Redeeming the Reclusive Earl - Virginia Heath Page 0,16

closest place, or Wales. Both hundreds of miles to the west—not that she was an expert on British gold deposits. Yet the heavy, perfectly twisted bracelet in the palm of her hand was undoubtedly made of solid gold and completely unlike any other old jewellery she had ever seen or read about.

Judging by the sheer weight of the metal, and ancient provenance aside, it was also incredibly valuable. An inescapable fact which presented a dilemma. While Lord Rivenhall might not care about pottery or hearthstones, precious metal was another matter. It had come out of his land and so by rights it was his. Not telling him she had just uncovered a huge chunk of solid gold was dishonest.

She had to tell him.

Which necessitated breaking her agreement to stay well out of his way. And might irritate him all over again and potentially damage their truce. But what other choice did she have? Right was right, after all, and hopefully he would be reasonable enough to understand that.

She wrapped the bracelet in a handkerchief, tucked it into her battered satchel and set off in the direction of the house.

Smithson was, understandably, horrified to see her and she apologised profusely for putting him in the unenviable position of telling his unpredictable master she needed an audience. However, to the great surprise of them both, Lord Rivenhall apparently took the news well and suddenly appeared in the doorway of the drawing room looking extremely wary.

‘Miss Nithercott.’

That he did not invite her to join him in the drawing room or make any move to come towards her was telling.

‘Lord Rivenhall, I apologise for disturbing you, but I have found something I need to give you.’ Effie rummaged for the bracelet and held it out. ‘It’s gold, my lord. A very substantial piece of gold.’ The dark eye she could see dipped to the bracelet before fixing back on hers.

‘And?’

‘And I thought you should have it. It is obviously very valuable.’

The dark eye widened as she walked towards him and offered it. ‘I found it a few feet from the hearth all on its own, which leads me to believe it was accidentally dropped or buried, perhaps to keep it safe, much like Samuel Pepys did his Parmesan.’

‘I’m sorry...?’

‘Pepys...’ What had possessed her brain to jump forward fifteen hundred years in one sentence? No wonder Lord Surly looked confused. ‘The seventeenth-century diarist? He buried his cheese in his garden during the Great Fire of London.’ He was staring at her now as if she were mad, as people were prone to do when she allowed her brain to speak freely without tempering her words. ‘Because Parmesan was expensive in sixteen sixty-six. I suppose it still is now, although I cannot say I know the exact price of it...’ She huffed out a sigh and gave her odd mind a stiff talking to. ‘Anyway, I digress... I suspect this bracelet is of a similar age to the pot. Which would make it at least two thousand years old. Perhaps more. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

He reached out and took it and she found herself contemplating his hands. They were big, making the substantial bracelet appear almost delicate as he held it. Hands which had obviously seen real work once upon a time, rather than the typically genteel, idle hands of the aristocracy. The strong, blunt fingers were tipped with neat, clean nails which made her feel self-conscious about the state of hers after a long day of digging. So embarrassed, she hid them behind her back and felt compelled to fill the silence. Typically, the only thing she could think to fill it with was history.

‘The presence of gold in such an ancient dwelling here indicates that the Celtic tribes which lived on this island before the Roman conquest traded as well as fought with one another—and perhaps even with other tribes across the sea. It suggests a civilisation which was both advanced and thriving. That bracelet is not a crude piece of jewellery either. It takes great skill to smelt the gold, hammer it into a perfectly round cylinder and then twist it with such precision before seamlessly welding the join. Something which contradicts many of the Roman