In her own name.
Lord Matlock continued as though he had not just upended the entire world. “In addition, a sum of ten-thousand pounds to be settled upon you as a dowry, likewise protected.”
Elizabeth felt the cellar tilt beneath her. “Ten thousand?”
“Yes.”
She turned helplessly to Mr. Philips. “How… how do I choose?”
Lady Matlock laughed then, not unkindly. “No, my dear, you misunderstand. You are not meant to choose. You are to receive both.”
Elizabeth sat down abruptly upon the nearest crate.
Mr. Philips made a sound that might have been alarm, but Elizabeth waved him off faintly. “I am quite well. I think.”
Lady Matlock came nearer. “It is a great deal to take in.”
“A great deal?” Elizabeth echoed. “My lady, that is rather like saying the Thames is a little bit of water.”
Lord Matlock chuckled.
Then another thought struck her, and she straightened. “But what of the Gardiner children? And my uncle? This was their house. I did not discover anything through merit; I fell through a floor. Mr. Philips has spent hours and days managing all of this, and I daresay he has not been paid nearly enough for it. Can some of the money go to them instead?”
The approving glance Lord Matlock exchanged with his wife was so clear that Elizabeth looked down again, embarrassed by it.
“It has already been arranged,” the earl said. “The Gardiner children’s interests have been protected. A substantial portion of the reward connected to the treasure itself will be settled upon them, including a provision for a nursemaid. Mrs. Thompson has agreed to occupy the position for as long as may need be. Mr. Philips’s legal work has likewise been accounted for.”
Elizabeth looked to her uncle.
He nodded, eyes suspiciously bright. “All is well, Lizzy.”
Relief swept through her so powerfully that she nearly began crying in front of an earl, a countess, two historians, and a crate of Roman pottery. “Thank you,” she said, looking from one to the other. “I hardly know what to say. Thank you seems… inadequate, somehow.”
Lady Matlock stepped forward and, to Elizabeth’s surprise, cupped her cheek with one gloved hand. “No, my dear. Thank you. You are a breath of fresh, honest air in a society that too often rewards greed and calls it ambition.”
Elizabeth could not answer.
Fortunately, the Matlocks did not seem to require it. After a few more words with Mr. Philips, and a promise that formalpapers would be drawn up carefully and quietly, they departed as suddenly as they had arrived.
For several seconds, Elizabeth remained seated upon the crate.
Then she began to laugh.
At first it was only one breathless sound. Then another. Then she was laughing so hard tears filled her eyes, and Mr. Philips, after one startled look, began laughing with her.
“An heiress,” she gasped. “Uncle, I am an heiress sitting upon a crate in a cellar.”
“A very proper setting for a young lady of consequence.”
“With mud on my hem.”
“I am told consequence survives mud.”
Elizabeth pressed a hand over her mouth, trying and failing to regain composure. “What happens now?”
Mr. Philips leaned against a table where several cataloged coins had been laid out, his expression still warm but already turning practical. “Now that you are a lady of fortune, I suppose the first question is what you wish to do.”
Elizabeth’s laughter faded. “Keep it a secret.”
