Treasure Her Heart

by Marin McGinnis

  “That should last me a little while,” Judith said. “I’ll meet you behind the potted palm after dinner.” She winked, then swept out the door in a swirl of yellow silk.

  ****

  Dressed again in her olive green muslin, a bit worse for wear, Judith snuck down the stairs at five o’clock in the morning, well before either her mother or her maid was stirring. At the bottom of the long oak staircase to the front hall Peter waited. Her heart gave a little leap when she saw him; she wondered if after years of marriage it would sit still, but somehow she didn’t think so.

  “I hope that dress brings you better luck today than the last time you wore it,” he said, then greeted her properly with a kiss.

  “Don’t remind me, if you please,” Judith said with a shiver. “I almost didn’t wear it, but it seemed a good choice for digging buried treasure. Where is Lady Howley?”

  “She’s in the garden already, armed with a wheelbarrow and candles, in the event it’s still too dark. You and I are carrying the shovels.” He handed her a shovel she hadn’t noticed he held, two more in his other hand.

  They hurried outside. The sky was beginning to lighten, and birds sang their early morning songs. The grass was still wet with dew, making Judith grateful she’d thought to wear her boots once more.

  Inside the labyrinth, Lady Howley grinned as they approached. “There you are. It occurred to me I didn’t know exactly where you’d found the jewelry, so I didn’t know where to place the candles.”

  Peter strode to the corner where Judith had challenged the magpie for the ring, although the bird was nowhere to be seen this morning. “Just here, Aunt Gin.” He pushed his spade into the dirt.

  “Careful, Peter,” Judith said. “You don’t want to damage anything.” Peter slowed down and Judith kneeled beside him, sifting through the dislodged soil with her hands. Lady Howley picked up a spade and started to dig nearby.

  As they worked, the sun rose fully, casting shadows across the ground, warming the air. Although they had two good-sized holes, they hadn’t found anything yet, save a metal toy soldier, three brass buttons, and several large rocks.

  The magpie had returned. It perched on the edge of the large flower pot, its feathery head cocked, dark eyes alert. Judith tossed one of the buttons at him, but he ignored it. Clearly he was waiting for better.

  Peter set down his spade and wiped his brow, leaving a streak of dirt over one eye. “We’re getting nowhere. The staff is surely awake by now.”

  “I asked that they leave everyone undisturbed this morning and suggested they have a lie-in as well.” Aunt Gin pulled a watch out of one of her ubiquitous pockets, consulted it. “We’ve got at least an hour before anyone stirs, I should think.”

  “Do you really think we’ll find it here this morning, my lady?” Judith asked.

  “I’ve grown used to disappointment. Over the years I’ve unsuccessfully searched every nook and cranny of the house and the caves, when the mood struck. It never occurred to me to search in the gardens. So while it would be exciting to find the treasure, I won’t be surprised if we don’t.” She plunged her spade into another spot beneath the hedge and a metallic thunk echoed through the air.

  Judith’s eyes widened. “What was that?” She brushed the dirt away, revealing a wooden barrel with metal hoops, much like the ones she’d seen in the cave. Peter and Lady Howley both joined her in scraping at the dirt until they had uncovered the outline. It rested on its side, cracked in several places.

  And spilling out of the cracks, a chain, encrusted with dirt.

  A hushed silence fell over them. The bird had left its perch and stood quietly beside the hole, staring at the chain as if he too understood the significance of the moment.

  “Thank you, Mr. Magpie. If it weren’t for you, we might never have found this,” Judith said. The bird cocked its head and Judith could swear it winked. It bobbed its head then flew away, as if its job was done.

  “We did it, Judith,” Peter said, exuberant. He plucked her off the ground and spun her around, something Judith had never experienced. Before she could enjoy the feeling, he pulled her close, taking her mouth in a kiss so exciting her toes tingled.

  “Enough of that, you two,” Lady Howley said.

  Peter released Judith and returned her feet to the ground, a regretful expression on his handsome face.

