Cornelia found her cheek growing hot but the warmth glowed in her chest, too. Despite all that had passed between them, Ethan hadn’t actually told her he loved her. In fact, they hadn’t discussed much at all. The past few hours had been spent in activities that didn’t require a great deal of conference.
“Go on, Rosie. We’re all ears.” Burnell came to sit on the arm of Cornelia’s chair, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Cornelia is discreet. You can trust us.”
The duchess squared her shoulders. “It’s far too long a story to tell everything right now, and Studborne knows more than I about that horrible place, but I was trapped down there for a while, years ago, when the old duke was still alive.”
She bit her lip. “He was suffering from terrible grief over the death of his wife, and he wasn’t himself. In honour of that fact, and him being Benedict’s uncle, I won’t disparage him, but he was suffering under a delusion. It was a tragic time, with tragic consequences, and is best left in the past. It was I who asked Benedict to close up the entranceway to the crypt.”
She looked to Cornelia. “Yours was the room I slept in when I first visited the abbey. I should have ordered that chamber locked up, too, and never allowed anyone to use it again—but it has such a pretty aspect, and I told myself it was unlikely anyone would find the passageway as I had.”
“The necklace, Rosie.” Burnell leaned forward. “You know where we found it?”
The duchess nodded. “I decided it should be left there. The old duke had some strange beliefs and thought the gemstone held symbolic power. He placed it around the neck of the last duchess upon the night of his own death.” She paled, and Cornelia noticed how she was trembling.
She’d pulled the bell for tea some minutes ago. She hoped it wouldn’t be long in coming.
“Benedict wanted to take the necklace from her but that didn’t feel right, and I knew I'd never want to wear it again, after all that happened…” Lady Studborne’s voice trailed off and she turned the ruby over, rubbing it between her fingers. “Mother would be happy, of course, that it was returned to me. I’ll keep it for Melinda. One day, she may like to place it around her own neck, and she needn’t know where you recovered it from.”
“Of course.” Burnell spoke gravely. “I can see this pains you, Rosie, so I won’t push you to say more, but there is something else I want to ask—about the crypt itself.”
The duchess shuddered. “You’ve heard about the friar who founded this place, Vasco de Benevente? Those peculiar snakes engraved everywhere are his work, I understand. He travelled to Mexico early in the sixteenth century and, though he was a Christian missionary, he took up with some strange ideas while he was there. The old duke made a study of it, you see.” She shivered again. “Awful things happened, Ethan. I know you’ll forgive me for not wanting to talk about it. Speak to Benedict if you like. I really don’t know much more, and I don’t wish to.” She made to rise from the chair but swayed on her feet and sank down again with a cry of dismay.
“Rosie!” Burnell leapt up. “You’re not well. It was thoughtless of me to press you. Here, take my arm. You need to lie down.”
Helped by Cornelia, one upon each side of the duchess, they guided her to the bed.
“I’ll find Studborne and send him up. Meanwhile, you must close your eyes. Don’t worry about anything else. Binky may have had her babies today, but it’s not yet time for yours.”
Lady Studborne laid back upon the pillow and squeezed her brother’s hand. “You’re going to be a marvellous husband, Ethan. Cornelia is very lucky.”
“Will she be alright, do you think?” Cornelia spoke softly as they closed the door.
Burnell rubbed at his eyes. “She’s stronger than she looks, but my brother-in-law needs to step in and make her rest. She’s far too good at pretending to have everything under control, but I’m afraid she’s been overdoing it and she’s emotionally overwrought.”
He cursed quietly. “Part of it’s my fault, of course—not just this business of what we found last night but this whole carousel of Rosamund inviting a bunch of guests for my benefit.” He pulled Cornelia into his arms, resting his cheek against her head. “With any luck, we’ll get some sun to melt this snow, and Studborne can send them packing as soon as tomorrow is done with.”
Cornelia winced. Christmas was a time of joyful celebration, and hope, and goodwill, but Ethan didn’t seem to be embracing any of those things. It hadn’t escaped her notice, either, that he hadn't told his sister he loved Cornelia. She didn’t expect effusions of adoration, but hearing him say the words would have been welcome.
She pulled back, looking him in the eye. “You’re sounding rather Scrooge-like, Mr. Burnell.”
“I used to look forward to it when I was very young, I guess; that changed after my father brought me back to Texas.” He shrugged. ”There’s more to be said but we can’t discuss that here.” He glanced down the passageway. “I need to hunt down Studborne and fill him in where Rosie’s concerned, then we need to talk properly, Nellie. Can you make it to your sitting room and I’ll join you there as soon as I can?”
Cornelia held on to him for a moment.
He needed to talk?
Of course, they had plans to make. There would be a great deal to talk about, but the way he said it felt rather ominous. What hadn’t he told her?
Her ankle was still sore, particularly from tackling the steps the night before, but she made herself answer as brightly as she could. “Yes. I’ll be fine. Find his Grace and make sure Lady Studborne stays in her room, at least for a few hours. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Burnell kissed her forehead. “That’s my girl. Sit tight and I won’t be long.”
Chapter 18
“Explain to me again.” Cornelia pressed her fingertips to her temples. “You want us to marry by special license, as soon as possible, but then you plan to board your passage to Cancun alone, returning to Palekmul to continue the second stage of excavations.”
“We’ll write, Nellie, and I’ll see you when I’m next in London. We’ll be together, but not all the time.”
Sitting beside her on the sofa, Burnell had the decency to look sheepish, but it didn’t stop Cornelia wanting to punch him on the nose. “What sort of marriage is that?”
One in which you get to do whatever the damn you want to, while I sit at home pining for your next letter.
“It’s not ideal, I know, but what choice do we have? My work is too dangerous, and you’re not used to living like that.”
Burnell had already given her a host of reasons why the plan was sensible, but listening to him calmly explaining only made Cornelia angrier.
“Don’t I get a say, and where does my happiness fit into this, Ethan?” Cornelia hated how shrill she sounded, like some nagging fishwife, but she couldn’t sit quietly and agree.
“I’ve had enough of other people deciding what’s good for me—” Like my father marrying me off to Mortmain when it was clear that gentleman didn’t give two figs. “And enough of them leaving me behind to pursue their own happiness.”