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And then the sparkle of the gold lost its enchantment, and more details began to filter past his vision. The thick wooden walls of the chest, compressing the space inside to a few square inches. The relative scarcity of gold coins in comparison to silver.
But still…it was treasure.
Cynthia met his gaze, her eyes half excitement and half doubt.
Lancaster offered her a smile, eager to keep the hope alive for both of them. “We found it.”
“We did.”
“They look like old guineas.”
“They do.” She raised her hand, and then dropped it for a brief moment before reaching to touch the coins.
“You have your treasure.” He recognized the undercurrent of his own words as he spoke them. Her treasure. There was money here, but not enough to share. Not enough to buy him out of his indenture. Even assuming the space dropped all the way to the very bottom of the chest, there couldn’t be five thousand pounds here. There couldn’t even be a thousand.
Coin slid against coin, the metal sound trying to convince him he was wrong. He hoped he was.
“How much do you think it is?” Cynthia whispered.
“Let’s count it.” The words tripped lightly from his tongue, as if he’d just proposed a picnic.
Nodding eagerly, Cynthia picked out a handful of coins and began to separate them into piles while Lancaster’s heart flailed around, searching for its mooring. What could he do now? What could he do?
He tried to ignore the panicked flutter in his chest. There may be more money than it seems, he lectured himself. How can you possibly tell with one glance?
But the piles were growing, the gold guineas not keeping up with the rest of them. His heart was falling too fast, and the descent began to burn.
Cynthia cleared her throat and began to count, while he tried very hard not to see which pile she was counting, not to calculate the amounts as she added them. But there was no escaping the sum.
“If the guineas are worth twenty-one shillings…” she murmured. “And most of them are five-guinea coins…I believe it’s three hundred four pounds and eleven shillings. Or thereabouts.” Her voice wavered a bit at the end.
Lancaster sat down hard. She’d always been good at sums.
“Nick? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, yes.” Fine. Or completely devastated.
“You don’t look fine.” Her hand curled around his arm.
“I only thought it would be more, that’s all.”
“I did too.” She sat down beside him and they stared at the coins together. “A thousand pounds at least? Maybe more? But it is a child’s fortune, I suppose. Three hundred pounds. A respectable amount.”
“Respectable,” he agreed, “Yes. Definitely so. But,” he added as if it were his only concern, “not enough to pay your stepfather’s debts.”
“No, not that much.” Her hand played idly with the coin towers. “Perhaps it will be enough to buy my family some space, at the least, though I’m sure I can’t imagine Richmond being so generous.”
So it all came back to murder again, it seemed. The death of Richmond to protect Cynthia. But who would protect Lancaster? There were only so many creditors one could run over with the carriage. The sick thought made him laugh.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Did you anticipate this? Perhaps you’ve an alternate plan?”
“No. I just…I guess I didn’t think it through.” Her words cracked a little at the end, but she shook her head as if she’d shake off the emotion too.
“We’ll find a way, Cyn,” he murmured, reaching for her limp hand.
Finally, his gut seemed to realize what had just happened. It dropped as if he’d just jumped from an impossible height.