  “For the moment, at any rate.” Lady Howley grinned. “Now, Peter, dear, I require your assistance to put the barrel in the wheelbarrow so we can get this inside.”

  “Where are you going to put it? You can hardly store it in your bedroom.”

  “It will go in the greenhouse. My staff is strictly forbidden from entering unless I have requested something. It is the perfect place to clean and examine the treasure.”

  Peter unearthed the barrel and tried to lift it, but he struggled—it was too heavy, even for him. “Let me help,” Judith said.

  When Peter made no attempt to wave her away or say he didn’t need a woman’s help, she was rather pleased. Together, the two of them transferred the treasure to the wheelbarrow with minimal difficulty. Sometimes, her size was a distinct advantage.

  “Thank you, my dears. Peter, I still need you to get this to the greenhouse; there is an outside entrance so we need not track through the house. Judith—I can call you Judith now, I trust, after all we’ve been through?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you must call me Aunt Gin, as Peter does. You should get yourself cleaned up. Your mother would have a fit if she saw you like this.”

  Judith’s gown was stained with dirt and rust from the metal hoops on the barrel. She’d broken more than one nail scrabbling around in the dirt. “I think it’s time to retire this gown, although I shall always remember the adventures I had while wearing it. This adventure, however, will be remembered more fondly than the other one.”

  Peter bestowed a kiss on her forehead. “Perhaps we should frame it.”

  “I think not. Go, darling, before Aunt Gin hurts herself trying to maneuver that wheelbarrow on her own.”

  Judith returned to the house, sneaking up the front steps and into the upstairs hallway toward her room. A door creaked from somewhere down the hall, so she darted behind a curtain at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the hall. She peeked around the curtain to see who it was.

  The Earl of Longley tiptoed from her mother’s room, his cravat and coat hanging from his hands.

  She was unable to stop a shocked gasp, and he turned in her direction. When he realized who it was, he grinned, looking so much like Peter that Judith almost gasped again.

  “You’ve caught me, Miss Leslie.”

  She extricated herself from the curtain, then realized she ought to have stayed hidden—she had no good reason for being up this early, fully dressed and covered with dirt. “It appears you’ve caught me as well, my lord.”

  “So it seems.” He paused, weighing her fate, then nodded. “Shall we say no more about it, then?”

  “About what?” They exchanged an amused, co-conspirator sort of smile.

  They started off in opposite directions, but Lord Longley called to her.

  She turned. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Welcome to the family, my dear. I’m sorry for trying to keep you and Peter apart. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “As it’s obvious my mother has, I can hardly do otherwise. Thank you, my lord. I will make him happy, I promise.”

  “You already have.” He smiled again and disappeared around the corner.

  Judith hurried quietly to her own room, unable to stop herself from grinning like an idiot. It was fair to say this house party would be remembered for years to come.

  Chapter 21

  Four months later.

  Judith was nervous.

  At long last, the day had arrived. She’d never thought her mother could be more difficult than she’d been at Judith’s debut, but she was quite wrong. Lady Grangemore had insisted every moment of this day be
perfect, from her gown to the flowers to the wedding breakfast. The entire ton had been invited, and when Judith peeked out the door at the assembled throng, she was certain every single member of society was in attendance, save perhaps for the King and Queen.

  No one wanted to have to say they had missed it.

  “Judith,” Lady Grangemore snapped. “Do stop peeking. Someone will see you.”

  “Why should that matter?” Judith asked, closing the door.

  “Because, my darling, your radiant beauty will draw attention away from the bride.” Judith hadn’t noticed Peter enter the room from the other door. He stood behind her, nibbled on her ear, neatly avoiding the emerald earbobs and pendant Aunt Gin had given her from the treasure. He twirled her around for a kiss, which even after three months of marriage still made her toes tingle. Since they’d wed, they couldn’t seem to stop touching each other. They did try to limit their public displays, but in private…well, it was no surprise at all they were expecting their first child.

