by Darcy Burke
She’d expected this, but she was resolute. “And I still contend it isn’t necessary.”
“I insist.”
“You do like to insist on things,” she muttered. “It’s not up to you to insist.”
“I’ve written to your aunts to ask for your hand.”
She lurched forward in her seat. “You what?”
“I dispatched a letter this morning stating my desire to wed you.”
Aunt Eugenie would be ecstatic. Aunt Agnes would be too—if Margery wanted this, which she did not. Moreover, she didn’t want them involved. They’d worry or try to manage or attempt to persuade her to open herself up. “You had no right to do that, especially after I declined your proposal. I don’t wish to marry you and if you want to continue our partnership to find the treasure, I insist you cease. Otherwise, we shall have to part company.”
He muttered something under his breath. “You would be that foolish.” He crossed his arms and looked out the window.
They rode in silence for a while before Margery deemed it safe to broach conversation again. Given his black mood, she thought it best to start with something pleasant. “Thank you for allowing Penn the cat.”
He peered at her askance, his eyebrow climbing. “You didn’t give me much choice.”
Maybe not pleasant, but he didn’t seem to be as angry as he had been. Good. She hoped they could move past their indiscretion.
“What is your plan once we arrive in Caerwent?”
He unfolded his arms and sat back against the squab. He looked at her briefly, but for the most part kept his gaze averted. “We’ll go to the church. Perhaps we’ll find the name Anarawd in the cemetery or somewhere inside.”
“Excellent thinking.” She expected him to thank her or say something else that revealed his imperious streak, but he did nothing of the sort. He was well and truly angry with her.
“If that fails, we’ll visit Septon at his cottage and discuss the matter with him.”
She hated to disagree with Rhys given his current temper, but there was no hope for it. “I’m not sure that’s wise. We’ve already discussed the need for secrecy.”
“Now that we know the Order has been after your book from the start, I think it’s safe to discuss this with my colleague. I’ve known him for years and I trust him implicitly.”
“So you’ve said.”
He threw the full weight of an angry stare at her. “I’ve suffered your doubt and your deception, but on this we will do things my way. If you disagree, you are welcome to return to Gloucester. As I’ve offered before, I will even pay your way.”
Since telling her about the treasure and agreeing to an alliance, he’d given her no reason not to trust him. If he believed Lord Septon could help them and keep their secret, she shouldn’t contradict him. They were, after all, partners, and they’d come too far to split up now, regardless of any threat she made. And maybe it was simply time she let faith in someone else guide her.
“As you wish. We’ll meet with Lord Septon.”
His eyes flashed briefly with surprise, but then he gave a nod and went back to staring out the window.
At last she felt a pang of regret about the night before. It didn’t stem from the choice she’d made, but from the results of her actions. She’d pursued what she’d wanted without considering Rhys’s involvement. It was one thing to guard one’s heart and another to ignore someone else’s.
“I’m sorry about what happened last night. Initiating that was insensitive on my part, but I did it without any expectations. You mustn’t feel obligated to marry me.”
His gaze was shuttered, his emotions impossible to detect. “It mustn’t happen again.” He clenched his jaw and glanced away as if he remembered that they’d agreed not to let the kissing happen again . . . and look what that had accomplished.
“It won’t.”
She was surprised by how sad that made her.
Chapter 15
They’d traveled most of the ride in silence and now as they neared Caerwent, Rhys finally began to relax. He’d spent the journey feeling alternately frustrated by Margery’s continued refusal of his proposal and shockingly relieved by it.
He averted his eyes from her for the hundredth time and looked at the passing scenery. Last night had been revelatory—both about her and about himself. He’d never imagined he would cross the line of taking a young lady’s virginity and he was thoroughly vexed with himself. He also couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it. The event had been far too spectacular, and he’d recall it with fondness for the rest of his days, no matter whom he married or if he married.
Rhys had figured he’d follow in his father’s footsteps in this, as in everything. Father had wed late in life, not because he’d planned to, but because the desire had struck. Though Rhys wasn’t yet that old, desire had also struck. Yet, wanting Margery wasn’t the same as wanting to marry her. And her point about obligation was well taken.
It would be difficult not to at least contemplate repeating last night’s delightful experience, but he’d try. He only hoped they could both do better than when they’d agreed to not kiss. It was bad enough to fall into each other’s arms once, but twice would be sheer lunacy.
The coach slowed as it entered the outskirts of Caerwent. Margery scooted closer to the window and peered outside. “Is that the original Roman wall?”
“Yes, there are quite a few ruins around the town,” Rhys said. He’d visited the small village of Caerwent many times, but his first trip, with his father when he’d been nine, stuck with him the most. They’d spent several days touring the various Roman sites. The wall around the town was still quite impressive. It had ignited Rhys’s interest in antiquarian matters—something his father had hoped for.
“Will we have time to see them?” Margery asked, her face glued to the window.
He hadn’t planned on doing anything other than searching for the treasure. They’d do their best to find it in the next day or two, but if they didn’t, they’d need to assess the situation. How long could she keep traipsing across western England and southeastern Wales with a gentleman who wasn’t her husband? She’d been gone ten days. Her aunts had to be concerned.
