The day was warm, but not overly so. It looked to rain, but she hoped it would hold off until the afternoon.
“So,” she said to Trevor after they’d left their three horses in the grubby hands of a boy who’d handily snaggled the single pence Trevor had tossed to him, “it appears that Marcus has decided you’re all right, despite your name.”
Trevor laughed, tossing a smile toward Marcus. “Evidently he so admires my ability to handle Clancy here that he is quite willing to overlook my regrettable name. Isn’t that so, cousin?”
“Clancy,” Marcus said, “is an unaccountable stallion. There is no saying what sort of man he will tolerate.”
Trevor just laughed again.
“Marcus does say what he means.”
Trevor said, “It’s a relief he’s not one of Castlereagh’s diplomats. England would surely be at war with the entire world.”
She laughed, a sweet sound that made Trevor Wyndham start. It made Marcus feel vicious. Trevor said to her, “Did he tell you about the Wyndham legacy?”
“No, what is that, pray tell?”
Marcus said, “There is no need to regale her with all that nonsense. The only reason you’ve said anything at all is because you believe it’s just a story, a fantasy, naught more than a silly legend.”
“Very true, but it is interesting. Also, my mother believes it to be genuine. Listen now, Duchess, and learn about it.” He told her about the treasure buried sometime during the sixteenth century, probably somewhere during the time of Henry the Eighth’s marriage to Anne Boleyn, that unconscionable harlot, and how his father had told them story upon story about it, speculating what it actually was, but knowing, just knowing that it was wealth beyond anything imaginable, this mysterious treasure that was here, at Chase Park. It just had to be found. He told her that Aunt Gweneth had corresponded with his father and with his mother, after his father’s death. “I told Marcus that my father couldn’t really place it, but he did tell more stories about the time of Henry the Eighth than of any other. That is why we’re here in Reeth. Mother believes that there is a clue to be found in this small Antiquarian shop on High Row owned by a Mr. Leonardo Burgess. My father and this Mr. Burgess were friends as boys and young men, and corresponded faithfully and enthusiastically over the years. Mr. Burgess kept an eye on things here, so my father said, and just last year, Burgess wrote to tell my mother that he’d discovered something. He seemed quite excited about his find. So, we are on a treasure hunt, Duchess. What do you think? Are you interested?”
“I think it’s wonderful,” she said and laughed aloud again. She thought she heard Marcus mutter under his breath, “The bloody fool, the damnable bloody fool.”
“Surely though, Trevor, your mother can’t want you telling all of us about the treasure.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Trevor said, shrugging. “As I said, I don’t believe it exists. I agree with Marcus entirely. It is a game to pass the time until I can pry my mother from here and take her and James and Ursula to London. But before I can do that, I must exhaust all possibilities. She must be convinced that there is no treasure and never was. I’m sure you’ve noticed that her mind is of a tenacious bent.”
“But if there is such a thing and if we find it, why then, it would belong to Marcus. Surely your mother realizes that.”
“That is why she wants to box my ears for spilling the treasure story. If she thought I had the two of you with me today, off on this most sacred of quests, she’d doubtless want to stick a knife in my throat. I suppose she planned to dig up the treasure beneath a full moon at midnight, pile it into a coach, and escape without you, Marcus, being any the wiser.”
“I’ll tell her as soon as we return,” Marcus said. “A knife in your throat isn’t a bad thought.”
“Oh no, he won’t, Trevor, don’t worry. We’ll stay mum. Your mother will never know that we’ve dipped our feet into her treasure hunt. And Ursula? What does she think about all this?”
Trevor shot her an odd look. “Ursula is a girl.”
“This is incontestable. What does she think about the treasure?”
“I don’t know.”
“Girls do have brains, you know, Trevor, and imaginations. Perhaps they even have talents about which men have no idea.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice suddenly clipped.
“The Duchess is right. Girls have many things—talents included—that continually surprise men,” Marcus said, his eye suddenly caught by a quite lovely young girl who was openly eyeing both him and Trevor. “That little lass over there, why she could be naught but a flirt, or she could willingly want to have a man pleasure her.”
The Duchess clamped her mouth shut.
Trevor frowned at Marcus.
They walked in silence to High Row.
As it turned out, Mr. Leonardo Burgess was quite a surprise to all three of them.
Once they’d identified themselves, Mr. Burgess ushered them quickly into the dusty shop, pulled the curtains over the windows, and drew them back into the deep shadows.
“You’ll not believe this,” he said, shaking Trevor’s hand with fervent enthusiasm.