Lord of Fortune Page 7

“I want to do no such thing. Anyway, if I can overlook your trying to shoot me, surely you can move past any reservations you may have about me. Especially after meeting with the Ladies’ Society today.”

  He made a valid point. “Clearly, I am trying to do that; otherwise, I wouldn’t have come,” she said. In an effort to change the topic, she looked around the library. “This is quite a collection.”

  He followed her gaze. “It is. My father is a renowned medieval scholar who collects and translates rare books, but even his library isn’t this large.”

  Amelia walked toward one of the walls of books. “How old is Septon that he’s accumulated such a huge collection?”

  “He’s in his late fifties, but he inherited a large portion of this from someone he knew at Oxford.”

  She turned to look at Penn. “Not a relative?”

  “No, a friend.”

  “How generous.” She finished her stroll to the bookshelf and walked along it until she reached a cavernous fireplace where a low fire burned.

  Penn followed her. “It’s my understanding the man had no heirs, and he knew Septon would value it as much as he did—if not more.”

  She turned to face Penn. “Do you know if this man was a member of the Order?”

  “I don’t, but I’ve wondered. The members are either descendants of the knights, or, as in Septon’s case, they are scholars with an exceptional knowledge and understanding of Arthurian lore. I know this man—Pritchard—was a mentor to Septon. It’s possible he recruited him into the Order.”

  Amelia shook her head as if that might somehow sort all the new information invading her brain since she’d met Penn Bowen two days ago. Had it just been two days? Everything seemed so different. She could measure time before encountering him and after. Put like that, their meeting seemed a significant event.

  “This is all so much…bigger than I realized,” she said. “To think that my grandfather was somehow involved with this secret group is difficult for me to comprehend. His was a gentle, peaceful soul. He always seemed quite content with his books, his herb garden, and his family.” Her happiness and that of her father had been supremely important to him.

  “We’ve no confirmation that your grandfather was involved with the Order at all.”

  It was time to share at least some of what she knew with Penn. “I don’t know whether he was involved, but he was aware of them.”

  Penn took a step toward her, his eyes widening. “In what way?”

  She nodded. “He had a journal—I’ve brought it with me—and there’s one entry that mentions the Order.” She recited it from memory:

  The Order will stop at nothing to find the treasures. Why? They proclaim they are protecting them, but there is something off. If only I’d been able to read the book. I feel certain it would provide the answers I seek.

  “So that is why you didn’t seem surprised when I brought it up. What book is he referring to?”

  “That I don’t know.” And the more she thought about it and tried to determine what it might be, the more she was convinced it was important. “It’s a mystery we’ll need to solve.”

  He took another step toward her so that they were barely two feet apart. “We. I like the sound of that.”

  There he went, flirting again, or at least infusing his words with heat and the hint of innuendo. And there went her body responding—a warmth building in her chest and a pleasure suffusing her limbs. It had been so long since a man had paid her attention. It was only natural she would feel flattered. It meant nothing.

  She put her mind to the matter at hand. “I searched my grandfather’s library when I arrived home from Burrington, but nothing stood out to me. There’s nothing to do with the Thirteen Treasures at all, save a collection of medieval romances he transcribed, including Ranulf and Hilaria.”

  “Did you also bring that by any chance?”

  “I did.”

  His gaze sparked with admiration. “You are going to be quite good at this. Hunting for antiquities, I mean.”

  “Is that what we’re doing?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I am. I’m looking for the Heart of Llanllwch.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him and clasped her hands. “Well, I am keeping an eye on you and will gleefully say, ‘I told you my grandfather’s was real,’ when you fail to find it.”

  “I almost look forward to that,” he murmured.

  Straightening her shoulders and stiffening her resolve against the onslaught of his magnetism, she moved to a glass-fronted case which held several artifacts—pottery, jewelry, a very old-looking manuscript with faded color illustrations that must have been strikingly beautiful when it was first produced. “There are so many books. How can we ever hope to find the book my grandfather wrote about in his journal?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind allowing me to read it, I might be able to find some clues that weren’t noticeable to you.”

  She didn’t take offense because he was far more knowledgeable than she. “I wouldn’t mind. Would you like to read it now? If you find something, we could discuss it at dinner.”

  He gave her a slightly sheepish smile that was quite endearing. “I was hoping you would say something like that. I’m a fast reader, so unless it’s a multi-volume saga, I should be able to complete it quickly. I can ask the staff to hold dinner for a bit.”

  “That would be fine. I’d like to go upstairs for a respite. I’ll have the journal—and it is just one, slender book—sent to your room.”

  “Excellent.”

  She nodded and began to pivot when he stopped her. “I’m quite glad you’re here, Mrs. Forrest. I do believe this will be the start of a wonderful adventure.”

  She peered at him, honestly curious, but also a bit in awe. “Is that what all this is to you—an adventure?”

  “Of course. All of life is an adventure. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  She’d never thought of it like that. She supposed she’d had her fair share of “adventure,” if one wanted to think of some of the mishaps that had befallen her that way. In fact, it sounded far more palatable. So much so that she decided right then to adopt that notion. From now on, she was on an adventure, and she meant to make it grand.