  Judith’s mother sniffed. “Good Lord. You two are insufferable. If you could pull yourself away from your husband, Judith, I would be obliged if you could help me with my hair.”

  Judith gave Peter one last kiss. “Shoo. Go see to the guests, please, and make sure my brother Andrew hasn’t offended the bishop.”

  “Is he likely to?”

  “You know him now, Peter. You tell me.”

  He shook his head, his expression amused. He stopped on his way to the door to peck his mother-in-law, and soon-to-be stepmother, on the cheek. “You look beautiful, my lady. You have brought a light to my father’s eyes, and we are blessed to have you as part of our family.”

  Tears threatened to spill over, and Lady Grangemore sniffed again. “Oh, stop. You’ll mar my paint.” She poked at her rouged cheeks with her handkerchief, but her delighted smile reached her eyes.

  Thirty years after they fell in love, the Viscountess of Grangemore was to wed the Earl of Longley. From their kiss in Lady Howley’s morning room to this day, it had been a whirlwind. Lord Longley had apologized for his behavior, explained what had happened with Peter’s mother. He’d told Judith’s mother he’d only been able to bear his unhappy marriage by hoping she had been happy in hers. She had not disabused him of that notion, she told Judith, because it didn’t seem quite fair.

  After Lord Grangemore died, Lord Longley had been afraid to approach her, afraid she hadn’t forgiven him, afraid he’d tarnish his children’s memories of their mother, afraid he’d forever lost his one chance at love.

  He was right, of course, but Lady Howley’s letter telling him he’d been forgiven, despite its being a total fabrication, had stirred his fear into action. He’d realized he couldn’t do to Peter what his own father had done to him, and it was worth the risk to ask if Margaret could still love him.

  He did, and she did.

  Judith tucked a few stray red hairs into her mother’s elaborate coiffure, then fastened her hat on top.

  “You are stunning, Mama,” Judith said. “I’m so happy for you. So pleased you’ll at last know happiness.”

  “Oh darling,” her mother said, her eyes sparkling, “I have known happiness in the past thirty years. When you and your brothers were born, watching you grow, seeing them mature into the fine young men they are, and you turn from a gawky child into the beautiful woman you are today. All of that made me happy. Never doubt it.” She kissed Judith, and they made their way to the back of the sanctuary.

  The wedding proceeded as if in a blur. Words spoken, kisses exchanged, and a love that had endured enmity and loss was confirmed and committed.

  At the magnificent ball which followed at Longley House, Peter danced with the new Duchess of Kingsley, while Judith danced with the duke.

  “How are you getting on with your new bride, Your Grace?” Judith asked, glancing over her shoulder at Peter laughing with Cassandra as he twirled her about the ballroom.

  “We suit each other,” Kingsley said with a fond look in his eyes, “rather better than I expected. She’s far happier now, and kinder too. I hope you and she will be friends.”

  Judith wasn’t quite ready to agree, but seeing Lady Kingsley enjoy her dance with Peter she thought it might be proof that Cassandra was not the horrible person Judith had thought her.

  At the conclusion of the dance, Judith disappeared below stairs, where the pastry chef was putting the final touches on a beautiful cake, three tiers tall. Covered in bright white icing and violets, it was sure to be the talk of the ton.

  “Henry, are you ready?”

  “Yes, Miss Judith. Nearly done.” Clad in a white coat and a chef’s hat, Henry appeared happier than she’d ever seen him, even on the day she’d handed him the key to his very own pastry shop in Durham. “I think her ladyship will love this cake,” he said, as he placed the last violet and stood back to observe it. “It’s filled with chocolate—his lordship said to spare no expense. I don’t know that anyone has ever made such a cake before.”

  Judith clapped her hands. “It’s stunning, Henry. Everyone will love it, and what’s better for you, they will talk about it. I’ll fetch the footmen to help you carry it upstairs.”

  Hours later, satiated, satisfied, and deliriously happy, the newlyweds left for a holiday on the Amalfi Coast. Peter and Judith retired to their small townhouse, not far from Longley House in Berkeley Square.

