Typically up at dawn or shortly after, Penn was surprised to be jolted awake by the sound of movement in the hallway. He’d intended to be waiting downstairs when Mrs. Forrest descended for breakfast, assuming she planned to have breakfast before departing. He wanted to know the results of her deliberations and whether she would agree to give him access to her grandfather’s things.

Penn leapt from the bed and hurriedly washed and dressed. Egg was oblivious to Penn’s actions—and noise—but then he’d imbibed enough last night to ensure he slept until mid-morning at least.

Rushing down the stairs, Penn came upon Mrs. Forrest seated at the table in the common room. Her green eyes flashed with surprise as they met his.

“Good morning, Mrs. Forrest,” he greeted, placing his hand on the chair opposite hers. “Do you mind if I join you for breakfast?”

“I suppose not.” Her tone was tinged with regret, and he suspected she’d been hoping they wouldn’t cross paths this morning. But then if that had been her intent, why not leave immediately? Again he wondered where she lived. Perhaps she needed sustenance before embarking on a long journey.

He sat down and offered her a pleasant smile. “Do you have a full day of travel ahead?”

She narrowed her eyes briefly but was prevented from answering by the arrival of the innkeeper with a plate of ham, eggs, and some rather scorched toast. Her expression softened into a smile as she looked up at Mr. Tarleton. Penn was unaccountably jealous of the man.

“Thank you. The toast is perfect.”

She liked burned toast?

The innkeeper turned a cheerful grin toward Penn. “Can I get you something, Mr. Bowen?”

“The same as Mrs. Forrest, although if you could toast the bread just a bit less, that would be lovely.”

“Of course.” Mr. Tarleton inclined his head and took himself off.

Mrs. Forrest tucked into her meal without giving Penn a second thought. Perhaps she was in a hurry after all.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Penn doubted she would, but he had to try. She might think their association was finished, but he was convinced to the contrary. Her grandfather had possessed knowledge of the heart and dagger—even if his artifacts were fake—and Penn meant to obtain it.

She glanced over at him. “No, I didn’t.”

Penn let out a frustrated breath. “Mrs. Forrest, we can help each other.”

She swallowed a bite of eggs and pierced him with a dark stare. “How can you help me?”

“Your grandfather’s letter, remember?” Since it seemed that wasn’t enough to entice her, Penn pressed forward. “In my field of work, I research, I dig, I find answers. I will help you determine what your grandfather was doing with this fake heart and dagger.” He knew that troubled her.

She gritted her teeth. “They aren’t fake.”

He relaxed back in his chair, confident he’d found a way in. “If you are so confident, don’t you want me around so that you can crow that you were right all along?”

She stared at him a moment, her features relaxing—not in the way they’d done with Tarleton, but they lost a bit of their animosity. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Find answers.”

She leaned forward, her gaze glued to his. “And if you find the real heart”—the disbelief in her tone was palpable—“what will you do with it?”

“Put it in the museum, of course.”

“Where the heart my grandfather found currently resides. You’ll discredit him.”

Penn stifled a scowl. She’d managed that rather neatly. “I will do my best to ensure your grandfather retains some credit for the entire affair.” Penn had no idea what that would be, but he was certain the man would somehow help them, even from beyond the grave. He’d known enough to find a fake heart and a fake dagger, and the fact that he’d put one in a museum and kept the other hidden was a mystery begging to be solved.

And Penn couldn’t resist a mystery.

Playing his trump card, Penn removed a piece of parchment from his coat. “Allow me to prove to you that I’m earnest in discovering the truth—whatever it may be.” He unfolded the paper and laid it flat on the table before sliding it over to her.

Her eyes rounded briefly before she snatched up the paper. Now her features betrayed the most vulnerability she’d ever displayed. She held the parchment lovingly, her lips parting as she scanned the letter.

Penn had read it a dozen times. Aside from providing the location of the cave where the dagger was hidden and urging his friend Burgess to keep the artifact safe, it mentioned protecting his family, which at the time had included his son and granddaughter, from the Order. Penn watched her reaction carefully.

She read it a second time, more slowly, her gaze trailing over the paper before she set it back on the table beside her forgotten breakfast. “Thank you. May I keep it?”

“Yes.” That was all she had to say?

Picking up her knife and fork, she returned her attention to her plate.

