As the coach rolled through the gates of Inman Manor, she lifted her face. Sweet mercy, but she was beautiful in the shadowy confines of this coach.
“How did you become so wise?” she murmured.
He pulled back, a chuckle rumbling in his throat. “Years of practice in making awful decisions.”
The carriage eased to a stop. He opened the door—Edmund having provided only a driver, not a footman—and once his feet hit gravel, he immediately offered his hand.
Penny yawned her way out. “Are we home?”
Home.The word did strange things to his gut. Would he ever be settled in a house of his own instead of relying on his uncle’s good graces? Have a wife? A family?
“You are, indeed, my girl.” He righted Penny, then clasped Eva’s hand to help her down.
Once inside the manor, Dixon bustled to the front hall and ushered Penny upstairs. Bram had turned to Eva to wish her good night when the thud of footsteps pounded down the corridor. Who would be in such a clip at this late hour?
Mr. Sinclair appeared, hat in hand, coat over his arm as if he’d either rushed to get here or was in a hurry to leave.
“I’ve been waiting for you two. Come see.” He wheeled about and retraced his steps, leaving Bram to arch a brow at Eva.
She merely shrugged and followed the man.
Sinclair swung into the breakfast room that yet faintly smelled of old artifacts. Bram inhaled the musty scent, taking comfortin the familiarity of it. The steward led them to the far end of the table, where a canvas had been laid out. Atop it sat a stone box the size of one of Price’s humidors.
Bram swooped over to the relic, pulse racing. The heavy lid appeared to be fused shut with the passage of time and a thick line of wax. He glanced at the steward. “Where did you find this?”
“Tom and I were filling up that sinkhole Miss Inman told me about when I took a misstep and landed my leg in the chasm. Took some work to get me out, which made the opening larger—and that’s when we saw the corner of this box. It was too perfect to be a simple rock. Thought I’d wait till your return to see what’s inside. Didn’t wish to bring a curse down on my head.”
“Oh, Sinclair.” Eva shook her head. “You and your superstitions.”
Bram’s fingers itched for tools he didn’t have. “Can you get me a wooden mallet and a chisel?”
“Straightaway, Professor.”
In the meantime, Bram flipped open his pocketknife and bent to scale away the wax seal bit by bit.
“What do you suppose is inside?” Eva’s question curled over his shoulder.
“No idea.”
“What is your best guess?”
“Anxious, are you?” He grinned up at her. “Coins, most like. Or jewelry. Maybe even a religious item or documents, something that whoever sealed this did not want ruined by water or air.”
“I wish your uncle could be here to see this.”
His heart panged. “Me too.”
Moments later, Sinclair returned with the requested items. Once the wax was removed, Bram set down his knife, then ever so carefully placed the tip of the chisel into the opening crevice.Even more gently, he tapped the handle with the mallet’s flat head. Little by little, the lid gave, until finally he dropped the tools and lifted with a great heave. Centuries of dust crumbled to the canvas. Stone ground against stone.
And then he stared into a darkened, miniature tomb. “Light, please.”
Eva brought a lamp close, illuminating rectangular wax tablets.
Bram raised one reverently, completely forgetting to breathe as his eyes scanned the Latin.
“Well.” Eva huffed her disappointment. “Certainly not the treasure I had hoped for.”
She had no idea.