Her aunts.
He wished he hadn’t written to them about marrying Margery. However, since Margery had refused him, it would be a moot issue and he could simply forget he’d ever done it.
When he didn’t answer her query about the ruins, she turned from the window to look at him.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I suppose it depends on what we find. I thought it would be best to return you to Gloucester as soon as possible.”
She pressed her hand to the side of the coach as they hit a rut. “I’ve sent word to my aunts not to worry, though now I don’t know what they’re going to think . . .” She looked back out the window.
“They’ll think nothing. You’ll tell them you refused my offer and that will be the end of it.” He glanced at the other window. “We’re nearing the church.”
He felt her gaze on him, but didn’t return it. The coach turned up the lane to the church and finally came to a halt. He didn’t wait for Craddock to open the door or let out the stairs. He jumped down, pulled the stairs free himself, and helped her step onto the dry earth. Sparks leapt when he touched her, despite their gloves, but he ignored the sensation. He’d do best to forget what had happened last night and pretend that whatever residual attraction remained between them didn’t exist.
If she felt anything, her expression didn’t betray it. “What about the books?”
“I’ve instructed Craddock to guard them and to keep watch. He’s armed.” He gave her a dark look. “As am I.”
“How thoughtful of you, particularly since I left Lady Stratton’s pistols at Hollyhaven.” she murmured. “What of Jane?”
“Craddock will keep her safe.” He took her elbow. “Come, let us move inside and complete our search quickly.”
They walked briskly
into the porch, which housed the Silurum Stone, bearing ancient, Latin lettering.
Rhys heard Margery’s intake of breath and gave her a brief, whispered history. “It is thought to have been the base of a statue in honor of Paulinus, legate of the second Augustan Legion.”
She looked at the stone with reverence and keen interest. “How old is it?”
“The third century.” He looked around the small porch, but didn’t see anything different from his last visit here, maybe three years prior. Had he expected the name Anarawd to leap out at them?
They moved into the church. It was mostly empty save a single person sitting in a pew, his head bent. Probably nothing, but Rhys didn’t want to take any chances. “Let’s go out to the cemetery.”
He tightened his grip on her elbow and led her out through another exit into the churchyard. No one followed them and he relaxed slightly when they were back beneath the clear blue sky where they couldn’t be cornered.
“Shall we split up to look at the gravestones?”
“Yes, but not too far apart. We need to be on our guard.” He let go of her and moved to the corner. “Let’s start here.”
They walked amongst the headstones in silence. Pastoral green farmland stretched in almost every direction. The sparse buildings of the town and many cottages were visible, but the air was quiet, save the occasional bleat of a sheep or the buzz of a bee.
Some people found graveyards eerie or distressing, but to Rhys they were monuments to those who’d come before him. They filled him with a sense of gratitude and belonging. Life and death were the things they all shared.
“Do you find this morbid?” he asked her.
“Not particularly. You probably think me odd.” She shrugged, but kept her focus on the stones. “I think I could spend hours here reading the headstones. All of these people and their rich lives . . . It’s fascinating. And more than a bit humbling.”
Then sometimes Margery had to go and say things like that and he wondered if he might like to pursue something more permanent with her. She was . . . a singular female.
Refusing to be distracted by her, he refocused his attention to the task at hand. They’d strolled through half the stones when the sound of a carriage approaching drew both of their heads toward the drive.
Rhys tensed. His fingers ran over the exterior of his coat pocket, which held a small pistol. He moved closer to Margery who was standing stock-still, staring at the now-stopped carriage.
The driver jumped down and opened the door. The figure who emerged was tall and when he caught sight of Rhys and Margery, he moved toward them, his long legs striding across the churchyard.
Rhys exhaled and his muscles relaxed. “We were coming to see you,” he said with a grin.
“Were you?” Septon smiled in return. He reached them and offered Margery a bow. “Good afternoon, I’m Septon.”
“Miss Derrington, let me present my friend, Lord Septon. Septon, my . . . friend, Miss Derrington.” Rhys didn’t know how to describe her, but decided “friend” would have to suffice.
She curtseyed in response. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord.”
“As am I to make yours, Miss Derrington.” Septon turned his gray eyes to Rhys. “Why are you skulking about the churchyard?”
“It’s a long story, but one I’m eager to share.” Rhys decided they might as well call a halt to their so-far-fruitless search in favor of seeing if Septon could help them. “It’s quite fortuitous that you’ve happened across us. Indeed, what are you doing here at the church?”
“I like to spend time meandering amongst the dead. It gives me inspiration when I’m working on a project.”
Rhys hadn’t known that about him, but didn’t say so. “What are you working on?”
“Just some old texts. Why don’t you come for tea, and I’ll tell you about it? Then you can share your long story. My cottage isn’t far.” Septon leased a cottage from a farmer. It wasn’t grand, but he’d filled it with comforts over the past few years so that it resembled a sort of bachelor’s hermitage.
