Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The meeting with Alexander Seeley, one of the Lord Commissioners of His Majesty’s Treasury, filled Elizabeth with anticipation and anxiety.
Mr. Darcy had kept her and her father abreast of developments as letters made their way to and from London.
Each missive had carried reassurance, yet the weight of what was to come pressed upon her all the same.
The hoard, once secreted in silence, was now moving inexorably toward the light.
Mr. Darcy arrived at Longbourn just after ten, his carriage rolling neatly up the drive as though nothing out of the ordinary were about to take place.
Elizabeth watched from the window as he descended, composed as ever, though she thought she detected a quickness to his step as he came to the door.
Mr. Bennet met him in the hall, already wearing his greatcoat. “You are prompt, sir,” he said lightly. “I take that as a good omen.”
“I hope it proves to be one,” Darcy replied. “Shall we? The Hursts and Miss Bingley have gone to the shops in Stevenage for the day.”
Elizabeth followed them into the library, her heart quickening as her father lifted the rug and opened the concealed safe.
The familiar gleam of gold caught the light only briefly before Mr. Bennet began transferring the carefully wrapped bundles into a stout wooden crate.
Several innocuous-looking volumes—law reports, sermons, and a battered copy of Livy—were placed atop them.
“An unremarkable selection,” Darcy observed dryly.
Mr. Bennet smiled thinly. “That is precisely the point.”
Together, the two men carried the crate down the stairs. They had nearly reached the door when Mrs. Bennet appeared, drawn by instinct to anything involving trunks, crates, or unexplained activity.
“What is all this?” she demanded. “Mr. Darcy, are you removing my husband’s furniture now as well as my daughters?”
Mr. Bennet did not break stride. “I am lending Mr. Darcy a few books, my dear. Purvis Lodge’s library is lamentably deficient.”
“Books?” Mrs. Bennet eyed the crate suspiciously. “Well, do not let him forget to return them. Good books are expensive.”
Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from smiling as Darcy murmured his thanks and the crate was loaded into the carriage. Once it was secured, Mr. Bennet offered his hand to his daughter, and the three of them took their places inside.
For a moment, the carriage rolled in silence. Then Elizabeth spoke, unable to restrain herself. “What do you truly expect will come of this meeting, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy considered. “My uncle assures me that the Crown understands the magnitude of the find. A hoard of this size, reported willingly, amid such local unrest, reflects well upon the finders.”
“And the fee?” Mr. Bennet asked, affecting nonchalance that fooled no one.
“Very generous,” Darcy replied without hesitation. “Lord Matlock would not have involved the Treasury so directly were that not the case. The Prince Regent himself has expressed interest in viewing the artifacts. Nothing of this scale has been properly reported in many years.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. “Prinny?”
Darcy nodded. “He is curious, at the very least. And curiosity in such an elevated sphere often translates into favor.”
They reached Purvis Lodge soon after. The modest house looked almost insignificant against the enormity of what it now sheltered. Colonel Fitzwilliam waited at the door, his expression alight with anticipation.
“You are just in time,” he said, ushering them inside. “I have prepared the table in the small parlor. Everything is ready.”
They followed him in, the crate borne carefully between Darcy and Mr. Bennet. Once set upon the table, they stepped back, the room settling into a charged quiet.
Now, there was nothing to do but wait.
The velvet cloth lay across the small table like a pool of midnight, its surface absorbing the light and lending gravity to what it bore.
Elizabeth stood just to one side, her hands folded tightly before her, as Colonel Fitzwilliam carefully arranged each object upon it.
Though she had seen the hoard before—had unearthed it with her own hands, stiff with cold and disbelief—there was something different about seeing it laid out so deliberately, so reverently.
Gold caught the light first, as it always did.
The aurei glowed with a warmth that felt almost alive, their surfaces marked with profiles of emperors whose names Elizabeth had read in her father’s books and never imagined would one day stare back at her from across a table.
Trajan’s stern confidence. Hadrian’s contemplative gaze.
Marcus Aurelius, thoughtful even in metal.
They lay together now, mute witnesses to centuries of silence.
She found her gaze drifting to the jewelry.
The snake bracelets were coiled with such lifelike artistry that Elizabeth half expected them to stir.
She imagined the wrists they once adorned—slender or strong, Roman or Briton, woman or man—and wondered whether the wearer had fled in haste, burying their treasures in fear, or whether death had come before they could return.
