Page 45
“Tea, please.”
Emeline plopped onto the divan in an undignified fashion, straining her ears for any hint of a familiar male voice. A specific male voice.
She absently accepted the saucer of tea Lady Penderhaven offered. Her gaze fell on the satchel, still exactly where Camden had placed it when they entered the drawing room. She’d flung Kendra’s cloak over the back of the closest chair.
Precisely what did the two boxes nestled within her bag contain?
She didn’t want to examine the contents with an audience but avid curiosity had scythed her from the moment Liam had discovered the second box. Perchance, examining the items would help keep her mind off of Liam’s continued absence and the any number of awful reasons he was taking so long to return. She set the still hot tea down and wiped her suddenly damp palms on her skirt.
“I believe I’ll retire to my chamber.” She rose and, after draping the cloak across her arm and seizing the bag in a much-too-firm-grip, swept to the door. At once, Prince lumbered to his oversized feet and came to her. “I should like some time alone. Please excuse me.”
Compassion and understanding softened the women’s faces.
“Of course, my dear,” her ladyship murmured. “We understand. This has been most tryin’ for ye.”
Kendra and Skye exchanged a knowing look before turning sympathetic gazes upon Emeline. “Perhaps ye should have a lie down, too,” Kendra suggested, her usual mischievousness subdued. “Ye’re a wee bit pale.”
She also had a headache. “Aye, I may.”
But not until she’d thoroughly examined every single thing in both boxes.
Camden came to her side at once. “I’ll accompany ye, Miss LeClaire, and stand guard outside yer door.”
Of course he would.
It made her feel like a prisoner rather than protected. However, as she’d learned during the awful ride home, Camden wouldn’t give an inch. If she weren’t so vexed with him, she’d have admired his loyalty and commitment to Liam.
Camden Kennedy was a man of his word. An excellent man to have as an ally. Not such an excellent fellow to have as a prison guard.
Nonetheless, she pulled a face before painting on a placid expression. “Did Liam tell ye no’ to let me out of yer sight or some such balderdash?”
“Some such balderdash.” An unrepentant grin tipped his mouth.
Rolling her eyes, she snorted. “Men.”
Five minutes later, she sat cross-legged atop the soft turquoise coverlet on her bed. The pair of boxes lay before her and Prince sprawled beside her. As much as she was dying to know their contents, trepidation also squeezed her ribs and made her feel hot and cold all at once.
Her future may very well lay inside these unassuming containers. My past, too.
She lifted the satinwood octagon, preferring to explore the known before the mysterious and potentially distressing. Slowly, tentatively, she raised the familiar etched lid. Nestled inside lay the leather bag of coins she’d expected along with a black velvet cloth which she knew to contain a few pieces of jewelry: a set of ruby earrings, a string of pearls, a pair of diamond and gold hair combs, and a rather masculine looking gold ring stamped with the same emblem as atop the case.
She’d seen them all before. Knew the ruby earrings had been her mother’s, and the pearls her grandmother’s. Aunt Jeneva had never explained the exact origins of the hair combs and ring, but when Emeline had asked about them as a child, she had crossly muttered something about them being family tokens.
Emeline set the coin bag and jewels aside then lifted the folded papers from within the satin-lined box. Prince cracked an eye open and, after giving the two items a baleful look, resumed his slumber.
The documents included the deed to the shop, a record of Emeline’s birth—chronicled at a parish outside Edinburgh by a Father Sinclair—a pile of neatly tied letters, and a third parchment. She gingerly unrolled the slightly yellowed pages and stared down at her aunt’s last will and testament. A quick perusal of the document answered one question. Aunt Jeneva had bequeathed her everything.
Tucked into the last page was a short letter addressed to her from her aunt. The paper was crisp and the ink fresh. No wax seal adorned its face either. She’d written this quite recently and possibly in haste.
Gooseflesh raised on Emeline’s arms, and a shiver rippled from her nape to her waist. Her breath came in short pants as realization dawned. Had Aunt Jeneva had a premonition something was going to happen?
Prince lifted his head and whined.
“’Tis all right, boy,” Emeline soothed, skimming a hand over his coarse coat.
My Dearest Emeline,
If you’re reading this, then I’ve passed on. Hopefully, our Heavenly Father found favor with me and admitted me into His holy Kingdom. I know I haven’t been as warm or affectionate in my behavior as you’ve needed me to be. Neither sentiment came naturally to me, but I’ve tried my utmost to do what was right by you.
