Not Wicked Enough (28 page)

Every so often, gold glittered from beneath the dirt, and some of the bits of metal that could be glimpsed were obviously of exquisite workmanship. If whatever these things were had once been contained in something, that material had long ago rotted away. He looked at his brother again. Was Nigel responsible for the find? If so, he’d gone to a great deal of trouble by burying them so bloody deep and making the items look as if they genuinely had been underground for seven or eight hundred years. He frowned because he didn’t see how or why or where anyone could have acquired unidentifiable items in order to perpetrate a fraud. It made no sense. Yet.

On the opposite side of the trench, Lily knelt and tucked her outer coat underneath her knees. It was too warm a day for a coat, he thought. She moved her parasol out of her way and used one hand to brace herself so she could reach down with the other. They’d dug down three feet in some places. The man nearest her in the trench extended a hand to steady her before he placed a dirty lump on her palm.

“Gold, miss,” he said in awed tones.

Lily clutched the object and speared Nigel with her gaze. “Are you responsible for this?”

“No, Miss Wellstone.” He raised his hands, palms out. “I assure you I am not.”

She glanced at the eldest of the three footmen. “Walter, fetch the baskets, please.”

“Right, miss.” Without bothering to put on his coat—it was too warm for a man who’d been laboring in the sun these past hours—the young man jumped out of the trench and hurried toward the dogcarts.

The servant who’d steadied Lily bent down and handed her a second lump of dirt. “Another one, miss.”

Lily leaned back and gently scraped debris off the object. It was button shaped, domed on top, but too large to actually be a button. Like the other piece, it shone gold and red where she’d dislodged enough of the dirt.

“Whatever is it?” Eugenia asked. She held her parasol over her head.

Lily scrubbed at the object then held up the bit of metal. An elongated, U shaped stem made the button look vaguely mushroomlike. She brushed away more dirt. “My dear Ginny,” she said in reverent tones, “I do believe it’s the top bit from the pommel of a sword. A decorative button.”

“Where’s the sword, then?” Eugenia asked. She peered in the trench, and Mountjoy did, too. Everyone did. He saw nothing that looked like a sword.

Lily sat back on her heels, the button in her gloved hand. She’d removed more of the dirt and just then the sun hit a bit of the red material. It shimmered. “Oh,” she said. “It’s lovely.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her gloved hand before she held up the object. “Do you see?” Sunlight reflected off the now cleaner edges of the metal she held. “How beautiful this will be when it’s been washed.”

Walter returned with the baskets and Lily supervised the transfer of objects from the trench to the baskets. There were hundreds of them, few of them of any decent size.

This was scavenged metal, Mountjoy thought. Bits of
metal torn from fallen warriors, the remnants of bridles, armor, anything that could be quickly carried from a battlefield. Now that he understood what he was looking at, he could see there were buckles and brooches, broken finials, tabs and buttons, twisted shards of gold torn from whatever they had been attached to. There were gems, too, cabochons that had fallen out of their metal settings. One of the last items pulled from the dirt, though, was a set of daggers, then the decaying metal bits of a scabbard, and a sword.

After nearly an hour with the sun continuing to climb in the sky, Lily agreed they would find no more buried objects without considerably expanding the trench. Mountjoy, who by now happened to be standing nearest her, helped Lily to her feet. He steadied her when she wavered on her feet. With a laugh that sounded too feeble for someone like her, she bent to brush the dirt and grass off her skirt.

Her cheeks were pink, and Mountjoy wondered if she’d gotten too much sun or if that was just the flush of excitement. “Eugenia,” he said, “kindly bring Miss Wellstone some lemonade.”

Eugenia took a step forward. “Lily?” Her voice rattled with worry. “Lily?” Lily swayed, and if he hadn’t grabbed her arm she might have fallen. “Oh, Mountjoy, help! She’s going to faint.”

“Nonsense,” Lily said in a shaky voice. “I never faint.”

Mountjoy caught her around the waist because Eugenia was right, and he did so not a moment too soon. Lily’s legs crumpled beneath her. With Nigel at his side, he carried her to the awning and set her down on a chair. “Eugenia,” he said. “Fetch that lemonade now.”

She did. Moments later she pressed a glass into Lily’s hands.

“Thank you, Ginny, dear,” Lily said. She drank deeply and then pressed the cup to her face. Her cheeks remained flushed while the rest of her skin was chalky white. She closed her eyes and swayed on the chair.

“Take off that blasted coat,” Mountjoy said. He helped
her out of the garment and scowled to find her skin clammy to touch. “Whatever possessed you to wear such a thing on a day like this?”

“It goes with my gown.” She looked at him without her usual penetrating gaze. “How was I to know the day would be so dreadfully warm?”

If he hadn’t had a hand on her upper arm, he might not have noticed she was trembling. He didn’t like her flushed cheeks and too bright eyes. “Have you a fan, Miss Wellstone?”

She shook her head. “I tell you, this is why I prefer to sleep through mornings.” Her voice faltered, as if she couldn’t spare the breath for words.

“Have you one, Eugenia?” Mountjoy said. He put out a hand when his sister nodded. Eugenia pulled a fan from her reticule and moved close enough to fan Lily’s face. “Wellstone, drink more of that lemonade.” He made sure she did, then made eye contact with one of the serving girls. “Another lemonade for Miss Wellstone, if you please. And fetch a damp cloth, as cold as you can get it.”

Nigel hovered nearby, silent. The servants had gone quiet, too.

“Thank you, Eugenia.” He was grateful for his sister’s quick action. “Better, Miss Wellstone?”

