after lunch.”
“I’m not sure what else they have. I’m going to check out a necklace on display that belonged to Jane Austen.”
“A necklace?” He rubbed the scar on his forehead.
She touched her throat, a useless habit since her necklace was no longer there. “An amber cross.”
“How very strange.”
“What do you mean?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brown bag. “In the village this morning I wandered into an antique store and felt a strong compulsion to buy this against all reason. Even though I usually analyze every action to death before doing anything, I purchased it straightaway. And now I know why. I bought it for you.” He handed her the package. “Go on. Open it.”
Inside the brown paper was a bit of folded tissue paper. She opened that and found an amber cross on a delicate silver chain. Eleanor recognized it immediately. Cassandra’s cross. Her necklace was similar to Jane’s, but with five larger stones and a different filigree pattern around the edges. “I can’t accept this.”
“I’m afraid you must. It doesn’t go with my outfit.”
She smiled. “You should give it to your girlfriend—”
“Don’t currently have one.” He flashed her that toe-curling grin. “But I’m working on it.”
“Okay.” She couldn’t deny a thrill at his statement. “Your mother or sister then. You should give this to someone special.”
“I have.”
She shook her head and reluctantly held the necklace out to him. “We’re total strangers.”
“How soon you forget. I know you rather well … from my dreams.”
“Perhaps you should tell me everything you remember.”
“Later. Over supper.” He still didn’t reach out to take the necklace. “In the meantime, would you keep it in exchange for helping me this afternoon? You could teach the students about the fashions of the Regency.”
“I’m hardly qualified to lecture—”
“Not a formal class. We’ll do it like a conversation. You’ll talk fashions, and I’ll chime in with whatever seems pertinent about the history of the period.”
That didn’t sound too bad. Even as she thought about it, her fingers curled around the necklace as if they had a mind of their own.
“Excellent,” he said, taking her action as agreement. “Now, let’s—” His words were cut off by the sound of the motorcycles pulling up.
Once they’d stopped and relative quiet was restored, a young male called from the crowd, “Hey, Professor Wright, who’s the babe?”
“Watch your mouth, Mr. Garner. Miss Pottinger is our guest lecturer for the afternoon.”
“I thought we were—”
“You are wrong. After lunch we’re going to tour the Jane Austen House Museum. Then Miss Pottinger and I will teach you about the fashions and geopolitical aspects of the Regency.”
Several girls in the group cheered and clapped.
“Jane Austen? Didn’t she write those chick flicks?”
“I recommend everyone pay attention, and you, Mr. Garner, particularly so. Your assignment for the week is a five-page essay on the subject: Did changing fashion of the day reflect the new political thinking of the time, or did the new fashions influence changes in politics?”
All the students groaned.
“Mr. Tobias, may we borrow the spare helmet you keep in your saddle pack?”
“What? I don’t—”
“Give it up, Toby,” Garner said, glad to have attention pointed elsewhere. “Everyone knows you carry an extra helmet in case you have a chance to pick up an English chick.”
Garner caught Professor Wright’s glare and ducked his head. Toby handed over a Barbie-pink helmet with cartoon decals all over it.
“My sister’s,” Toby mumbled.
James held it out to Eleanor. “The bikes are rentals, but we each brought our own gear. Sorry, it’s the best we have.”
Eleanor hesitated, but not because of the color of the helmet.
“Or I could wear this one and you could wear mine,” he said.
She laughed with everyone else at the thought.
“I mean it. I’ll do whatever it takes to have you with me,” he added for her ears alone.
She’d never ridden on a motorcycle before, never gone off with a perfect stranger. But he wasn’t a stranger, not really. What would Jane Austen … No. What would the new Eleanor Pottinger, modern woman, do? She shoved the necklace and packaging into her pocket and took the helmet.
James Wright remounted the motorcycle and indicated the seat behind him with a negligent wave, a gesture so like Lord Shermont it made her smile as she put the helmet on her head.
The choice of restaurants was a disaster. Even though the food was decent, the small dining room was crowded and the atmosphere noisy, keeping conversation to the minimal please-pass-the-salt variety. At the Jane Austen House Museum the students scattered with their notebooks to gather information.
Eleanor found what she was looking for. She stood in front of the glass case that held Jane’s familiar amber cross necklace. She traced the outline of the cross on the glass and remembered the happiness on Jane Austen’s face when her necklace had been returned to her—its rightful place.
James came up beside her. “That’s like the necklace I bought you,” he said, a bit of confusion in his voice. “Not an exact twin, but—”
“A sister,” Eleanor finished for him. She fished Cassandra’s necklace out of her pocket and put it on. “Let’s go find your students and talk about the Regency.”
Later, when he took her back to the inn, he lingered on the steps even after he’d thanked her and congratulated her on a job well done. She had maintained their interest enough so that they asked questions, which was saying a lot, and had given them good information.
“We make a good team,” he said.
She smiled her agreement. “You’d better go if you want to make it to Oxford before seven o’clock. There could be traffic.”
“I’ll drop them off and come right back.”
“That’s a long trip, and I know you hadn’t planned to stay here another night.”
“Who said so?”
“Toby.”
“He just flunked the class.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Just kidding,” James said.
“I know. Look. I’m exhausted. Jetlag is catching up to me. Why don’t you come back tomorrow?”
“It’s a date then. I’ll be here bright and early.”
“Not too early,” she cautioned. “I’m not a morning person. Don’t tell me you’re one who gets up cheerful and talkative before a decent hour.”
“Best part of the day. Although I’m more the cheerfully silent, read-my-paper-and-drink-my-coffee type of morning person.”
“This doesn’t bode well for—”
“Sure it does. Opposites attract. I’ll pick you up at nine—”
“Ten.”
“Nine o’clock,” he said. “But as compensation I can promise you a good cup of coffee which, believe me, is a rarity around here.”
“Agreed. Nine. Coffee.”
“After breakfast we’re taking the kids to Stonehenge.”
“We are?”
