“Good lord, Peverill,”Justin said, watching him saddle Brutus with deft efficiency. The stallion pinned his ears and kicked the stall door, but Peverill did not notice. “You can slow down. They won’t match us for speed once we start riding.”
“Damnit, Wright!” he muttered. “You do realize that they are running headlong into stealing your fortune out from underneath you? And after all you’ve done for the estate… it’s bloody highway robbery!”
Buttercup huffed as Sam fed the bit to her and Justin patted her shoulder. Peverill led Brutus into the stable yard and had swung up on the stallion’s back by the time Sam had finished tacking up the dappled mare.
“This wouldn’t have something to do with… misplaced frustrations, would it?” Justin asked his friend, who was gesturing for him to hurry up by waving his hand in a frantic circle. It had become clear that the sworn bachelor was confounded by a certain deaf beauty who was immune to his charms.
“Now you’re spouting this nonsense!” Peverill shouted. “By God, there’s something in the water on this wretched piece of land. The mad treasure hunt should have been enough to dissuade me from returning.”
Justin simply laughed and squeezed Buttercup’s sides, urging her into a canter. Brutus took off at lightning speed,but Justin did not press his horse to keep up. It had not been long since the ladies had climbed out their bedroom window. Sure enough, he saw flashes of pastel linen up ahead. They had congregated outside the walls of an old stone structure.
“The cemetery,” Peverill noted, dismounting and dropping the reins.
Justin swallowed. His father would be buried in there, somewhere. He shook off the thought as Bea caught sight of them.
“They’re here!” she sang out, and Portia turned around to scowl at them.
Peverill and Justin picked their way through tombstones until they joined the small congregation before the Nichols family mausoleum.Veritas Omnia Vincitwas carved on a lintel that framed the entryway. Truth conquers all.
“Well met,” Peverill intoned sarcastically. “Afraid of ghosts, are we?”
“Is there anything more boring than a charming rake?” Portia said under her breath, and Justin had to fight to hold in his laughter.
“We realized… too late, that we did not bring any source of light. It can get dreadfully dark in the family crypt,” Cordelia replied.
“Looks like you may have a need of us after all,” Justin said, reaching in his jacket pocket for a small box of matches. “Are there torches on the wall?”
Portia, stepping into the doorway, produced one that looked like it had been burned before, and still smelled of oil. She handed it to Justin, who held the torch aloft as it caught light. The entire party seemed to tense as they all regarded one another.
“We should… perhaps elect someone to go in,” Cordelia said. “It is crowded down there already, and there won’t be a need for all of us.”
“Hermione discovered the cipher,” Portia piped up.
“B-but L-L-Lia was th-the one wh-who s-s-s-solved it,” she said, her voice shuddering and nervous.
“I think Cordelia should go,” Bea added. “She’s the eldest anyway.”
“The one time this might be a bad thing,” she murmured.
“And of course, Wright, you’ll go down too,” Peverill tacked on. “It’s only fair… after all, this is his property.”
Though Portia’s icy stare trained on him, there seemed to be no loud objections from the group. “I’ll go, but only if Cordelia agrees,” Justin said, turning to face her.
Cordelia regarded him for a moment, her gaze thoughtful and a little more restrained than it had been in the drawing room. After a moment, she nodded. “All right then, we have settled it. As it said in the will, whoever finds the fortune first, keeps its riches.”
“Shake on it,” Portia ground out.
“On my word,” Cordelia said in a solemn tone.
“And mine,” Justin added, taking her delicate hand in his.
The touch awakened something in him that he’d been suppressing for the last few days. He had the sudden urge to draw her into his arms again and hold her there for as long as he wished. His heart pounded, thinking about how close this was to ending, and how much, suddenly, he did not want it to.
As they turned into the open doorway of the mausoleum, he was struck by the thought that the past six weeks at Hollyhead had been the best in recent memory. He’d not laughed as much or felt so alive as he was surrounded by the genteel chaos of the Nichols family. He would miss them.
He would miss her.
*