  After removing everything but her chemise, Judith pulled on an emerald green silk dressing gown and sank onto the sofa in their bedroom, removed her slippers, and put her feet into Peter’s lap. As he’d done after every soiree since they’d wed, he warmed her feet with his large hands and proceeded to rub.

  “Oh, yes,” she moaned. “You have magic fingers.”

  “So you’ve said.” He winked.

  “At the moment, the only thing you’re touching is my feet. But if you’re very good, I’ll let you work your way up.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  His thumb dug into the arch of her foot, sliding up to the ball, back to the heel, massaging out the knots. The stress of getting her mother married melted away as her husband massaged and stroked. She was half asleep before she sat up so quickly she almost kicked Peter in the groin.

  “Careful, darling, or that babe you’re growing won’t have any siblings.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, laughing. “I almost forgot something. I’ll be right back.” She kissed him and ran downstairs to the kitchen. She grabbed a plate covered with a cloth and hurried back to her husband.

  He had poured each of them a glass of port and was sitting on the edge of the bed removing his cravat. She set the plate on the table.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “It’s one of your birthday presents.”

  “My birthday? I’d almost forgotten, with all the excitement.” He started to lift the cloth. “May I?”

  She curled beside him. “Please.”

  He lifted the cloth with a flourish to reveal a stack of flaky pastries. They were no longer warm, as she’d made them early that morning, and they smelled of fresh apples, cinnamon, and butter.

  “What are these?”

  “Apple tarts. Henry gave me the recipe, and Aunt Gin brought me the apple brandy when she arrived for the wedding. I’m quite sure she smuggled it from France.”

  “I thought she would quit the smuggling trade now that she has the treasure. She certainly doesn’t need the money any longer.”

  “You believe that? She’s addicted to the adventure, I suspect.” Judith bit into a tart of her own. Sweet, tart, spicy; she’d gain a stone if she kept eating like this.

  Peter kissed her. “Mmm.” He licked his lips. “When did you make these?”

  “This morning,” she said, before taking her last bite.

  “Is that where you wandered off to before dawn?”

  “I didn’t think you’d notice. You were dead to the world.”

  “I always notice when you’re gone.” He
bit into his tart, and flecks of flaky pastry scattered all over his shirt. He moaned. “Oh, Judith. This is delicious. Promise you’ll make them for every birthday.”

  Warmth spread over her. There was no pleasure quite like feeding someone a treat she’d made. “If you like,” she said.

  “I do.” He popped the rest of the pastry in his mouth, then licked his fingers. He rubbed his hand up one of her bare legs. “Now, then. What was my other present?”

  She climbed into his lap, straddled him. It was the only time she ever felt dainty. She ran one finger down the vee in his shirt, kissed his lips, his neck, his chest. “Perhaps another sort of sweet?”

  “My favorite,” he said, a moan escaping his lips as she pushed him backwards on the bed and her lips moved down his torso. “May I have this on every birthday too?”

  She smiled up at him. “Until the end of time.”

  A word about the author…

  Marin McGinnis is a writer of Victorian era romance who has spent almost half her life in a tree-lined, unabashedly liberal suburb of Cleveland, Ohio. She lives with her husband and son in a drafty, century-old house with their two standard poodles, Larry and Sneaky Pete.

  When she's not writing, working in the day job, cooking for the family, or yelling at her excessively barky dogs, you can find her hanging out on her website at marinmcginnis.com, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MarinMcG, on Twitter @MarinMcGinnis, or on Goodreads. She's a member of the Romance Writers of America and its Northeast Ohio Chapter.

  http://marinmcginnis.com

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  After four unsuccessful London seasons, Lady Julia Tenwick despairs of ever making a love match. With spinsterhood looming on the horizon, she and a friend set sail for America on one last adventure. When her travels take her to northern Maine, Julia meets a reclusive but handsome artist, whose rudeness masks a broken heart Julia feels compelled to mend.