Redeeming the Reclusive Earl - Virginia Heath Page 0,72
themselves and satisfied their own sanctimoniously superior eyes it was not a big sham. ‘It is jolly decent of you to have invited us. Can we visit the site today? I am beyond eager to get started.’
Max responded with a bland smile. As much as he wanted to contradict the man and explain they had been dragged here under false pretences—or at least under a twisted version of the truth—he would not humiliate Effie by doing it out here in front of the servants.
‘I, for one, am eager to see how one can accurately discern wooden post holes when the said wood is allegedly two thousand years old and will undoubtedly have rotted away centuries beforehand.’ Lord Denby smirked at Lord Whittlesey and in that instant he realised these two sanctimonious nay-sayers were here solely to find cause to discredit Effie’s work not celebrate in it as it was due. They were the brakes on Sir Percival’s enthusiastic carriage and unlikely to give her a fair hearing no matter how well written and researched her paper was or how vociferously he supported her cause.
Which did not bode well. For either her or him.
‘They are quite discernible—I can assure you. If you know how to properly discern them, that is.’ He could look down his nose, too, especially as he topped the skinny windbag by a good four inches and was probably twice as wide. ‘I suppose that is what makes this discovery so unique. To an amateur’s eye all mud is merely mud.’ Max smiled to soften the edges of his blatant insult, pleased that the buffoon bristled regardless. ‘It takes real skill and intelligence to find what nobody else has managed thus far. Wouldn’t you say, Lord Denby?’
‘I shall reserve judgement until I see it.’
Max felt his eyes drawn to where she still stood rooted to her spot behind the pillar, saw her defeated posture and miserable expression as she stared down at the floor awaiting his judgement. It tugged on his heart as her reality slapped him in the face. If it was this hard for a man to be taken seriously, and he was already beyond frustrated by the lofty lord’s scepticism, then he couldn’t imagine what each day was like for Effie. Each knock back. Each disparaging dismissal because a woman wasn’t supposed to succeed in a man’s world.
And there I was, thinking you were different from everyone else!
Her words, spat in anger, came back to haunt him because he suddenly realised he, too, was no different from the men currently looking down their noses. How could he possibly be any different if he actively lent a hand to scuppering all her dreams as well? When he knew more than anyone how unbearable it was to lose all hope and all purpose. All she wanted was to see her work published. How could he not help her do that?
‘And see it you shall.’ Although doubtless he would bitterly regret the decision in the coming days. ‘But not until tomorrow—’ out of the corner of his eye he saw Effie’s head whip up in confusion ‘—as we have been plagued with a week of rain and the ground will need at least another day to dry out. Tonight, you may examine the artefacts we have found thus far instead and marvel at our magnificent discovery.’ Without thinking he threw out his palm to encompass Effie, hoping she would come to his aid.
‘We?’ Sir Percival followed his gaze and suddenly beamed from ear to ear.
‘Yes... We...’ He was thinking on his feet now, lost in the ocean with no compass to guide him, but certain he needed to change course. ‘Allow me to introduce you to my...um...’ He turned to her, smiling, hoping she could see the panicked message in his eyes and nobody else could. Hoping her quick brain would come to both their rescues because his was floundering. ‘Miss Effie...’
‘Jones!’ She stepped out of the shadows and slanted him an odd glance. ‘Miss Effie Jones. Lord Rivenhall’s assistant.’
‘You have a female assistant?’ Lord Denby seemed affronted by the idea and he addressed Max rather than acknowledge her. Something which made his blood boil until the fool spoke again and vaporised it into shooting steam. ‘I have never