’d regret telling her all this soon enough.
“Anyhow.” He passed his hand through his hair, looking suddenly weary. “That’s something you can help me with, if you’ve a mind to. It’s true that I was curious about you, given the circumstances of our reacquaintance, but I’ve another motive—a proposal of sorts—which I’m hoping may appeal.”
“A proposal?” The train gave another of its lurches, flinging Minnie unceremoniously to the floor. With an objecting yap, the terrier looked about her, evidently unsure of where she was or what was going on.
Aunt Blanche’s head lolled from one side to the other and Eustacia gave another snort and a strangled squeak, but both appeared to continue sleeping, much to Cornelia’s relief.