Chapter 11 #2
Emeline watched their host bow over Mrs. Peyton’s hand. After a few moments of polite conversation, he suggested that Giles start toward the luncheon tent with his mother.
Just as Emeline wondered if she had been forgotten, the viscount turned her way, smiling warmly. He stretched out a big, ungloved hand that enveloped hers.
“You must be Miss Emeline St. Briac. Giles said that you would be coming today, and I confess I’ve been looking forward to this moment.
” There was a twinkle in his green eyes.
“You see, I danced with you more than two years ago, when you were celebrated as the Exquisite. Although I was a married man at that time, I confess that I’ve never forgotten that waltz. ” He patted his heart for emphasis.
Emeline felt her cheeks warm. “How kind you are, my lord.” She paused, remembering that Giles had mentioned that the viscountess had died of a fever. “Please accept my condolences on the loss of your wife.”
“Will you allow me to escort you to join the other guests? Excellent.” As they started down the gentle slope, he went on, “I am grateful for your kind wishes. In truth, I wasn’t certain I could ever enjoy life again after my Kitty left me, but then I discovered archaeology and now I feel positively invigorated when I awake each day.
Can you imagine? Cartwright, working with antiquarians like Sir Giles, has uncovered graves that pre-date the Conquest.” He shook his head. “Simply amazing!”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Briefly, Emeline told him about her years digging for ancient fossils with Mary Anning, and how she and Louise had now turned to archaeology. “One feels that new scientific discoveries are being made almost daily, and history is being rewritten. Don’t you agree, my lord?”
“Yes, exactly so, Miss St. Briac!” They were approaching the tent, and Lord Melford paused to smile down at Emeline. “I despise that stuffy title, and I am not your lord. My name is Tobias.”
With this friendly bear of a man, social norms felt stuffy indeed, and she heard herself reply, “And I am Emeline.”
“Excellent.” He looked toward the long table draped in snow-white linen and set with silver and fine china. “You will be seated between Giles and me.” He winked, almost imperceptibly. “Wouldn’t want to set his back up by separating you, though no doubt he is fully occupied with Mrs. Peyton.”
Emeline nearly laughed aloud. “I think you may be right.”
Chatting animatedly, the guests were making their way to the table.
A liveried footman drew out Emeline’s chair while another poured claret into a cut-crystal goblet.
The table was adorned with arrangements of wildflowers gathered from the nearby meadows, and the air was filled with the scents of autumn leaves, freshly roasted fowl, and ripe fruits.
Emeline was dazzled. She looked down the table at the assembled guests: scholars, clergy, landed gentry, and a few well-dressed, noble couples from London whom she recognized.
On her left, Sir Giles was whispering with his mother, seemingly still discussing the desperate need to purchase new horses. And something about a garden wall.
On Emeline’s right, the viscount rose from his seat at the head of the table, smiling, and held up his glass of ruby claret.
“My friends, I am grateful for your presence! Today we gather not only on my family estate, but on the soil of history itself. Thanks to the dedication of the esteemed antiquarian Leo Cartwright, we have unearthed treasures that illuminate an era long ago, centuries before Amity Park was in existence.”
Mr. Cartwright, a pudgy, bespectacled man with thinning gray hair in need of a trim, pushed up from his chair and returned Lord Melford’s toast. “Thank you, my lord. I would be remiss not to mention the many aspiring archaeologists who have aided in this endeavor, especially Sir Giles Peyton.”
Giles stood, too, bowing for a moment while his mother led the applause, then he quickly returned to his seat.
As Cartwright concluded his brief remarks, a red-cheeked squire called out, “Rumor has it that you have discovered a jeweled scabbard! Could it have belonged to a Roman governor or other ruler?”
“Patience, sir, patience,” Cartwright replied with a chuckle. “All in due course. Following our meal, you will view a fine sample of the treasures. Of course, they are priceless, but even more valuable is the history they reveal to us.”
As footmen appeared to serve luncheon, the guests turned their attention to fragrant platters of roasted quail, pigeon patties with truffles, lamb chops, buttered green beans with almonds, stewed carrots, mashed potatoes, and a delicious assortment of freshly baked rolls.
Tobias continued to chat with Emeline throughout the meal in a way that left her little opportunity to turn and speak to Giles or anyone else.
At last, Tobias set his fork and knife on the gold-edged plate and sat back in his chair. “Ah. This is my idea of a perfect afternoon, Emeline.” Leaning in her direction, he added softly, “The company could not be more beautiful…or enchanting.”