The torcs, heavy and unmistakably ancient, spoke of conquest and blending cultures.
The garnet pendant glowed richly, seeming to have absorbed the sun of another age and to hold it fast.
Even the humbler objects tugged at her heart with silent insistence.
Who were you? she wondered. What life did you leave behind?
Mr. Bennet stood opposite her, his expression uncharacteristically solemn.
Darcy lingered near the door, alert and watchful, the room itself a potential source of betrayal.
Colonel Fitzwilliam straightened the last coin, then stepped back with a satisfied nod.
A sound reached them then—the crunch of wheels upon gravel.
Elizabeth’s heart leapt into her throat.
Darcy moved at once. “That will be him,” he murmured. “I shall meet him in the vestibule.” He glanced at Elizabeth, his expression steadying. “Do not be anxious. All is well in hand.”
She watched him go, the door closing softly behind him. The room seemed to hold its breath.
Voices drifted faintly from the front of the house—Darcy’s smooth baritone, measured and polite, followed by a deeper voice she did not recognize.
Elizabeth caught her name as Darcy spoke it, heard the careful phrasing of introductions meant to establish trust without inviting curiosity.
Footsteps approached. The parlor door opened.
Lord Alexander Seeley entered with the air of a man accustomed to command and discretion in equal measure.
He was perhaps in his early fifties, neatly dressed, his hair touched with gray at the temples.
His gaze was sharp but not unkind, and it swept the room quickly, taking in faces, posture, the covered table.
“Mr. Bennet. Mr. Darcy. Colonel Fitzwilliam.” He inclined his head to each in turn. “And Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth curtsied, her pulse racing.
Once the door was shut firmly behind him, Seeley wasted no time. “I am told,” he said, turning to Mr. Bennet, “that a significant cache of antiquities was discovered upon your land. May I ask—did you yourself make the find?”
Mr. Bennet hesitated only a moment. “In truth, no. It was my daughter, Elizabeth.”
Seeley’s brows lifted, and he turned to her at once. “Indeed? Then I must congratulate you, Miss Bennet. You are a fortunate young lady.”
Elizabeth flushed, unsure how to respond. “I merely happened upon it while walking, sir.”
“Fortune often disguises itself as happenstance,” Seeley replied mildly. He gestured toward the table. “May I?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward and lifted the remaining cloth.
Seeley froze. For a long moment, he said nothing at all. Then he exhaled slowly, reverently, and stepped closer. “Good heavens,” he murmured.
He bent over the table, lifting a coin between thumb and forefinger with practiced care.
“Aurei,” he said softly. “High purity. And—yes—Trajan. Hadrian.” He set it down and picked up another, his movements growing more animated.
“And here—Marcus Aurelius. Remarkable. Simply remarkable.” He moved along the table, murmuring to himself as he examined each piece.
The silver bowl with the Chi-Rho symbol made him pause, his expression shifting to something like awe.
“Early Christian iconography,” he said. “In Britain. This will cause quite a stir.”
The jewelry drew another exclamation, quieter but no less sincere. “These snake bracelets—superb craftsmanship. And the torcs—extraordinary survivals.” He straightened briefly, shaking his head in disbelief, before returning to the table.
“I confess,” he said at last, stepping back, “that I was prepared for disappointment. Too often, such reports yield little more than corroded fragments and fanciful hopes.” He met Darcy’s gaze, then Mr. Bennet’s. “This exceeds every expectation.”
Elizabeth’s breath came shallow and fast.
Seeley folded his hands behind his back. “I am authorized,” he said deliberately, “to be exceedingly generous in awarding a finder’s fee, commensurate with the value and integrity of the find, and with the manner in which it was reported.”
Mr. Bennet swallowed.
“I have here,” Seeley continued, reaching into his satchel, “documentation authorizing the immediate release of ten thousand pounds.”
Elizabeth’s knees nearly buckled.
“There will, of course, be further assessments,” Seeley went on, as though discussing the weather, “and additional considerations given the Prince Regent’s personal interest. But this sum is approved without delay. I require only instruction as to where the funds should be deposited.”
Silence fell.
Then Elizabeth found her voice. “Sir,” she said, stepping forward, “may I speak?”
Seeley turned to her with evident curiosity. “By all means, Miss Bennet.”