Miss Cheney's Charade (20 page)

Deciding she had best make a pretense of digging for a Roman treasure hoard, she jumped down into the hole and picked up the hand trowel that she had seen George using.

A gentle wind stirred the long grasses interspersed with oxeye daisies, fragrant red clover, and the bright yellow plumes of Lady’s Bedstraw that grew along the edge of the field. A sniff of the fresh country air brought the sunny June afternoon alive with bucolic charm. Somewhere in the world there was trouble and war. Here all was at peace. If there were clouds on the horizon, Emma ignored them.

She could see cattle grazing in the next field, some of Sir William’s special breed, no doubt. It was a scene that should have been idyllic, reducing her to fanciful daydreams.

Instead, Emma turned to her digging with a sinking heart, knowing that Sir Peter would shortly come striding across the fields to confront her. How could she possibly convince him of her charade in the bright light of day?

Then her trowel struck metal. Forgetting all about her dilemma for the moment, Emma began to dig frantically in the soil with her fingers after tossing the trowel aside. Bit by bit she uncovered a mass of coins, a small hoard to be sure, but definitely
old
coins. She picked up one, rubbed it off on her coat, and wanted to shout with joy. It bore the likeness of a noble Roman, and if it wasn’t an
old
Roman she’d eat every one of the coins. She began to separate them and found upon brushing the dirt off that a number appeared to be gold!

That proved too much. She lifted up her face to the sky and cheered, “Hurrah!” and performed a little dance of joy for her dearest brother.

Peter paused in his tracks at the sight of the slender figure halfway down in the digging not far from the edge of the field. Dressed in her brother’s clothing, she had a smear of dirt on one cheek. Her curls tumbled about her pretty face in mad abandon, and she was now jumping up and down in utter delight. It was a sight that warmed his heart. Emma had definitely been bitten by the quest for treasure.

“What ho?” he called out to her, hurrying forth to where she had been digging in the dirt.

She stopped her exuberant display of joy and turned to face him with a wary look. “Hullo. What a surprise. What brings you down here?”

“You.”

She looked perfectly horrified for just a moment until a polite mask came over her face.

“Did you find something? I could not help but notice a bit of elation there as I walked up,” Peter said with customary British understatement.

“That I did,” she admitted with obvious reluctance. “I believe these to be of Roman origin and in excellent condition. There are even a number of gold coins in the hoard. Ought to set the antiquarian community on their ears,” she concluded with rising enthusiasm.

“Think there might be more?” Peter crouched down by the dig to examine the hoard of coins. They were magnificent in quality and number from what he could tell.

“Perhaps. If these had been buried prior to a battle, the one who left them was most likely killed. I doubt anyone could simply
forget
such a cache. It is conceivable that other items were also buried and left unfound,” she concluded, her hope ringing clear in her voice.

Peter stared down into her eager face, her gray eyes glowing with happiness and wonder. He suddenly realized he loved this little scamp, smear of dirt and all. It had struck him like a clap of thunder when he glimpsed what it would be like to have her at his side while excavating.

But she pretended to be her brother, and therein was the problem. There were too many reasons he couldn’t reveal that he knew her identity. For one, she might be furious that he had played along with her charade, believing he ridiculed her. He wanted her joy and exuberance quite undiminished and all for himself. And as to her parents, well, he still suspected they would demand marriage, whether Emma declared love for him or not. He found he wished the best of life, and that meant Emma willingly in his arms.

He looked up at the sky where dark clouds gathered, prophetic of rain. The late afternoon sun had dipped behind them, and the landscape dimmed in luster.

“Perhaps we had better head for the house. It looks to rain before long.” He rose and stood waiting to see what she would do next.

With reluctance Emma scrambled from the hole where she had made such a momentous find. Sir Peter was correct, it looked to rain and she didn’t want any more evidence—such as a dripping wet body—that she wasn’t George.

“Hurry on back to the house; do not wait for me,” she begged. “I will take these coins over to my shed and work with them for a bit. I’ll see you later,” Emma announced, then strode off across the field toward the little shack where her clothes were, without waiting to see what he did. She needed to get changed and back to the house before it poured.

