The de Valery Code (5 page)

Rhys looked toward the treeline where Penn had pointed, but didn’t see anything. “Show me.”

Penn took out the last rock and shrugged. He coiled the whip and loped toward the trees.

Rhys walked swiftly beside him. “You’re very good with that whip. And you just found it?”

“This morning.” The boy was frustratingly light of speech, but what could Rhys expect? Penn’s mother had begged Rhys to foster him, stayed for two nights, and then left him there. Rhys doubted he’d be able to find much to say in those circumstances either.

They reached the wooded area. Along the edge was a series of holes. Penn went to the one at the far end and stood.

“This one, eh?” Rhys asked, studying the boy. His hair was a bit too long, falling over his forehead, but Mrs. Thomas had insisted they not try trimming it until he’d settled in.
 

But how would they know he was settled? Rhys had no siblings and, of course, no children of his own. He hadn’t the slightest notion how to read a young person, particularly one who only spoke the bare minimum.

Penn didn’t say anything, nor did he nod. He just looked down at the empty hole.

Rhys couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Why do you dig?”

Penn looked up at him, the strands of his hair partially obscuring eyes that seemed alert, intelligent, though Rhys had seen nothing in his behavior to confirm that. The boy could read and do sums, but he showed no interest in continuing his education. This was a fight that was coming, however. Like his father before him, he’d ensure Penn learned what he must.

Penn shrugged. “I find things.”

“What else have you found?”

Digging into his pocket, Penn withdrew a fistful of items. He opened his palm and exposed them: a piece of metal, a bone fragment, a shard of pottery, and two coins.

Rhys had expected a verbal list, not the actual things. He leaned forward and examined the treasures. And they were treasures—at least the coins were. Rhys recognized them as Roman. He reached out to touch one, but Penn pulled his hand away. “Where did you find these?”

“I dug them up last year.” He gave his head a defensive shake and looked at the ground. “I don’t remember where.”

Rhys was frustrated by this answer, but not surprised. “You don’t have to hide things from me. When I agreed to foster you, I promised your mother you would be safe and that I would treat you fairly.”

When Penn raised his eyes, his gaze was wary. “I’m not hiding anything.”

Rhys endeavored to keep his expression open and friendly to keep the boy talking. “Did you dig up
all
of those things?”

“All but the piece of dish.” He turned the pottery, which had dulled to a murky gray, though some sort of etched design was visible on one side. “A man gave it to me. He said Wales was full of hidden treasures.”

Rhys nodded, thinking of whatever might be at the center of de Valery’s code. “He’s right. And you like doing that, digging for treasure?”

Penn shrugged again.

“You’re welcome to dig wherever you like around here, so long as you replace the dirt when you’re finished.” Rhys glanced at the holes as he made the gentle admonishment.

“Yes, sir.”

Rhys nearly smiled at the resignation in the youthful tone. How he remembered being a lad and not wanting to do the things his father required—calculations, memorizing scientific theories, learning Latin. Yet now he was incredibly grateful for his father’s care and tutelage, even if it had been demanding. Could he do the same for Penn? Did he even want to?
 

He was surprised to find he did. Maybe it was time for him to become less of a hermit. And he could think of no better reason. Penn had no one else—his mother was dying and his father was the worst sort of human being. Just as Rhys had grown up with only his father, Penn would grow up with Rhys. There was a certain poetic symmetry to it that appealed to Rhys’s ordered mind.

“I didn’t just come out here to talk about your holes,” Rhys said slowly. Though he hadn’t yet formed a bond with the boy, he felt a bit of regret over having to leave him so soon. “I need to take a trip for a few days—four or five at most.”

Penn’s gaze shot up, his pupils dark and heavy with vulnerability. Caution dropped its veil once more, hiding whatever his true reaction might be.

Rhys wasn’t sure why he continued, but maybe it was the regret. “I’m actually going after a bit of treasure myself.”

Penn brushed his hair from his eyes as he looked up again, this time his gaze full of unguarded interest. “Like my coins?”

“No.” At least not yet. “I’m going to decipher a code.”

“A secret code?” Excitement tinged Penn’s question as he leaned slightly forward.

Rhys smothered a smile at the boy’s response. Perhaps they’d find some common ground after all. “When I get back, I’ll show it to you. Would you like that?”

He nodded briskly. “Very much, sir. Thank you.” The lad’s manners and method of speech revealed he’d been well-born.
 

Penn squatted down and set his whip on the ground before he began to fill in the hole. Rhys blinked as a thought struck him: how odd it was to have a child before he had a wife. He’d never given marriage much thought, always thinking he had plenty of time, likely because his father hadn’t wed until he was forty. Also, Rhys had yet to meet a woman who piqued his interest enough to even consider it. Until today. Miss Derrington was quick-witted, capable, and, it seemed, adventurous. She was also beautiful into the bargain.

He shook the ridiculous notions from his head. He was no more ready for marriage today than he was yesterday, even with the presence of a young, now-motherless charge. Miss Derrington was a necessary component to fulfilling his aspirations and nothing more.

What he really ought to be considering was how he was going to face his cousin while fostering the son Stratton didn’t even know he had.

Chapter Three

The morning was cool and damp as Rhys’s coach turned onto the High Street in Monmouth. He heard the commotion before he saw it. He barely waited for Craddock to bring them to a halt before throwing open the door.

A line of coaches were stacked along the street, and a group of men clustered in front of the White Lady, where Miss Derrington was lodging. What the devil was going on?

