“How were you different?” Glory asked.
“I looked different, to begin with. When I was younger, I more closely resembled my mama.” Maggie already knew about his heritage, but for Glory’s benefit, he added, “She was Chinese.”
The girl’s eyes rounded. “You mean…like tea?”
“Mind your manners,” Maggie said severely.
“It’s all right.” Rhys didn’t mind the girl’s honest curiosity. “Yes, my mama came from China, where tea is grown. My mixed blood made me a target of bullies at Eton, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they had affected me in any way. I had to learn to fight. At first, I didn’t always win, but I didn’t back down. Eventually, I won more often than I lost, and the bullies knew better than to engage with me.”
“That isexactlywhat happened with Billy Pinkleton,” Glory exclaimed. “Now that I beat him, he doesn’t bother me anymore. And if someone else should take up his mantle, I’ll do what you did. I shan’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they affected me.”
He smiled at the girl’s enthusiasm.
“One cannot control what others think, at any rate. Only what one thinks of oneself.” Maggie’s voice had a touch of wistfulness. “One of Hypatia’s favorite sayings.”
He sensed she wasn’t referring only to Glory’s situation. Because of her family’s reputation, Maggie understood what it was like to be ostracized for reasons beyond her control.
“Sometimes the biggest fight is with oneself,” he said.
As he said the words, he felt the truth of them. Despite his efforts to ignore the perceptions of others, they had shaped his view of himself.Mongrel, weakling, rake…the images were a maze of mirrors he couldn’t escape.
“Well said.” Maggie’s voice was warm with approval.
“You’re so clever, Mr. Jones,” Glory added admiringly.
He glanced at them—and his heartbeat stuttered. In their shining gazes, he saw a version of himself different from any he’d seen before. And he didn’t know whether he was glad…or terrified.
17
Within an hour,they arrived at their location: a parish church on the northern edge of Whitchurch Canonicorum. Maggie’s mama had taken her to St. Candida and Holy Cross on occasion, and it was as she remembered it: modest and proud, withstanding the test of time. Built of local ashlar stone, the building had the patina of age, its wheaten walls gleaming against the surrounding knolls of grass. An impressive tower guarded the entrance.
Alighting first, Rhys handed her and Glory down. When Glory dashed off to examine the tombstones in the churchyard, he murmured, “You’re certain the next clue is here?”
“Yes,” Maggie replied. “In his clue, your uncle was alluding to Sir George Somers, a local explorer who founded the colony of Bermuda. When Sir Somers died, he left instructions for his heart to be buried in Bermuda, while the rest of him was to be returned to his birthplace. His remains are buried under the vestry in the church.”
Sir Somers was a legend in Dorset: all schoolchildren learned about him. His exploits had even inspired a play by the Bard.
“What would I do without you, Maggie?”
He was staring at her, an unnerving intensity in his hazel eyes. Her heart bumped against her ribs. The more he shared of himself, the more her attraction to him grew. His candor on the carriage ride over had felt like a gift—as special as the beautiful roses he’d given her. Even though she’d told herself to guard her heart, she knew it was too late: she cared about Rhys.
And she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.
To mask her feelings, she kept her tone light. “Five hundred pounds plus a five percent cut says you won’t have to find out.”
He smiled slowly. “A woman after my own heart. God bless your mercenary ways, sweeting.”
“Let’s go find ourselves a treasure, shall we?”
Inside the church, the vaulted nave was empty. Maggie settled Glory into one of the pews with a book for company.
“Promise you’ll stay put and out of trouble while I give Mr. Jones a tour,” she said.
“I’m not a baby.” Glory’s gaze rolled up impudently, but she opened her book.
Maggie led Rhys down the aisle. They passed through the chancel lit by stained glass windows and entered the vestry. The space was small and spartan, with wood cabinets lining the walls.
“Since Sir Somers’s remains are buried under this chamber, it’s a good place to start looking for the clue,” Maggie said.