“Indeed,” Sir Peter called out. “I shall leave the announcement of your find for you to offer when you come.”

The words floated across the field to reach Emma as she hurried toward the little shack.

When she reached it, she half turned to see with great relief that he now walked rapidly toward the house, not so much as looking behind him.

Once inside, she dumped the coins into the basin full of water that she ought to have been using to wash her face and hands, no doubt. A glimmer of gold shone up at her, and she hugged herself with pure delight.

A sharp rap came at the door, and then her brother slipped into the shack. “What happened? I chanced to look out and saw you dancing about like a red Indian.”

Emma just grinned and pointed to the basin. “See for yourself,” she said with pride.

George crossed the shack in a few strides and stared down at the contents of the basin with disbelieving eyes. “A bit more digging and I’d have found that,” he said with a rueful grimace at his sister. He poked at the coins, pushing them about to detect the number of gold ones.

“But it
is
yours! And you certainly would have uncovered the coins in mere minutes had I not interrupted you. I would wager anything that there is more to be found. Perhaps there was a battle. You know how people tend to bury things when they fear that someone might steal their wealth. Why, there could easily be another pile of coins even greater in value than these. Oh, look at the gold, George,” she said with glee. “Gold!”

When he turned his gaze from the basin of coins and looked down at her, Emma couldn’t help but offer him a hug of exhilaration. “You will find more, I just know it.”

“I think it is a pity that Sir Peter is so nearsighted. He could do worse than marry you, I believe.” He grinned at her with a brother’s mockery.

“What a brute you are to say such a dreadful thing to me,” Emma chided him in feigned anger. “Take your coins and leave; I need to get dressed before it rains and I turn into a most pathetic creature.”

He picked up the basin and its precious contents, then made to depart.

Emma said quickly, “Where do you intend to go now?”

“I know an antiquarian who lives not far from here. I believe I will dry off these coins and see what he makes of them.”

“Good luck,” she said softly with a heartfelt smile.

He went out the door, allowing it to drift shut behind him. Emma hurriedly slipped from George’s clothing, then donned her own with more haste than care.

Once outside she could see the clouds had turned a threatening gray. If she made it to the house before the downpour, it would be a miracle. She ran, stumbling across the field until she breathlessly reached the side door Beatrice had told her about.

She had no more than put a foot inside the house than the rain began to come down in torrents. Closing the door, she climbed up the tightly winding stairs until she reached the second floor. Her room was blessedly close to this end of the hall, and she slipped inside with fervent thanks that she had met no one on her mad dash.

Within several minutes Braddon entered after a discreet knock. “Ah, you are not wet, but not unscathed, I see.”

Emma turned to face the looking glass and laughed when she saw the dirt-streaked face reflected.

“What a terrible sight. Do help me dress after I clean up. How go things belowstairs?” Emma scrambled from her soiled dress, then sought the basin of tepid water awaiting her use. Fragrant rose-scented soap reminded her of the field of sun-warmed grass and wildflowers and the happy scene she had just left.

“Miss Beatrice entertains the ladies with pretty songs and her harp. Sir William has dragged Sir Peter to the billiard room for a game or two. I believe you are quite safe.”

Emma dried her face, then turned to Braddon with her happiness shining from her eyes. “I found a hoard of old coins, some of them gold. I do hope this will help George to win Beatrice.”

Braddon nodded, a surprised expression settling on her face. “Indeed.”

“Her ladyship has not given me away, has she?”

“Never, miss. I believe she finds it all highly diverting.” Braddon ran a comb through Emma’s curls, checked her face, then handed her a pair of gloves.

Feeling that she was now properly attired, Emma explained that she had left George’s clothes in the shack.

“I shall fetch them later. Not to worry, miss.”

With exceedingly mixed emotions, Emma wound her way down the stairs to the drawing room. Delicate notes from a harp floated out to greet her.

