He shrugged and kept holding it out. “Perhaps. I wouldn’t know—I’ve never had it appraised.”
He was the steady sort. Reasonable. She hadn’t thought him capable of shocking her with something so . . . so utterly unreasonable. “So, what then, you just carry it about in your pocket?”
His teeth gleamed, white as the pearl, when he smiled. “For the last six years, yes. That’s precisely what I’ve done.”
When it became obvious she was not going to pluck the pearl from his palm—what if she dropped it and lost it? It had to be worth a month of her old salary, if not more—he moved his hand so that it rolled into his fingers and he could hold it up to the moonlight.
“We were on a dig in Tuscany. Truly beautiful country, and I was quite enjoying myself. His lordship was helping excavate a tomb of one of the ancient Etruscans, and he was going forever on about how they were masters of jewelry-making. He’d not found anything of true note yet, though.” A hint of a smile settled in the corners of Ainsley’s mouth. “Each morning, one of his sisters or I would lead the whole team in a Scripture reading and prayer, and that day it was my turn. I admit I didn’t put a great amount of thought into my selection. I just read the next passage after the one I’d done the last time, from the Gospels. And it was about a pearl.”
Senara tangled her fingers into the grass. “The one about not tossing one’s pearls before swine?”
He shot her a reproving look. “No. The parable about the pearl of great price. You know the one—how the kingdom of God is like a man who finds a pearl of great price. And he sells all that he owns so that he can purchase the pearl. Just as we’re to give up anything He asks of us to follow Him.”
She nodded, though it was slowly. “And this went from a parable to a physical pearl how?”
“Well, later that day, his lordship had me moving the pieces they were digging up—mostly pottery shards and the like—from the excavation site to one of the tents for cleaning and cataloguing. I saw this clump of mud beside the pottery and tossed it away. But Lord Sheridan caught it—” He interrupted himself with a laugh. “You ought to have seen him pluck it out of midair, absolute horror on his face. And he said, ‘Ainsley, old boy, don’t you know what this is?’ Well, of course I did—a clump of mud.”
Senara felt her own lips tug up. “I suspect not.”
“I didn’t, not at the time. I knew mud when I saw it, after all. But he slapped it into my hand with that grin of his and said that perhaps I ought to make sure it was only mud before I threw it out like rubbish. I was curious then, and as I took it to the tent, I caught a glimpse of white that had peeked through the mud on one side. It only took me a few minutes to wash it clean. And there it was. A pearl.”
“He knew. And then he let you keep it?” She didn’t know many employers who would be so generous.
“Insisted on it, given the passage I’d read that morning. He said it was clearly meant to be mine. A reminder of the kingdom of God. But more than that.” He looked at her again now, and though she couldn’t see much of his eyes when his back was to the moon, she knew well what light would be in them. The same light that always was. “It was a reminder to me of what His salvation really means. I think . . . I think too often we compare our souls and our sins to a grass stain. We think that His sacrifice is sufficient to knock off the clumps and blades clinging to the outside of us, but not quite strong enough to get rid of the stain in the fabric.”
She could barely swallow past the lump in her throat. That was exactly how she felt.
“But we’re not fabric, Senara. We are pearls.” He reached for her hand, turned it over, and set the pearl onto her palm. This time she didn’t argue. Just looked at it, gleaming so brilliantly. White and clean and beautiful. “I realize I risk preaching here like his lordship always accuses me of, but it must be said. He makes us with great worth. Creates us that way intrinsically. Our sins, our bad choices, perhaps they coat us like mud. But the mud cannot take away the value He instilled in us. Mud does not make a pearl any less valuable. If it did, then why would Jesus have deemed us worthy of the sacrifice of His life? But He loves us, as does the Father. Because we are valuable. And the blood of Christ, when it washes us clean, fully restores us to what He created us to be. A pearl cannot be stained. No matter how many centuries it sits in the mud, wash it in a bit of water and it’s gleaming again.”
Her nostrils flared, and she blinked a few times. He was right—they were words he had to say. Words she needed to hear.
He closed her fingers around the pearl. “You are a pearl of great price, Senara Dawe. I could see that as soon as I met you. You are a woman of deep heart, of great love, of beautiful spirit. It is an honor to be counted among your friends.” He drew his hands away, leaving her clutching the pearl.
She shook her head and held it back out to him. “Don’t leave this with me. I may drop it.”
“You won’t. And if you aren’t comfortable keeping it forever . . .” He stood and brushed off the seat of his trousers.
She scurried to her feet, too, holding the pearl tightly so she didn’t lose it.
He turned to face her, stepping just a bit closer than he would normally stand. “You may return it to me after you’ve let its meaning soak into your soul. But only then. And if, when that day comes, when your heart is mended from the damage done by my selfish donkey of a cousin—” He hissed out a breath, shook his head, and then visibly calmed himself again. “If when that day comes you don’t find me a tiresome Puritan . . . well, I would treasure the opportunity to see if perhaps we would suit as more than friends.”
Tears stung her eyes, and she wished she could banish them with a simple blink, but they wouldn’t be chased away so easily. How was it possible that this man—this good, kind, handsome, perfect man—could look at her and see anything beneath the dirt?
And if he did, how could he make that offer so gently, so easily? That he would give her any time she needed to heal. That he valued the state of her heart and soul above any relationship they might someday forge.
“Ainsley.” She didn’t know what else she meant to say. She knew only that she couldn’t let him walk back to the house without a single word from her. She wanted to say that if ever her heart healed, if ever she could fully grasp the lesson he so generously gave her, then he would be the only man she could imagine trusting enough to walk beside into the future. But she didn’t know when she could give him that, only that it wouldn’t be fair to make promises now when she could only deliver him pieces.
But perhaps she didn’t need to say anything beyond his name. Perhaps he heard in it all she wanted to say and couldn’t, all she hoped but dared not speak quite yet. He smiled, perfectly at peace, and offered his elbow.
She first slipped the pearl into the pocket of her skirt. And then she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
27
On the north shore of Gugh, due south from where I kissed you goodbye. The words had become a constant tapping in Sheridan’s mind, keeping time with each step he took. The day had dawned warm and beautiful—too beautiful to spend it cooped up inside—so he’d lured Beth out for a walk around the coast, saying they could spend the time trying to find a hint as to where Rupert and Briallen had said their farewells.