“A denarius, they believe,” she said. “Lord Penwood mentioned he discerned the profile of Vespasian, though it was much worn.”
Alexander nodded with understanding.
“Ah—Vespasian. He appears rather more frequently than one might expect. Still, a fine find.”
Rosalind smiled.
“You speak as though you have seen too many coins to be impressed,” she said.
Alexander gave an easy shrug.
“Enough to know not every piece is what it pretends to be. I recall one occasion at the Ashmolean when a supposed sestertius was displayed for years, until someone noticed it bore the inscription of a French coffee-house.”
Rosalind laughed aloud.
“Surely not!” she exclaimed, half in disbelief.
Alexander nodded matter-of-factly.
“It was genuine brass, oddly enough,” he said. “Merely not Roman. A student had mislabelled it, and no one thought to question the piece until the curator caught the scent of coffee and wondered why a coin bore the year 1783.”
Catherine laughed softly. She had met Lord Elmsworth only thrice during her brief courtship with Marcus, yet he never failed to prove warm and companionable.
Rosalind, too, seemed to fall easily into conversation with him, though Catherine observed how her cousin’s gaze lingered upon the gentleman even when he addressed another. Even Priscilla, seated at the far end of the table with an expression poised between reserve and resentment, allowed herself a reluctant laugh. There was a sincerity in Alexander Sinclair’s good humour that appeared difficult for even the most forbidding temperament to resist.
Marcus leaned a little closer, his words pitched for her ear alone.
“Do you find the arrangement to your liking?” he asked.
Catherine nodded, surprising herself by smiling.
“Yes,” she said. The word felt wholly insufficient. She turned toward him and softened her voice. “It is more than I expected. And your kindness is deeply appreciated.”
Marcus offered a brief nod but looked down at his plate with humility that unsettled her more than pride might have done. It struck her how different her new husband was from his outgoing friend, yet how oddly complimentary their respective endearing qualities were. As she mused on their friendship and the humble behaviour of her groom, Thomas stood with his wineglass raised.
“I would like to propose a toast,” he said.
The buzzing conversations quieted at once. Only Marcus spoke in the silence.
“I—that is we—would be honoured,” he said softly.
Thomas gave his new brother-in-law a small smile and nodded.
“To my sister and her husband, the Earl of Penwood,” he began. “It is no small thing to build a household not upon fondness alone, nor mere suitability, but upon esteem. Catherine has long shared in our father’s work, while Marcus has devoted himself to the same scholarly path. That they should meet in such circumstances may appear unconventional, yet I believe it to be most fortuitous. They begin their marriage with partnership and understanding already at the fore. May that mutual respect serve as the surest foundation for all that is to come.”
He lifted his glass toward them. Marcus responded in kind, and Catherine, with hands steadier than she expected, did the same. A murmur of approval circled the table, and Catherinecaught Rosalind’s glistening eyes before she quickly lowered them.
Catherine sipped her wine and returned the glass to its place. Though her brother’s words lacked the sentiment they might have held had she been wed for love rather than convenience, they still softened her heart just a little.
“I do not often hear toasts that mention research and understanding,” she said dryly.
A smile twitched on Marcus’s mouth.
“Nor do I,” he replied. “But I find I prefer it.”
Alexander leaned forward with a grin.
“And why should it not be so?” he asked. “A marriage built on friendship and admiration is a wise one. I daresay it may outlast many a union built on less substantial ground.”
