She had never been a young lady prone to sudden attachments. At fourteen she had fancied herself half in love with John Lucas for the simple reason that he had once brought her a ribbon from London and told her she climbed trees better than any girl in Hertfordshire. Then he had gone away to school, and by the time he returned, she had discovered that personality mattered rather a great deal. He had become condescending, dull, and too fond of explaining things she already understood. Her tendre had vanished with remarkable speed.
Mr. Darcy, however, did not appear dull.
Nor condescending.
Though perhaps he would prove to be both once removed from the excitement of Roman coins and collapsing cellar floors.
That was a sensible thought, and Elizabeth held to it firmly.
For nearly three seconds.
Then she remembered his eyes when he turned the coin over in his hand—the reverence, the wonder, the boyish excitement breaking through his severe composure—and something warm unfurled in her chest despite every warning of sense.
Susie, wringing out a cloth nearby, gave her a knowing glance. “You are smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked toward the ceiling. “Then I must be thinking of treasure.”
“Of course.”
“Ancient treasure.”
“Certainly.”
“Hidden beneath my uncle’s cellar.”
Susie’s voice was far too innocent. “And not at all of young Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth sank lower into the bath until the water nearly touched her chin.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
Chapter 11
Darcy went directly from Gracechurch Street to Matlock House.
It was not, he acknowledged as he walked, the most convenient course. He had intended to stop at Darcy House, then at his solicitor’s, and only afterward return to his uncle. Yet the coin in his pocket seemed to weigh more heavily with every step, and by the time he reached the Fitzwilliams’ door, his mind had already arranged and rearranged the same arguments a dozen times.
Lord Matlock heard him out in the library, his expression passing from curiosity to astonishment, then into the grave concentration Darcy had seen upon his face only when Parliament, family, or war demanded the whole of his attention. Darcy told him everything: Gardiner’s death, the orphaned children, Mr. Philips’s position, Elizabeth Bennet’s discovery beneath the cellar, the solidus of Honorius, and the possibility that more lay hidden beneath the house. When he finished, he placed the coin upon his uncle’s desk.
Lord Matlock did not touch it at once. He leaned forward and studied it in silence, one finger tapping slowly against the arm of his chair. “Good God,” he said at last, very softly. “And in Gracechurch Street?”
“Yes.”
“And the young lady found this by climbing into the hidden chamber herself?”
Darcy’s mouth tightened. “So I understand.”
“An enterprising girl.”
“Reckless,” Darcy said before he could stop himself.
The earl’s brows rose slightly, but his only answer was a thoughtful hum. He picked up the coin at last, turning it with more care than Darcy had expected from a man whose interests lay far more with politics than antiquities. “You were right to come to me. This must be handled properly. Quietly at first, but properly. I know two men at the British Museum who ought to be consulted before any exciseman or local official gets wind of it and decides to make himself important. As for the Prince, I can speak where speaking will do good and remain silent where silence will do better.”
Darcy felt the first knot of tension loosen. “Mr. Philips is concerned for the children’s interests. If the Crown claims the treasure entirely, it will do them little good.”