“You are very kind…Tobias,” Emeline said sincerely. Yet she couldn’t help wondering: was it simple kindness, or was the viscount making subtle romantic overtures to her?
At that moment, Mr. Cartwright made a sign to his host, and both men rose.
Emeline felt a thrill as she realized that soon she would see the artifacts discovered on the grounds of Amity Park.
Clutching a weathered notebook filled with papers, Cartwright led the way out of the tent, down the sloping hill to the excavation site.
The display table was positioned near a row of ash trees, shielded from the sunlight by spreading branches.
Small yellow leaves, like bits of lace, fluttered down with the breeze to land on the men’s top hats and women’s bonnets.
Some of the women unfurled their parasols in the sunlight, but Emeline couldn’t be bothered.
Her mouth felt dry, her heart beating faster, as Cartwright opened his notebook and began to remove the velvet cloths covering the artifacts.
The observers whispered, some gasping in wonder.
Emeline wished she could shut them all out, that she alone could approach the table and get a better look.
Oh, to be able to touch those pieces that had witnessed history beyond their imagining!
Tobias stood nearby as the archaeologist held up a round brass brooch with a knot design. At its center was a dark red gem. A garnet, Emeline guessed. “This brooch would have doubtless fastened the cloak of a person of high status.”
“Already cleaned and polished,” Giles murmured to her. “Assure you, terrible condition coming out of the ground! But now, treasures indeed!”
Cartwright was pointing to several pieces of beaten metal spread across a velvet cloth. “These may be fragments of a helmet,” he explained, holding one up. “You can see the bits of etching and decoration that remain. We hope eventually to uncover the remaining pieces.”
“Any idea who would have worn such a helmet?” called a very tall antiquarian Emeline had seen in the Reading Room. “A chieftain—or a king?”
Tobias spoke up. “We are still in the early stages of the deeper story.”
More artifacts were revealed: fragments of a burial vessel, a silver belt buckle, wooden drinking vessels, and finally a broken scabbard adorned with blood-red jewels.
“Been telling them, worth a king’s ransom,” whispered Giles, and his mother nodded, staring at the trove.
“I assume this was a grave,” said the tall antiquarian. “Viking?”
“Possibly, but again, there is more research to be done,” said Cartwright.
“Wouldn’t be seeing jewels or gold if it was Anglo-Saxon,” stated Giles.
Everyone nodded in agreement that such advanced artistry and riches would not have been possible during Britain’s Dark Ages.
“Roman?” came a guess from the red-cheeked squire.
“We will keep you all appraised as we learn more,” Tobias announced in a friendly tone. “Thank you all again for being here.”
As the relics were covered once more, some of the guests began to wander back to the tent to sample the currant tart, apple puffs, and other sweets.
Near Emeline, an older man with a white goatee murmured to his companion, “Well, well! ’Twould seem that my nephew Tobias has stumbled on the means to finance that new roof he needs so desperately.”
“Indeed,” chuckled his companion. “It was a stroke of luck that the gardener decided to plant some trees and unearthed the first bit of treasure.”
Emeline felt outraged that the two men were discussing these historical artifacts as if they were winnings at the faro table.
She was about to speak up when, to her relief, Sir Giles intervened.
Leaning closer, he addressed the man who seemed to be the viscount’s uncle and Emeline waited for him to put the fellow in his place.
“Just so,” nodded Sir Giles. “If his lordship is wise during the next steps, he may soon be wealthy beyond his dreams.” He paused, spectacles agleam in the sunlight, before adding in an undertone, “Collectors…looking for ancient pieces like these. Might know of one or two.”
Tobias’s uncle blinked, clearly interested. “Sell ’em, you mean?”
Horrified, Emeline could not hold back. “History is not for sale!” Her cheeks grew hot as she gave vent to her deeply held feelings.
“I cannot believe my ears. Sir Giles, I believed that you were a true antiquarian. You, of all people, must be aware that these relics belong to history, to scholarship—not to avaricious buyers seeking trinkets for their parlors!”
Emeline broke off as the faint sound of applause reached her ears.
She felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingle.
Shading her eyes, she turned and looked a short distance up the hill.
Under a trio of ancient oaks, a tall man reclined on a bench, one hand resting on the head of a scraggly yet adoring mongrel.
Her heart began to race as a powerful feeling swept through her body: a mixture of joy, relief, and potent attraction.
The man offered more muted applause, and Emeline could almost see the ironic yet affectionate glint of his smile. “Brava,” he called, and it seemed he spoke only to her. “Brava.”