Craddock met him as he stepped from the coach. “Sir?”

“Find out what’s happening.” Rhys moved toward the men, his body tensing. But then just as quickly, he relaxed as he recognized one of the gentlemen, then a second, then a third.

“Bowen!” Lord Alfred Trevor, one of Rhys’s oldest friends, stalked toward him, a wide smile curling his slender lips. “You’ve decided to join us.”

Blast, a lapse in memory from the other night’s festivities it seemed. “Ah . . .”

Trevor laughed heartily. “You don’t remember. I could see it in your eyes before your coachman dragged you off. Yesterday must’ve been a pisser, eh?”

“Somewhat, yes.”

“Come on then.” Trevor clapped him on the back and guided him forward to the group. “We’re just waiting for a slug-a-bed before we continue to the river. We’re off on the second half of the Wye Tour for Gillivray’s prenuptial celebration. Septon was most insistent that you join us.”

Now he remembered the event, if not the invitation to join them. His eye found Septon chatting with another gentleman. Five years Rhys’s senior, Septon was a close friend and a fellow antiquarian. Following the tour, he planned to visit the Roman ruins at Caerwent for several days of study.

The academic in Rhys wanted to tell Septon about Miss Derrington’s de Valery manuscript, but the adventurer that was emerging from within him insisted he keep quiet. It was a shame, for Septon was particularly adept at ciphers and would undoubtedly thrill to the prospect of studying de Valery’s code.

Rhys turned toward Trevor, halting their progress and dislodging Trevor’s arm. “Actually, I’m afraid I must decline your kind offer. I am embarking on an important errand this morning.”

Trevor frowned, his disapproval apparent. “Something academically-related, I’m certain. You need to put aside your musty texts once in a while before life passes you by.”

“I just did that the other night. Pardon my preference for moderation,” Rhys said wryly.

Trevor laughed again, his rich, booming voice drawing the attention of some of the other gentlemen. “So you did.” He glanced at the doorway. “Good Christ, what is taking Howe so long?”

Rhys also scanned the inn’s entrance in search of Miss Derrington. Though she was suitably chaperoned, he didn’t want to advertise their joint venture to this group of rakehells.

As Trevor was joined by a pair of gentlemen who were positing reasons for Lord Howe’s delay, Rhys edged back toward Craddock. “Would you go into the White Lady and see if you can escort Miss Derrington out via a less conspicuous door?”

With a brisk nod, Craddock hurried inside.

Several minutes later, a tall, slender gentleman garbed in a dark suit of clothes that was quite at odds with the bright colors worn by the rest of the lot exited the inn.

“At last, His Highness deigns to join us!” Trevor offered an exaggerated bow. “We aim to serve at your pleasure, my lord.”

The others guffawed while Howe’s lips curved into a regretful smile. “My apologies. I’m afraid I was busy . . . lording over the inn’s staff.” His eyes crinkled with his sarcasm. Howe had a reputation for trying to tumble anything in a skirt—good-naturedly, of course. He wasn’t a brute, just a charming viscount with a penchant for women.

The group erupted into even louder laughter, which was accompanied by slaps on Howe’s back as they ushered him toward the line of coaches.

Trevor paused before following them and turned to look at Rhys. “This is your last chance to abandon your boring academic quest and come with us.”

Rhys smiled and waved him off.

A few minutes later, Craddock called to him from down the street. He carried two valises—one in each hand. Miss Derrington, holding the protective bag he’d given her for the manuscript, and Mrs. Edwards walked beside him.

Rhys hurried to meet them.

Mrs. Edwards frowned at him. “Why did your coachman have to drag us through a back alley?”

Rhys frowned at Craddock. “Didn’t you explain?”

“Left that to you, sir.” He shrugged as he belatedly pulled down the steps of the coach before climbing up to his seat and securing the luggage.

Opening the vehicle’s door, Rhys held it ajar and offered his hand. “My apologies for the inconvenience ladies, there was some congestion at the front of the inn. Please allow me to assist you.”

Miss Derrington placed her hand in his and ascended into the coach. He provided the same service for Mrs. Edwards, who looked skeptically at the now-empty street but said nothing further about their detour.

Rhys climbed into the coach just as the ladies had situated themselves on the forward-facing seat. He deposited himself in the seat opposite.

“What precisely is our itinerary?” Mrs. Edwards asked.

As the coach moved forward, Rhys braced himself against the squab. “We’ll spend tonight in Hereford, and we should arrive at Stratton Hall by early tomorrow afternoon.”

“Is there shopping in Hereford?”

“I’m afraid we won’t be there long enough to do that,” Miss Derrington said. “Perhaps Leominster boasts some shops.”

Rhys vaguely remembered the small village and thought there might be a milliner’s, but couldn’t say for certain. “We shall find out when we pass through, and I’m certain we can make an accommodation for you to tour the village, Mrs. Edwards.”

“That would be most diverting, thank you.” She settled into her corner and looked out the window as the coach traveled down the High Street.

Rhys turned his attention to Miss Derrington. She appeared fresh and lovely today, garbed in a blue traveling costume edged with black velvet. A wide-brimmed bonnet shielded her blond hair, but a few curls brushed her temples.

He oughtn’t look at her so closely. They were business associates at best. At worst, adversaries vying for the same treasure, which she didn’t even know existed.
Yet
. He’d thought about whether he should have told her, but until he was certain there was even a code to decipher, why bother?