She closed her eyes and touched her hand to the side of her head. “I’ve the most awful megrim coming on.”

“Nigel,” Mountjoy said. “See that the carriage is ready to go. She needs to get home. Inside. Where it’s cool.”

Lily opened her eyes. “Don’t make a fuss.” Her voice remained indistinct. “I promise not to be a bother. I need a moment is all.”

He grabbed her hand and yanked off her glove. Her palms were damp with perspiration. He removed her other glove, too, and let it drop to the ground. “You’re too warm.”

“Give me back my gloves. Those are the very finest kid.”

“I’ve seen this happen before,” Mountjoy said. “To a man in the heat too long.”

“What happened?” Eugenia continued to fan Lily.

A maid handed him a damp cloth, and he took it. Mountjoy gave his sister a look and shook his head. The man had died. He’d been much worse off than Lily was right now, but then Lily was a delicate woman, not a man inured to labor, and there was no knowing how badly she’d react. He wiped her face and pressed the cloth to the back of her neck. She wasn’t reviving as she ought to. Instead of protesting, she bowed her head and groaned.

“More lemonade,” he said, pressing another glass into her hand.

Nigel returned. “Carriage is ready,” he said. “How is she?”

Mountjoy looked past Nigel. “Put the top up.” While Nigel did so, a maid brought a second dampened cloth. He wiped her wrists and face again.

“Perfectly fine,” Lily said.

“You’re not.”

She opened her eyes and gazed at him. Her eyes were unfocused. She stood, but swayed once on her feet. “I won’t be a bother.”

“You of all people ought to know I am always correct,” he said. He pushed her back onto the chair. “I’m going to carry you to the carriage. I wouldn’t object if I were you. Things will go badly for you if you do.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he forestalled her by gathering her into his arms. Wonder of wonders, she sighed and rested her head against his shoulder.

“Adorable man,” she whispered.

Mountjoy stood, seeing the concern on the faces of the gathered servants. Eugenia gave no sign she’d overheard Lily’s endearment, thank God. Then again, he could not see her face while she bent for Lily’s parasol and gloves. When he could, though, and Eugenia had the parasol shading Lily from the sun, he saw nothing but concern from her. From any of them. She hurried beside him, keeping the parasol over them while Mountjoy strode to the carriage with Lily inert in his arms.

M
OUNTJOY CLIMBED INTO THE CARRIAGE WITH
L
ILY
while Nigel helped Eugenia up before leaping into the driver’s box. He settled Lily on the seat between them. She went limp, as boneless as her garments permitted. He and Eugenia exchanged a look. Lily turned her head toward him and set a bare hand on his cheek. Her skin was warm and clammy. “Such a lovely man, Mountjoy. Have I told you that?”

“Thank you, Miss Wellstone.” He didn’t look at his sister to see what she thought of Lily’s boldness. Best pretend there was nothing untoward about it or that he believed she was not entirely in her right mind. “She’s still got on too damn many clothes,” he told Eugenia. “Help me get this off, will you?”

“Yes, of course.” Eugenia assisted in the removal of Lily’s spencer, a process that required some contortions from them all. That done, Eugenia began fanning Lily again, briskly enough to lift strands of his hair.

“Ah.” Lily sighed. “That does feel good. Thank you, my dear Ginny.”

“How are you?” Eugenia smoothed Lily’s hair. “Feeling any better?”

“You’re such a dear, Ginny, to look after me.”

“Is your megrim improved?”

“Some.” Lily rested her head against the back of the seat, eyes closed. Every so often Mountjoy wiped her still-flushed face with the damp cloth he’d kept for the purpose. The carriage bounced over a rut, and Eugenia braced herself on the seat.

A few minutes later, Lily tried to sit up and adjust her gown. “None of that,” he said. He put a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back. “You’ll rest until the doctor’s examined you and agreed you’re well.”

“My gown will be wrinkled.”

“Oh, Lily—” Eugenia said.

“Damn the gown,” Mountjoy said. Lily tried to sit up again, and this time he leaned over her, put a hand on her shoulder, and growled. “Pray do not exert yourself. I insist.”

“Beastly man.”

He said, “If your frock cannot be restored to its original splendor, Lily, I will buy you a new one.”

Eugenia coughed softly, and he realized what he’d said. What could he do but pretend he’d not called her by her Christian name?

“My God, Ginny, he’s threatening me.” Lily grasped Eugenia’s free hand and pretended to swoon. “In my weakened condition, no less. It’s a wonder I don’t have a relapse.” She gave him a look that went a way toward relieving his mind about her condition. “Besides, look at your brother’s coat. I wouldn’t trust him to buy me an apron, let alone a frock.”

“I know how to buy a woman an extravagant gift.” At least she was feeling better. His attention flicked downward, and Lily noticed. Probably Eugenia noticed, too, but he was beyond caring anymore. Lily leaned against the seat, gazing at him from under her lashes.

“Buying a gift is simple,” she said, with a lift of her chin. “It’s choosing one that’s fraught with danger.”

“Don’t lecture
me
about buying a woman gifts. I assure you I’ve done it often.”

“Mountjoy,” Eugenia said, more a whisper than anything else. “Really.”

“I’ve bought you many a gift, Eugenia, and never heard you complain.”

“Well, no, but, then I am your sister.”

“Were you dissatisfied?”

“No, Mountjoy. But that’s hardly the same as telling Lily you’ll buy her a gown. That’s not…proper.”

“Then you buy it for her, so long as the woman stops thinking a deuced frock is more important than her health.”