When she paused in the doorway, she barely restrained a gasp. Beatrice sat near the window. Although the light was dim, it brought a shining gold to her hair. Her voice rang out with pleasing clarity in a popular song of the day while she plucked at the strings of her harp. Small wonder George thought her an angel.

When she saw Emma, she brought the music to a close and rose from the harp to greet her adored George’s sister.

“Did your brother make it in from the field before the rain?” Lady Johnson asked politely.

“Actually, he made it to the house for a few moments before he left again. He has found a wonderful hoard of coins, a few of them gold,” Emma announced, generously ascribing the finding to him. “They look terribly old and appear to have a Roman-looking profile on them. He intends to seek confirmation of their antiquity from an authority he knows who lives nearby.”

“Did he truly?” Beatrice cried with pleasure. “And there are gold coins as well? Papa will be most impressed, I believe.” She clapped her hands with delight.

“Impressed with what, my dear?” Sir William asked in his genial manner, entering the room at that minute.

“Papa, it is so exciting. George has made a discovery in the old swamp. A hoard of coins... and some of them are gold!”

“It is my belief that he will most likely find more in that area, particularly if these were hidden to escape detection from enemies,” Emma declared, edging away from the window to a more shadowy part of the room. Sir Peter had joined Sir William and had given her a very peculiar look.

“Where is the fellow? I should like to congratulate him. I’ll confess I thought his expectations a lot of nonsense, but now ...” Sir William turned to where Emma stood, his look inquiring.

Emma explained about George and his plans to call on the antiquarian authority.

Lady Titheridge urged Sir William to join their little group by the fire—so comfortable on a rainy day.

Emma remained in her shadowy corner, ostensibly examining a painting.

“So,” a familiar voice began, “George made a remarkable find.”

“Indeed. I am so happy for him.” She continued to study the painting, hoping to discourage Sir Peter from conversation.

“And you were there at the time to see his good fortune?” Sir Peter said in a suspiciously bland manner.

Emma darted an alarmed glance at him, then shook her head. “I learned of it from George when he paused to change before leaving,” she replied while continuing to study the painting of a pair of rather insipid spaniels.

“He is fortunate to have such a sister... who rejoices for his good luck,” he added.

She turned a startled gaze on him.

“Well, I wish George the very best. It is easy to see that the possibility of a Roman treasure trove is not the only thing that lures him to remain here.” She gestured toward Beatrice, who waited upon her fragile-looking mother with loving patience.

“Ah, yes, the other reason. She is very lovely.” He bestowed an appreciative look on the blond miss.

Emma wondered when he had developed this roving eye. From what Lady Titheridge had revealed. Sir Peter had been somewhat of a recluse, seldom going into Society and certainly paying little attention to the young women making their come-outs. Without any doubt he did not miss a one now, she thought gloomily.

“Will George be joining us soon?”

Emma studied that bland, innocent expression and wished with all her heart she knew what went on in Sir Peter’s mind. “I cannot say. I imagine it depends upon whether or not he is able to see the antiquarian. And he may elect to remain there until the rain is over,” she offered with inspiration. “I fancy that when someone like that is able to talk to another who is fascinated with the same topic, they may lose track of time.”

True,” he replied with a sage nod. “I also tend to become absorbed in my Egyptian things. Have you ever had an interest in antiquities?” He propped himself against the wall, almost coming between Emma and the painted spaniels and uncomfortably close.

“Oh, indeed. I find it all quite fascinating,” Emma said truthfully, backing away a step or two. “A young lady is limited to reading about it, I fear.”

“What about Lady Hester Stanhope? She certainly has led a most adventurous life so far.”

“I... I do not wish to scandalize,” Emma said thoughtfully. “Were I to venture abroad, it must be with a husband, I believe. But I should like to travel some day.”

“Rome? Egypt? The Orient?” Sir Peter prompted.

“Rome, certainly,” she said with a judicious tilt of her head. “Egypt, yes,” she added with a nod. “However, the Orient is too far away,” she concluded decisively.

“Interesting.”

“I should like to view your Egyptian collection some day,” she said, plunging into dangerous waters.