Page 37 of To Treasure an Heiress
“Mm.” The church’s key was indeed lovely, that scrollwork looking nearly shamrock shaped. “There’s a box of keys in the attic to all the old trunks and chests. I loved to look through them as a girl just because they were so interesting. And because Senara had a necklace with a lovely old key for a pendant.”
From her place at the table, Senara flashed her a smile. She was taking her newly appointed role as organizer quite seriously and had even joked that there’d be a ruler for the knuckles of anyone shirking their duties. Though with a check of her watch, Senara stood up now rather than lecture her and Em about chattering during their work. “If you all can carry on without me for a few minutes, I promised Mam I’d help with the bread.”
Oliver chuckled. “I daresay we can stay on task without you for a while.”
Senara sent him a playful scowl. “If not, we’ll just have to tell Mabena to bring her schoolmaster here to keep you all in line.”
Oliver snorted. He and Casek Wearne may be on better terms than ever in their lives, but no one was exactly surprised when Mabena had opted to spend much of her time with him at his family’s home or her parents’ rather than here. “Try it and I’ll put all these records away in protest.”
Senara laughed her way toward the door. “Not until I say so, Ollie. Keep at it. I’ll be back soon.”
Beth sneaked another glance across the table. By all rights, Sheridan’s eyes ought to be more tired than the rest of theirs—he’d been at it this morning long before anyone else joined him. But then, he seemed to be more accustomed to digging through dusty old parchment than anyone else in the room. He had rocked his chair onto the back two legs and was currently holding a page up toward the window.
Had he really been thinking of proposing to her? After a mere week’s acquaintance? It couldn’t possibly be. She’d been nothing but rude to him. And he was a marquess. She was hardly a suitable match for him, which his sisters really were likely to point out if ever they met.
His chair came back down on all fours with a loud smack, and he shook the page in his hands. “I may have it. Mayday, 1650. A wedding recorded. Briallen Carew to R. Simmern.”
Beth, much like Telford and Oliver and Libby and Emily, just stared at him. Telford then waved a hand in the air. Apparently that meant “more information, please” in whatever language it was those two spoke.
Sheridan tapped the page. “If he wanted the marriage kept quiet, Rupert wouldn’t have put all his official titles. But he was of the Palatinate-Simmern branch of the House of Wittelsbach.Simmern. Not exactly a standard Cornish name to be here otherwise.”
AndRcould be for Rupert. Beth scooted forward in her chair, closer to the table and the sheet of parchment he still held. “Briallen Carew.” She said the name softly, reverently. Was that the fair island lass whose tragic love story her mother had told, and hers before her, back through the centuries?
“Carew is certainly a name still present in the area.” Ollie tapped another line on another page, where presumably another Carew’s name was written.
Briallen. Beth let her eyes slide closed and tried to imagine what she would have looked like. What her name would have sounded like when spoken in a heated whisper by a Germanic prince’s lips.
When she opened them again a moment later, Sheridan’s gaze was fixed on her. Held hers for two beats before he looked away.
Her chest went tight. Or heavy. Or hollow. Did he really believe in love at first sight?
“So, is that the answer to that question, then?” From beside Ollie, Libby shuffled her own stack back into neat order. “It sounds convincing enough.”
“And gives credence to the oral tradition passed down through the Tremaynes’ maternal line. Including the line common to the letters.” Sheridan set the helpful sheeet of parchment back onto his stack.
“So then...” Emily slid the lovely key back onto the table and looked as though she’d like to fold in on herself and disappear. “Since we have the answer to that small question, are we ready to ask the one that’s been looming over us? How my brother knew to investigate Gugh? The reason the rest of us thought it a lead not worth pursuing was because Nigel couldn’t have known it, as he never saw those letters. But he was still there. So clearly we’ve missed something in the material to which hedidhave access.”
A moment of silence greeted her. And then Oliver sighed and looked to Beth. “Lady Emily is right. We need to focus on the material we know the Scofields have. I assume you know which pieces you sent to them for authentication and reference and which they’d have no way of knowing about, especially among the letters.”
“Of course.” She certainly hadn’t been willing to copy out each and every missive between Mucknell and his wife for them. “But don’t we also want to have the edge? To use what we know that he doesn’t to find this?”
“Yes.” Sheridan.
“No.” Everyone else.
Her eyes met his for another fleeting moment, a tentative smile passing between them. It seemed that in this, they were still the lone allies. But before they went off alone again and ended up with black eyes and broken noses, perhaps they ought to grant the others their say.
Sheridan huffed. “You all are forgetting that they have access to the archives thatwedon’t have. Could be ... well, could be that they’ve found something and didn’t share it with Beth. Which would mean—that is, don’t wehaveto try to find it first? With what’s at our disposal?”
The others sighed and exchanged glances. Not exactly agreement, but not refusal either.
Beth shifted to Emily. She knew better than the others just how devastated her friend was by the telegram that had come for her a week ago, from her father. The one that had said,Nigel tells us you hindered his investigation and betrayed his trust. Patch things up. Don’t come pouting back to us until you have. It’s time you remember you’re a Scofield.
As if Em had ever been able to forget she was a Scofield. It had been a constant specter hovering over her, a third party in the room every time they whispered and laughed together during their year of finishing school. If Beth had suggested an innocent joke to play on another girl or a teacher, Emily inevitably met it with “Oh, I mustn’t! If Father found out, he would consider it a disgrace to the family name.” When all the girls were dreaming about romances and courtships, Emily would be the one who sighed and said, “I imagine my father will choose someone. The Scofields have always been very particular about their alliances, and my parents will make no exception for me.”
When first they met, Beth had envied the lovely redhead with her unending wardrobe and her enormous family estate and her stellar connections. But it hadn’t taken more than a month for her to pity her for those things instead. Lady Emily Scofield had lived her life wrapped tightly in the invisible chains of expectation, unaware that she evenhadwings she could spread and glide away on. She didn’t know what to do when a stout breeze blew, perfect for soaring. She had no Mamm-wynn whispering always in her ear,“You’re my little rosefinch, aren’t you, dearover? You will fly away, you will see the world, but you’ll always know to where you can come back. You’ll always fly home.”
Yet for all the stifling influences, all her seeming kowtowing to them, there was still something in Emily’s spirit that Beth’s recognized. Something that had made them move quickly from classmates to friends. Something that had insisted last week that Emily stand firm against her brother, defying every familial expectation.