Penn wasn’t going to let the matter go. There was too much at stake. “Since you don’t seem the least bit inquisitive, I have to assume you know all about this ‘Order.’ Would you mind enlightening me?”

She gave him a shrewd look. “You’re telling me you don’t know about the Order?”

He’d meant it when he’d said he wouldn’t lie to her. Not unless it would keep her safe. And while he’d no reason to trust an organization that prized secrecy and the suppression of knowledge, he didn’t think they posed a threat. At least not yet. “I didn’t say that. I want to know what you know.”

She stared at him a moment, and then the warm lilt of her laughter unexpectedly filled the space around them. “If this is how our partnership would work, I think my reticence was well-founded.”

“Does that mean you’re considering a partnership?”

“On the contrary. I think this only demonstrates that it wouldn’t work—for either of us. Not when we’re intent on keeping our guards up.”

She had a point. He ought to have just come out and told her what he knew of the bloody Order instead of trying to learn what she knew first. “I am used to dealing with individuals with far less scruples than you. Forgive me for not giving you the benefit of the doubt.” He inclined his head. “Let me begin again.” He glanced at the letter next to her plate. “Your grandfather mentioned the Order. Are you familiar with that organization?”

She hesitated, and his frustration grew. “A bit,” she said at last. “A very little bit. I’ve seen it referenced elsewhere—don’t ask me where just yet. I may be considering a partnership with you, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“Of course not,” he murmured in a mix of admiration and irritation. “Are you aware the full name is the Order of the Round Table?”

Her gaze flickered with interest. “I am not. The Round Table…as in King Arthur?”

“Yes. The Thirteen Treasures were items gathered by Arthur and his knights for one of their own—Gareth—so that he could win his bride.”

“And the heart and the dagger are treasures.” She set down her fork, apparently ready to completely abandon her meal. “The heart is anyway. I’m not sure the dagger is considered one of them or if it and the heart constitute one of the thirteen.”

“There is some dispute as to what makes up the thirteen, and in some versions, the heart doesn’t even exist.”

Now she looked truly surprised. “I didn’t realize that. I grew up listening to the legend of Ranulf and Hilaria. She used the heart to make Ranulf fall in love with her, but he loved another and didn’t wish to fall prey to the heart’s spell. So he had a witch enchant a dagger to use against the magic of the heart, thus preventing him from falling in love with Hilaria. The witch’s spell is supposedly carved into the dagger. Were you able to read it?”

“I didn’t have a chance.” Bitterness made the words come out harder than he’d intended. Softening his response, he said, “You know the story well.”

“Well enough to know that Ranulf was an idiot,” she said somewhat crossly. “He married the selfish and prideful Maud, while Hilaria married his younger brother, who’d fallen madly in love with her. Hilaria grew to love him too, and they lived happily ever after. Ranulf regretted his choice, as well he should have.”

Penn enjoyed watching her animated expression change as she’d relayed the tale. “You’re a romantic.”

Her brow pleated for a moment. “Not particularly.”

He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he’d have to take her word for it since he barely knew her. Though he hoped they were rectifying that.

He did?

Did he hope to know her better? Certainly, if it meant gathering information he needed to find the real heart and dagger. As to that—he needed to convince her to accept his partnership, especially if the Order was involved. “The Order’s primary objective is to keep the Thirteen Treasures—and really anything to do with them—from being found or publicized. They want them to remain a legend.”

“But one of them is in a museum.”

He lifted his right shoulder. “Or not.”

She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. “Does the Order agree with that assessment?”

“I can’t say for certain—let me be clear: I am not a member. Members are, for the most part, descendants of the knights.”

“How can that be possible if it’s all a legend?”

“The Order wants everyone to think it’s all a legend. I didn’t say they believed that.”

Mr. Tarleton returned with Penn’s breakfast. Thankfully, the toast wasn’t blackened.

After the innkeeper left, Mrs. Forrest shook her head. “That seems ridiculous. What is their reasoning?”

“That the treasures are too powerful, that if they were to be found, they would cause strife and conflict.” He sliced off a piece of ham and brought it to his mouth.

“War?” She stared at him a moment, and her shoulder twitched as if she suppressed a shiver. “My grandfather told me once that he gave the heart to the museum because it was far too valuable to keep. He feared someone would steal it.”

Penn relaxed slightly. Her sharing such a thing with him was progress.