  She allowed a small smile to curl her lips. “See you at dinner.”

  Chapter 5

  After pushing dinner back an hour, Penn had furiously read through Jonathan Gardiner’s journal. He could see why Amelia thought there was nothing informative inside, but one thing in particular stood out to him, and he looked forward to discussing it with her.

  He met her at the top of the stairs and was once again struck at how he ever could have mistaken her for a man. She wore a dark green evening gown with black trim that draped her quite feminine frame to perfection.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Forrest. You look stunning.”

  “You shouldn’t say such things. But thank you.” Her gaze trailed over him, and while she didn’t repay his compliment, he caught a flicker of appreciation.

  “I only speak the truth. My I escort you to dinner?” He offered her his arm.

  She curled her bare hand around his sleeve. “I didn’t see the point in wearing gloves.”

  “Me neither.”

  As they started down the stairs, she launched right into what he most wanted to discuss. “Did you manage to read all of the journal?”

  “I did.” It chronicled several years from his time at Oxford as a young man to when he settled on his farm and started his family. Penn wondered if there were more volumes. “Is this his only journal?”

  “No, but it’s the only one that contains anything to do with the treasures,” she said. “There does seem to be a gap, however.”

  “Years when he didn’t keep a journal?”

  She nodded as they reached the bottom of the staircase. “Starting in 1777—when my father went to Oxford. The next journal picks up in 1780.”

  Penn wasn’t sure what that meant, but they had to treat it as
important. “If it’s not in his library—and I’m assuming you’ve looked extensively—where could it be?”

  “I’ve no idea, which is quite frustrating.”

  “Mmm, yes. Well, we’ll keep it in mind. I wanted to ask you about something in the journal I read. Your grandfather writes about his studies at Oxford. He traveled to Wynnstay in Wales.”

  “Yes, I recall him telling me about that. He went to see the gardens. They were designed by Capability Brown.”

  “Are you certain that was the reason he went?”

  They moved into the breakfast room, and she withdrew her hand from his arm, turning to face him. “He told me so. Are you saying—again—that he’s lying?”

  He reacted to the note of irritation in her voice. “No, no. I only meant to make absolutely sure. Wynnstay boasts an extensive library, much of which was once owned by William Maurice. He was a collector and antiquary.”

  Her lips parted in surprise. “You think my grandfather went there to conduct research.”

  “Perhaps. I find it rather coincidental. And I always investigate coincidences.” He moved to the small table. “I hope you don’t mind dining here. It seemed silly to use the formal dining room for just the pair of us.” He held her chair in invitation.

  “I don’t mind at all.” She took her seat, and the footman poured wine for both of them. “Do we need to go to Wynnstay?”

  Penn sat but didn’t immediately answer. He waited until the footman departed. “Forgive me, but I wish to conduct our discussions out of earshot of the staff. I wouldn’t want them reporting what they’ve heard to Septon.”

  She gave him a shrewd look. “You’re rather suspicious. I like that.”

  Penn didn’t try to contain his laughter. “Do you? I’ll keep that in mind. To answer your question, no, we don’t need to go to Wynnstay. At least, not yet. I’m trying to recall what is in their library.”

  She stared at him. “You know the contents of their library?”

  “Some of it. Remember, my father is an expert on rare and ancient texts. I know far more about books and libraries than anyone would probably care to.”

  “I’d care to. I find all this fascinating.”

  “Do you?”

  They were interrupted by the arrival of the footman with the first course. After serving the soup, he took himself off once more.

  Penn studied her as they ate. She was a remarkable woman, unlike most he encountered. Oh, there was no shortage of women who wanted to spend time with him, but those who actually shared his interests were few and far between. “What is it that fascinates you?” he asked.

  She thought for a moment before answering. “The mystery, I suppose. And learning new things. I always thought it would be marvelous to go to university. My father and grandfather loved studying at Oxford.”

  “Did you attend a school?”

  “Not formally. My father and grandfather took a hand in educating me. I’m afraid you’ll find me more bookish than most females.”

  “How utterly charming,” he murmured while a smile curved his lips.

  A faint blush stained her cheeks, and she directed her attention to her soup.

  “Your grandfather didn’t share his love of antiquities with you? Or is it just that he didn’t share information about his discoveries of the heart and dagger?”

  “He did share them with me, but I was more passionate about botany and medicine.”

  “Such as the salve you gave us. You specialize in such things?”

  “Yes, I suppose I do.” She set her spoon down. “I keep meaning to ask how Egg is faring.”

  “He’s as cantankerous as ever, which means he’s just fine.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Visiting his sister. When I come to Septon House, he always swings a bit south to check in on her. He’ll join me in a day or two unless I send for him sooner.”

  “How did he come to work for you?”

