How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

“I thought she’d be much prettier, considering.”

“What an odd riding habit.”

“How singular.”

It was onething to find ancient bones in a barrow-grave, and it was quite another thing altogether to find old ones.

Old bones were not ‘ancient’. They were just old. And it only figured that Persephone was the one to discover them. The others had the good fortune to be digging inside proper barrows. There was a cluster over the hills beyond the carefully kept formal gardens. The Culpepper gardeners had been opening them up for days in preparation. They were neat and tidy enough, mostly because Persephone had snuck over one afternoon and suggested methods less likely to damage any findings. They weren’t digging for turnips, after all, or planting wheat. It was a different thing altogether and equally life-affirming, if you asked Persephone. Which no one ever did. Except for the Duke and he was not attending the dig. Much to Lady Culpepper’s pique.

Lord Darrington had already found several elf-arrows and part of what might have been a bronze torc. Persephone found three coins barely older than she was and likely shoved into the ground by her own hand when she was little. She’d run over the barrows with Henry, making up stories and leaving ‘treasures’ to be found one day by famous barrow-diggers. Or pirates. Henry was always fonder of pirates than barrow-diggers. She supposed it served her right for tampering.

She didn’t want to call for the others, it would only reinforce their belief that she was merely playing at the science. Never mind that the British Museum called her in regularly to examine newly acquired artifacts. In point of fact, Persephone had examined several pieces from Darrington’s own collections and once saved him considerable embarrassment before he could display a forged Etruscan urn. The same could be said of several of the collectors here, though they had no idea. Lord Snettisham nearly spent several thousand pounds on a bust of Aphrodite made by a clever worker in one of the Wedgewood factories. Lord Fairweather had better luck, but then he funded more expeditions than everyone else combined. He was quite as obsessed as Persephone would have been, had she access to the same money and power. She envied him in a way that was doubtless unattractive.

There wasn’t much to see, the jagged edge of bone, dirt, a decaying slipper with dainty blue heels. A man’s dancing shoe.

“Found something, have you?”

Persephone jumped at the interruption, turning to find Conall crouching at the edge of her trench.

“Whose body is that?”

“Regrettably, that isn’t the way archaeology works, my lord,” Persephone replied. She was pleased that she sounded perfectly normal, and not at all like a girl who had to be hauled out of muddy holes on a regular basis. “Bones don’t come neatly labelled.”

“More’s the pity.”

“Where would be the fun in that?”

“It looks more recent than the others.”

“It is.” She didn’t ask him how he knew with such a cursory glance. She had to smile. She knew exactly who the leg bone belonged to and what it was doing here.

“I’ve never seen anyone smile at bits of a skeleton quite like that.”

Doubtless true.

“This is the very exalted left leg and foot of the eighth Earl Culpepper,” she said.

“Exalted, is it?” Conall sounded amused, not at all put off.

“He lost it to illness, regrettably. But he claimed it was the only leg that danced at all well and gave it a proper burial and wake.”

Henry had told her all about it when she was nine. His great-grandfather had survived the sawbones coming to take the infected foot turning black and fetid. No amount of vinegar rinses or spider’s web and honey poultices had helped. Even the maggots set inside his bandages weren’t quick enough. He decided to inter the leg once he was recovered enough to be wheeled about in an embroidered chair. He’d buried his best shoe with it and hired a piper to pipe a lament. She’d been in London with her parents and deeply, deeply miffed that she hadn’t been able to attend.

“That’s not a story you hear every day. I’m surprised the duke never mentioned it.”

Persephone nodded, fighting back a sudden wave of fear and sadness. Thinking of Henry made her stomach churn. Where was he? Why hadn’t he arrived home yet? Where were his letters? “I’m not sure he was invited. It was a family event.” Even saying Henry’s name seemed dangerous, as if it might call more bad luck to him.

She wiped her hands briskly. No more maudlin woolgathering. She wouldn’t save Henry by weeping over his great-grandfather’s foot. She peered up at Conall. He watched her carefully, as if she was interesting. Curious. Well, she was a curiosity hereabouts, there was no denying.

He probably ought not to be talking to her in public. She wasn’t entirely sure what to say that didn’t involve dead bodies or treason. He probably didn’t want to hear how the Egyptians used to pound strips of soaked papyrus into paper or how Cleopatra had herself delivered to Caesar rolled into a carpet. Naked. Actually, considering what she kept hearing about Conall’s escapades, he might be interested in that last bit. But she was meant to talk about the weather and other dull topics. She only liked to talk about the weather if it was threatening a dig. She was desperately out of practice.

The other unmarried ladies of the party drifted closer. They gathered around Conall, like honeybees at the hive. When Lord Darrington, also unmarried and reasonably handsome, joined him there was practically a stampede. “What have you got there, Lady Persephone?” Lord Darrington asked, his shadow falling over her.

“Nothing. It’s—.”

“These bones aren’t ancient,” he said loudly, and condescendingly enough that she longed to poke him with her trowel. “I’m afraid you’ve been duped.”

“No, I—.”