How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

“She’s cornered her brother,” Tamsyn replied. “Don’t think you’re not next. She hates when she’s not in on a secret.”

“It wasn’t a secret.”

Tamsin scoffed. “You pretended not to know he cared for you.”

“It’s not….” She desperately wanted to tell them the truth. “I wasn’t sure, that’s all.”

Meg reached out to squeeze her hand. “Well, clearly there’s nothing to worry about.”

“And everything to celebrate!” Tamsin pulled a small bottle of brandy out of her reticule and a box of decorated chocolates. “I’m not sure I’d care to be married to someone so pretty, to be honest, but if you wish it then I’m happy for you.” She poured brandy into crystal glasses waiting on a tray by the door. “And even happier for him. He’s the lucky one.”

Persephone felt better after minutes with her friends. She couldn’t repay that by putting them in danger. She toasted them with the kind of smile she hoped a newly engaged woman might make.

One not up to her ears in intrigue.

Meg raised her glass. “To the Cinderella Society!”

The Druid’s Sicklewas a comforting cacophony of voices, hammers hammering, crates dragging to and fro. Dust hovered in the air. It was a better balm than any warm bath or the lavender sachets her grandmother insisted calmed the nerves. They made Persephone sneeze. Though after a night of strange dreams where she dug through raspberry bushes until her arms bled from the thorns, a lavender sachet might not be a bad idea.

The cabinets and shelves had been thoroughly cleaned and the glass doors set with sturdy locks. There were glass beads, chipped arrowheads made of obsidian from South America, a blue faience lotus cup from Egypt, a carving of a nymph from Rome. The collection grew hourly. It sat waiting for her, like an old friend with stories to tell.

She consulted her notebook, bristling with notes and careful lists of each artifact on loan. Everything seemed to be in order.

“What’s this piece about?” Conall asked, stopping in front of a stone mask of a face with horns and crowned with leaves and grapes. His beard was all intricate loops and curls. “He looks cheerful, if a little manic.”

“Dionysus,” Persephone explained. “The god of wine and madness. So, you’re not wrong.”

“How can you tell?”

“By the grapes and the horns. And here, that little pinecone. It’s called a thyrsus.”

“And this rather impressive thing?”

Conall pointed to a gold lozenge far bigger than her hand, glimmering with secrets. Lines etched on the surface, echoing the lozenge shape.

“That was found At Bush Barrow near Stonehenge only a couple of years ago by Sir Richard Hoare,” she replied. Her voice took on an awed tone, as though she were in a church. She couldn’t help herself. “It was in a barrow grave, with a belt buckle and several daggers. But we only have the gold plate on loan. It’s Bronze Age. Not quite as old as the Egyptian pyramids, though Stonehenge is older. Can you imagine what it was like to build them?”

“The Pyramids?”

“That too, but I meant Stonehenge. They used mostly stone and wood tools, I reckon. Maybe some antlers.” They would have eaten fish from the nearby river Avon, berries, birds. Their diet might not have been so very different from a farmer’s diet in the same place today.

“You’ve gone away again.”

She winced. “I apologize.”

“Don’t.” Conall glanced at her, noticing the softening of her shoulders. He was good at noticing things. “Better?”

She nodded once. “Better.”

She knew he had encouraged her to prattle on in order to calm her. As ever, a moment lost in the wilds of history had done her immeasurable good. She tapped her lists. “We’ll start here.”

“I had no idea you were so terrifyingly organized.”

“These items are priceless,” she reminded him sternly. “And they were entrusted into our keeping.”

“Do you have a list of the guests who have passed through the Culpepper house this week?”

“I can have one by dinner time.”