Her brow furrowed once more and stayed that way as she spoke. “What he said in the letter… Was he afraid of this Order? Do I need to be concerned?”

It was the perfect opportunity to bind her to him, to encourage her reliance, but he’d also said he wouldn’t lie. “You do not need to be afraid. Concern, or wariness, is always a good thing. Even if you decide to associate with me.”

She gave him a dark but curious stare. “And what do I need to be wary about with you?”

He didn’t think she meant any sort of innuendo, but his brain took that route automatically. Lout. “I don’t plan to steal anything from you. I merely want to share information so that we may get to the heart—pardon the pun—of the matter.”

She rolled her eyes again, but this time, the edge of her mouth ticked up with humor. He suppressed a smile before taking another bite of ham.

After he swallowed, he said, “I only meant that being guarded will serve you well. That said, you can trust me.”

She let out a short laugh. “One of the first things you said to me was that you didn’t trust me, and now you expect me to trust you?”

He had said that, blast. And he’d meant it. Did he trust her now? Not completely. But then the list of those he trusted completely was quite succinct—his parents and his sister. “How about we give it a try?”

There was something about her… Something he wanted to discover. She, like all women, was a mystery. The difference was that he wanted to investigate this one.

She studied him, her eyes narrowing slightly before she answered. “I’ll think about it. Where can I find you if I decide I wish to share information?”

Damn. He’d hoped he’d persuaded her completely. “I’ll be near Bath at a friend’s house.” His father’s friend, Baron Septon, lived several miles outside Bath. He was a leading antiquary—if not the premier antiquary in all of the United Kingdom.

“Bath?”

Her instantaneous response and the surprise in her reaction provoked him. “Do you live nearby?” He would bet his collection of Roman coins she did.

She hesitated, perhaps debating whether to reveal the truth, but ultimately did so. “Just outside.”

His lips curled into an appreciative smile. “How fortuitous. It is all but guaranteed we shall meet again.”

A scowl flickered across her features, but she tamped it down. “Nothing is guaranteed, Mr. Bowen. I should think yesterday’s events would be a perfect example.” She rose from the table, and he jumped to his feet with her. “I’ll send word if I wish to speak with you.”

“I’ll try to be patient.” And he’d fail, but he wouldn’t tell her that.

“Good day, then.” She started toward the door, but turned and said, “I do hope Egg is feeling better today. Make sure he uses the salve.” Then she departed the inn, and Penn quashed the urge to watch her leave, or worse, follow her.

There was no need. He knew where to find her. He’d give her two days. Including today? He forked a bite of eggs without answering himself, thereby giving himself latitude. Two days. He could wait that long to continue his quest.

And what if she refused him? What if she never meant to see him again?

Well then his quest would simply become far more challenging, because he planned to win her over.

Penn never surrendered.

* * *

Replacing the book upon the shelf, Amelia frowned at her grandfather’s library. What had she expected to find? She was familiar with the contents of his bookshelves, and there was precisely one book that contained mention of any of the Thirteen Treasures. It was a compendium of medieval romances her grandfather had transcribed for himself, including the story of Ranulf and Hilaria. Of the treasures, perhaps her grandfather had only cared about the heart and the dagger, which made sense since he’d found them.

Or found fakes.

The doubt Penn Bowen had planted in her mind drew her lips into a grimace. Damn him.

She turned and surveyed her grandfather’s small but cozy study. Everything in here was familiar and yet she felt as if she were looking at it all with new eyes. She drifted to the worktable in front of the window where he would lay out his books and antiquities. A handful of ancient iron tools cluttered one corner, while a large piece of chipped pottery sat in another.

How she wished she’d talked to him more about his interests. But she’d been too busy with her own life until coming to live with him five years ago. And then her father had died, which had prompted her grandfather’s decline. One thing she had learned—life was short, and the time with loved ones even more fleeting.

Which was why she was weary of being a spectator, first with her own matters and then in others. She went to the desk where she’d begun to work in recent weeks and found the last letter she’d received from Lady Spier in Bath. As chair of the Ladies’ Antiquities Society, she’d contacted Amelia after her grandfather’s death to extend her condolences. And to invite Amelia to their next meeting.