  Penn swallowed the last of his soup as he nodded and set his spoon beside his bowl. “We met at a pub in Oxford and became friends, if you can imagine. He worked as a cabinetmaker, and when I went on my first excursion in search of an artifact, I needed someone to act as groom. He was agile and wiry and slightly better tempered than he is now. He’s worked for me ever since. I suppose he’s a sort of valet too.”

  She laughed softly. “Now, that I have trouble imagining.”

  Penn grinned. “He hates it when I call him that.”

  The footman came back and removed the first course, then replaced it with the second—lamb chops with peas and potatoes.

  Once the footman had gone again, Amelia asked, “Is there something of import in the Wynnstay library? Something my grandfather would have been interested in?” She cut into her lamb.

  Penn spared some attention for his meal but found he was far more interested in conversing with his lovely companion. “Probably a great many things, but we are, of course, focused on the heart and the dagger—the tale of Hilaria and Ranulf.”

  “Aren’t there other tales involving the heart and dagger?”

  “Actually it’s the only one that contains the dagger and the legend behind it.” As he chewed a bite of lamb, he pondered the story’s origin.

  “You look very serious all of a sudden,” Amelia said, drawing his attention.

  He sipped his wine. “I was just trying to think of where the story came from—the first time it was recorded. Many old texts were written down by monks and then copied by other monks—and sometimes antiquaries.”

  “When was this story recorded?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. My father would know.” He searched his memory but came up blank and frustrated.

  “Should we go back to the library and see what we can find? Surely Lord Septon has something that would at least spur your memory.”

  “Actually, what we should do is go to his secret library upstairs.”

  She paused in eating, a spoonful of peas arrested on the way to her mouth. “Secret library? And you have access to this?”

  “I know where he keeps a key.” He was suddenly impatient to be done with dinner.

  She finished swallowing and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Would it be terribly rude if I asked if we could go now?”

  His admiration for her grew. “Not at all. In fact, I was hoping you would say that.” He stood from the table and held her chair while she got to her feet.

  As they were about to depart, the footman entered, his brow arched in silent question.

  “We weren’t terribly hungry,” Penn said. “But it was delicious, thank you.”

  He escorted her from the room and started quickly toward the stairs. She kept up, and when they reached the first step said, “You are far less formal when you’re in a hurry.”

  He winced, realizing he hadn’t offered her his arm. “I spend a great deal of time away from polite society. It’s not a fair excuse, just an explanation. My apologies.” He presented his arm.

  She laughed softly, the sound tickling the hairs along the back of his neck. “It’s not necessary. I was merely making an observation. Please, let us continue.” She started up the stairs without taking his arm. He couldn’t decide if he was disappointed or appreciative.

  At the top, she looked at him. “Now where?”

  “This way.” He led her to the left along the gallery to a branch of corridors. They continued along until he turned to the right. At last, he held open the door to a small office. Light from a sconce in the hallway filtered into the room, but Penn would need to light a candle or a lantern. “Septon has a larger office downstairs, but he uses this one for more private discussions and research.” He went to the desk and found a lantern, which he lit with alacrity. The room illuminated, and he saw Amelia standing just inside, her gaze sweeping the chamber with interest.

  “This is his secret library?” she asked.

  “No, I need the key for that.” He went to the desk and reached beneath it for the hidden
button. Finding the small depression, he pressed, and a slender compartment opened from the underside. Inside the velvet-lined drawer lay a key. Grasping it between his fingers, he withdrew the brass implement and moved out from behind the desk.

  “Where is it?” She turned back toward the door.

  “This way.” He strode to a large painting painted in the last century featuring a man surrounded by his hounds. He found the keyhole—hidden in one of the dog’s eyes—and slid the key inside. Feeling the mechanism click, he withdrew the key, then gently pushed on the frame.

  “It’s here?” Amelia had come up behind him. “How clever. Or suspicious.”

  Penn laughed. “I’m sure it’s a bit of both. Septon guards his secrets quite closely.” And those of the Order. Penn still had to work out how to take the dagger back from them. Though it was fake, he’d promised Amelia he’d get it back for her, and he meant to do so.

  The secret library was little more than a closet. There was no window, and it was dark save for the light from the office behind them. “We need the lantern.” Penn quickly returned to the desk and fetched the light. Bringing it back into the library, he set it on a locked trunk that also served as a table.

  She gestured to the trunk. “What’s in there?”

  “I don’t know, actually. Septon invited me into this library for the first time just after I started at Oxford. A few years later, he showed me where the key was kept and invited me to use it for research, while also swearing me to secrecy.” He hadn’t even told his sister, though she’d learned of it herself. Septon hadn’t been so generous with his knowledge with her, nor had he invited her to make use of it. They’d discussed this when he’d seen her last, and Penn regretted that he’d kept it from her. He’d told Septon to stop treating her as if she wasn’t as smart or committed to antiquities as they were. Since she’d found the lost sword called Dyrnwyn, Septon had finally—and thankfully with enthusiasm—agreed. He drew his attention back to the present. “He’s never showed me the contents of the trunk.”

  She peered at him. “Doesn’t that make you especially curious?”