Captain Durant's Countess(25)

Reyn was no wiser what the object was once she’d uncovered it. The heap of linen rags on the table looked more valuable. “What the blazes is that?”

“The statue is South American, quite ancient, I wager. I believe it must have been sent here by Henry’s brother. His ship escorted the Portuguese Court to Brazil when they fled Napoleon’s invasion in 1808.”

“David’s father?”

Maris nodded. “Yes. He was in the Royal Navy. He died on the return voyage, poor man. He was nothing at all like his son.”

“Why isn’t David in possession of this clay thing?”

“If it was delivered here, it was intended for Henry. He’s interested in comparative civilizations. This is primitive vis-à-vis his Etruscan treasures from the same era. I think we’ll put it aside, although he must have seen it once.” Maris made a bed of cloth and laid the stature on top of it.

In Reyn’s opinion it looked like a mud pie any half-wit child could make. He watched as Maris removed her gloves and wrote in one of the blank ledgers. She lined up a ruler next to the thing and squinted, then pulled out a pair of spectacles from the same capacious pocket. Reyn wondered what else could possibly be in there.

With the glasses perched on her nose, the countess resembled a no-nonsense governess, not that he’d had one. He had been sent off to school at an early age once the local curate washed his hands of him. The curate was the first in a long line of scholars who had very clean hands after dealing with young Reynold Durant.

Lady Kelby was spending an inordinate amount of time with the reddish-brown thing. She scratched out its description, then paused to measure and cluck over it some more. What was he supposed to do with himself between “finds?” Reyn dug his hand deeper into box number twelve, but there seemed to be nothing but more fabric wrapping . . . until he touched something hard.

Hold on. Reyn pulled out a polished green stone the size of a robin’s egg. Its multiple facets glinted in his palm. “Maris.”

“Umm?”

“Look.”

Her head was still bent over the ledger. “I need to finish with the relic first. You’ll have to learn to be patient. I’m very thorough.”

She was that. “I think you’ll want to see this.”

“Oh, bother. What is it?” She placed the pen in its holder and looked over her lenses. Her brown eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. He could not have asked for a more satisfactory reaction.

“I think it’s an emerald,” Reyn said with some confidence. He’d rubbed shoulders lately with some bejeweled ladies. Sometimes the jewels were all they wore. The Marchioness of Stitham had an emerald set she wore regularly to the Reining Monarchs Society, tiara and all. But none of her stones could compete with the color, cut, and clarity of the huge rock in his hand.

“Good Lord. It’s enormous.”

Reyn set the stone in front of her. “It was at the bottom of the box.”

She picked it up as if it might bite. “I suppose it really belongs to David.”

“Why? You said the box was intended for your husband.”

“Henry’s brother must have hidden it for transport. I’m sure he would have unpacked it himself had he lived.”

“You don’t believe in finders keepers?”

Her lips turned up in almost a smile. “If I did, the emerald would be yours, wouldn’t it?”

“Not at all. I am merely the hired help.”

An emerald that size must be worth a fortune. If Reyn had a brain and fewer scruples, he would have pocketed the thing while Maris was scribbling and no one would have been the wiser. Ginny could have lived out her days in luxury and he need not worry about ever finding a proper job.

Maris looked at him as if she could read his thoughts. “Thank you for your honesty.”

Reyn shrugged. “I’m an honorable chap. Mostly. What will you do with it?”

Maris’s brows knit. “I don’t know. I don’t think I want to disturb Henry over it just yet. I’m sure he would say it was David’s and it would gall him no end to turn over so valuable an object to him.”

“I’d like to meet this blighter David.”

“No you wouldn’t. Although I suppose he’s due any day now. He always turns up when you want him least.”

“Tell me about him again so I can prepare myself for the eventuality.” Reyn sat on the edge of the table watching Maris Kelby’s cheeks flush. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of her blushes.

“He’s Henry’s heir, of course. A few years older than I. He can be very charming,” she said with bitterness.

“Were you raised together here?”

“Oh, no. His parents lived in one of the other Kelby properties in Hampshire. Near Portsmouth, convenient to the Admiralty. His father was at sea for much of his growing up. I supposed that’s why he doesn’t recognize boundaries. His mother spoiled him dreadfully. David thinks he’s entitled to do just as he pleases, no matter who it hurts.”

“I gather his marriage to Lady Jane would have been unacceptable.”

“Cousins do marry. Henry would have swallowed the pill and approved the match. But David refused, even though—” Maris broke off.

“I’m sorry. It’s impertinent of me to ask.”

“No. You should know. It will help you to understand why my husband is so set against David inheriting. You were right. It’s not just about the disposition of the Kelby historical artifacts and books, or even that David trifled with Jane’s affections.” Maris took a breath. “She was pregnant when she took her life. I didn’t know how desperate she was, nor did Henry. We blame ourselves for not understanding what she was going through.”

Reyn shook his head. Something was off. “It doesn’t make sense to me. Surely David would have been guaranteed his position if he’d married the earl’s spinster daughter. Why would he refuse?”

“Because he could. I told you, he likes to do as much damage as possible.”

“Well, he doesn’t deserve this emerald then, does he?” Reyn picked it up and held it to the window. Even to his untrained eye, it was extraordinary.

“No, he doesn’t.” She held out her hand. “I’ll put it under lock and key until we decide what we should do.”

Reyn dropped the bauble onto her palm. “We?”

She blushed again. “If it wasn’t for you rooting around in the box, I’d never know it was there, would I?” She put the jewel in her apron pocket, picked up the pen again and set back to work.

Most women would have been dazzled by the green stone, placing it like an imaginary ring on their finger, but not Maris Kelby. She returned to her measuring and analyzing, and it was a good ten minutes before she finished with the pre-Columbian lump. Reyn bided his time with a stroll to the window. The gardeners had moved to a different section of plantings and were inserting something into the ground rather than pulling something up.

There was a career for him. Of course he knew nothing about plants whatsoever, but it was good honest labor and out of doors instead of being shut up in grim book-lined rooms. Fresh air. Sunshine. Reyn didn’t mind the rain, either. His brawn would come in handy and he knew his way around a shovel, having dug a trench or two in his time. Ginny might think it a comedown for him, but once he explained his difficulties to her—

Damn. He’d never remember all the Latin names of herbs and flowers. Maybe he wouldn’t need to. He wasn’t too proud. He could be the under gardener.

Reyn realized he didn’t hear the pen scratching behind him anymore and turned. Maris Kelby smiled up at him, and he felt his heart turn over just a little.

“You seemed so lost in thought I didn’t want to tell you I’m ready for the next box.”

“Forgive me for shirking, my lady.” He strode across the room and lifted up box number six. If there was a gap between their stations, it would be a yawning cavern if he became an under gardener. At least now he was an ex-military officer, the son of a gentleman.

And he wasn’t a thief. He could have pocketed the emerald so easily.

The next two boxes held no more jewels or treasures of any kind. Reyn poked at the fire while Maris catalogued the odd assortment of objects that had caught Kelby eyes over the years. She explained what she was doing, but Reyn could work up no interest over chipped pottery and blackened candlesticks. When she was done and the items rejected, Reyn rewrapped everything but a Chinese plate and put it all back in the boxes. He walked the length of the attic returning the crates to their stack and brought a few more to the workroom.

Maris was tucking an errant brown curl back under her cap and had managed to smudge some ink on her cheek. Her hands and her cotton gloves were no longer white, and her spectacles had migrated to the end of her nose.

Reyn couldn’t help himself. He pulled them off, disentangling her cap and hair. “It’s time for a break, Lady Kelby.”