Amelia had sent a thank-you note but declined their invitation. Another invitation had arrived a month later and a third while she’d been in Burrington. It was the third—which she’d read just that morning—that she picked up. Their meeting was today. Amelia could go and find out how they’d known her grandfather and why they’d invited her. Perhaps they could also tell her about Penn Bowen or the mysterious Order. Or both.

Clutching the missive in her hand, she left the office and went in search of Mrs. Talmidge, her housekeeper. Amelia found her dusting in the small sitting room at the front of the cottage.

A motherly woman in her middle fifties with dark gray hair and bright blue eyes, the housekeeper looked up as Amelia entered. “Do you need something, Mrs. Forrest?”

“I should like to go into Bath this afternoon for an appointment. Has Horatio returned from accompanying Mr. Talmidge on his errands?”

“Just a bit ago. I’ll let him know to ready the carriage. When do you wish to leave?”

“Within the hour, thank you.”

“Dare I hope you’re attending a social engagement of some kind?” Mrs. Talmidge’s mouth curved into an expectant smile.

“Yes, in fact.” Amelia enjoyed a rather close relationship with the staff. They were like family, probably because most of them were. Mrs. Talmidge was married to the caretaker, Mr. Talmidge, and the groom who also served as coachman and footman was their son Horatio. Amelia’s maid, Culley, was Mrs. Talmidge’s niece. Only the cook, Mrs. Jermyn, wasn’t related to the Talmidges, but she and Mrs. Talmidge had worked together since they were fifteen, so they might as well have been sisters.

The housekeeper’s smile broadened. “How lovely. I am so glad you aren’t spending too much time in mourning. Your grandfather wouldn’t want that.”

Amelia glanced down at her dove-gray gown, one of only a few she owned that would satisfy mourning costume. She didn’t see the point in investing in any. “I’ll just get ready. Please let Horatio know I’ll be down shortly.”

Mrs. Talmidge gave a brief nod before disappearing from the sitting room. Amelia followed her out and went upstairs to prepare for her departure.

Less than an hour later, Horatio steered the coach into Sydney Place. It was a fashionable address, and Amelia had to assume Lady Spier came from wealth. Or had married wealth.

Horatio opened the door and helped her down. Amelia took a deep breath and formulated the questions she wanted to ask. She prided herself on organization and order, which made this mystery surrounding her grandfather and his findings so troubling. It was difficult not to be able to lay her hands on proof that what he’d found was real.

As she reached the top step in front of the door, the portal swung open, and a tall stately butler welcomed her inside. “Good afternoon,” he intoned, his deep voice carrying through the large marbled foyer.

“Good afternoon.” Amelia kept her voice soft, feeling a trifle intimidated by her formal surroundings. She’d been in elegant settings before, but she came from a simple background. “I’m Mrs. Forrest. I’m here to attend a meeting.”

“Of course. Please follow me.” He turned on his heel and led her toward the back of the foyer, where he took a sharp right. Pausing at the threshold of a well-appointed sitting room, he said, “Mrs. Forrest has arrived.”

Three women were seated, and one of them stood. “Thank you, Blessing.”

Blessing? Amelia slid a glance toward the butler as he turned and left.

The woman came forward, drawing Amelia’s attention once more. “We are so delighted you’ve come!” She paused in front of Amelia, her full lips spreading into a welcoming smile and her gray eyes twinkling. Blonde curls framed her face, and Amelia realized they had met before, at some social event within the last few years, though she couldn’t place exactly where.

Amelia bobbed a brief curtsey. “Thank you for the kind invitation, Lady Spier.”

“Oh, you must call me Andy, which is short for Andromeda, of course—all my friends do, and I’ve decided we shall be friends. Come and meet the other members of the Society. Well, the ones who are here. We’re missing one, I’m afraid, but she was recently wed, so she has an excuse for her absence.”

“An exceedingly poor one, if you ask me,” one of the other women said a bit sourly. She was clearly a relative of Andy’s, with the same strong chin and similar golden hair, though hers carried a bit of red that gave it a coppery tone. Gold-rimmed spectacles framed her hazel eyes as she looked Amelia over.

“You would say that, committed spinster that you are,” the third woman said softly, but with a warmth that said they regularly spoke to each other in this manner.

Andy laughed. “Forgive my sister, Mrs. Forrest. Selina is quite right about Cassie’s spinsterhood. Allow me to present Miss Cassiopeia—Cassie—Whitfield and Mrs. Selina Ashcombe.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Amelia said, inclining her head to them.