He led them toward the lane where the vehicles were parked. Rhys offered his arm to Margery and they made their way to his coach.
“Why not ride with me?” Septon asked. “Your man can follow us.”
Craddock, who’d stood poised at Rhys’s carriage door, eyed Rhys in question. Rhys nodded in return.
“Thank you.” Rhys helped Margery into Septon’s carriage, where she took the forward-facing seat. Septon climbed in next, sitting beside her, which left Rhys to sit alone on the rear-facing seat.
A moment later they were on their way. Margery looked askance at Septon. Rhys recognized the shadow in her gaze—she didn’t trust Septon. Rhys wasn’t surprised. He was beginning to think she didn’t trust anyone.
Septon leaned back in his corner. “Tell me your story, Bowen.”
“We’re, ah, looking for something.” He looked at Margery whose mouth was tight. “You may find this hard to believe, but we’ve deciphered the de Valery code.”
His eyes flickered with surprise and his lips parted. He looked between them. “You have both manuscripts?”
Rhys nodded. “One of them belongs to Miss Derrington. She sought me out and we were able to track down the second book.” He purposely left out any other information in deference to Nash’s request.
“Extraordinary,” Septon breathed. “May I ask . . . What does the code say?”
The thrill Rhys had experienced when they’d solved the code washed back over him in the presence of his friend’s excitement. “Three words: St. Tathyw, Venta Silurum, and Anarawd. We know the first two, but the last one isn’t a name we recognize.”
“It’s Welsh,” Septon said. “But you know that. Is that what you were looking for in the churchyard?”
“It made sense to start there since it’s the Church of St. Tathyw.”
Septon gave his head a brief shake, but his lips curved up. “It’s called St. Tathan of course, but you know that it likely means St. Tathyw. You’re a well-educated fellow.”
“Thank you, but I’ve learned any number of things since we started this quest. We’re anxious to find the treasure, but there’s a group—the Order of the Round Table—that seeks to prevent us from doing so. I’d never head of them before, have you? Your Arthurian knowledge exceeds mine.”
Septon leaned forward, his eyes darkening. “Do you believe they’re aware you’ve solved the code?”
“They can’t know that—we just completed the deciphering last night. They know we have the tools, however.” Rhys eyed his friend, aware of his heightened interest and perhaps anxiety. “What do you know of them?”
“I know they are absolutely committed in their mission.” Septon glanced between Rhys and Margery. “Did you go into the church, see anyone inside?” His question was low and urgent.
Rhys recalled the bent head in one of the pews. “We did see someone, but we didn’t engage with them.”
“They saw you too, I’m sure. I’d wager that was a member of the Order.”
When they arrived at Lord Septon’s cottage a few minutes later, Margery stepped from his coach with Rhys’s assistance. Her nerves were on edge upon hearing they’d come so close to another member of this cryptic Order, and she was anxious to learn more from Septon.
Their host led them into the cheery interior of the home, which boasted a second floor. The main room was large, with a dining table on one side and a seating area clustered around a fireplace flanked with overstuffed bookshelves. The focal point, however, was the bank of wide windows along the back wall, in front of which was situated a long table covered in paper, books, and a few random objects, such as a cracked wooden plate, an earthenware crock, and a small pile of coins. It reminded Margery of Rhys’s worktable at Hollyhaven.
“What are you doing over here?” Rhys asked as he approached the work area.
Septon joined him. “These are some items that were found last week. I’m just
recording them for my collection.”
Rhys looked over at Margery, who’d come to stand a few feet from the table. “Septon’s antiquities collection is quite large. Most are on display at his estate in Somerset, but a few of his most prized treasures are in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford.”
Margery was vaguely intrigued by the items on Septon’s table, but she was far more interested in what he could tell them about the Order and the treasure. She was also concerned about the de Valery manuscripts just sitting in Rhys’s coach, which had followed them to the cottage.
Rhys picked up one of the coins and held it up to the window to inspect it. “Roman.”
“Fourth century,” Septon said.
Rhys tossed him a glance before setting the coin back down and picking up another. “Before Arthur, if you believe he existed, of course.”
“Do you?” Septon leaned a hand on the back of his chair.
Rhys placed the second coin back on the pile. “I didn’t, but with everything we’ve now seen . . .” He looked at Margery.
“And what is that?” Septon asked them both, looking from Rhys to Margery and back to Rhys.
“The de Valery code exists. It leads to something.”
Septon’s brow furrowed. “We don’t know that for sure, but the fact that you deciphered words that led you here certainly seems to infer that there is a tangible treasure.”
“Or de Valery sent us on a wild goose chase,” Margery said, feeling unaccountably nervous and a bit frustrated.
“Perhaps. Let us sit.” He moved to the settee and a pair of armchairs positioned near the fireplace. He waited until Margery sank to the settee before taking one of the chairs.
Rhys looked at where Margery sat, but ended up settling in the other chair, as if he’d decided maintaining space between them was for the best. She couldn’t help but agree.
“What do you think the treasure might be?” Septon asked.
“I can only theorize,” Rhys said. “I suppose it could be something grand like the Heart of Llanllwch.”