“We’re so glad you’ve finally come,” Mrs. Ashcombe said. “You must call me Selina—I’ve decided that we’ll be friends too.”

Amelia didn’t remember the last time she’d felt so welcomed. Maybe never.

Cassie narrowed her eyes. “I suppose that means we’ll be friends as well, so you should call me Cassie. I daresay you’ll like me best.” She gave her sister and Selina a superior look that caused them both to laugh.

At that moment, Amelia couldn’t imagine liking any of them more than any other. They were, sadly, the first friends she’d made in years and she’d do nothing to alienate any of them. Why had she waited so long to accept their invitation? “I’ve been in mourning,” she blurted.

Andy’s forehead creased in sympathy. “Of course. We were so sorry to hear of Mr. Gardiner’s passing. He was a revered member of our community.”

“He was?”

“At one time,” Andy said. “Come and sit. Would you care for tea?”

Amelia nodded as Andy led her to the settee where Selina sat. “Yes, thank you.”

Selina set to pouring her a cup and asked if she cared for milk or sugar.

“Just sugar,” Amelia said. “I must apologize, but I’m not at all certain what your…organization does or how you know my grandfather.”

Andy nodded, her gaze warm with empathy. “I understand he was ill the last few years.”

“Yes.” Amelia accepted her teacup from Selina and took a small, tentative sip. It was an excellent, aromatic blend, unlike anything she’d ever tasted. “This tea is extraordinary.”

“Cassie is very particular about tea. She likes to create her own.” Andy, who’d retaken her chair, looked to her sister, who sat in a matching chair adjacent. “Which one is this, dear?”

“I call it sunlight harmony. It has a distinctively summery flavor. Perfect for today.”

Indeed it was. The day was bright and warm and beautiful—the best of summer. “It’s delicious,” Amelia said, taking another sip. “So is this an official meeting?”

“As official as we ever get,” Selina said, grinning. “We should explain ourselves.” She looked to Andy, who was clearly the leader.

“We are the Ladies’ Antiquities Society, dedicated to the discovery and preservation of antiquities.” That sounded a bit like the purpose of the Order Penn had told Amelia about. Penn? She really ought to think of him as Mr. Bowen. “We are not to be confused with the London Natural Society of Antiquities.”

Cassie snorted. “How could we be? They don’t allow women.”

“So true,” Selina said dispassionately. “But then that’s why we started our own group.” She gave Amelia a definitive nod. “And ours is better.”

Amelia laughed. How could she not? These women were utterly delightful. “Do you actually go out and search for artifacts?” She’d tried and failed. If only she’d met these women before she’d undertaken to find the dagger. Regret curdled in her gut.

“Yes,” Andy said. “Generally speaking, we do not possess the smooth hands and manicured nails of a cultured lady. Particularly at this time of year.”

Selina nodded in agreement. “We don’t care much what other people think. I’m married, Cassie is a spinster—as you know—and Andy is a widow.”

What a lovely attitude, and one that Amelia supported. “I am also a widow.” More or less. In two years’ time, it would be official.

“I lost my husband eight years ago,” Andy said. “How long has it been for you?”

“Five.” Lost was an apt description in Amelia’s case. “And we didn’t have any children.”

Andy gave her an encouraging smile. “Neither did we. I miss Cecil from time to time, but it’s been long enough, and our union was so brief that I don’t even think of him every day.” Her smiled faded, and she looked around at her friends. “Is that ghastly?”

“Not at all,” Amelia said. “I don’t think of Thaddeus every day either.” And when she did, it was to say “good riddance.” “How long has your Society been together?”

“Twelve years,” Cassie said. “Andy and I founded it when I was just fifteen and Andy was seventeen.”

“And whatever provoked you to do so?” Amelia asked. “Aside from the fact that you couldn’t join the London one.”

“Why should men have all the fun?” Cassie scoffed. “I’ve always liked to dig and read and go adventuring. This is why I’m a spinster.”

Andy sipped her tea and gave her sister a long-suffering look. “I do believe Amelia comprehends.” She turned her attention fully to Amelia. “Now, let us return to your dear grandfather. I was acquainted with him several years ago—before he stopped going out. I know of his antiquarian pursuits and his achievements. I wondered if you had perhaps inherited his interest?”

She didn’t think she had, but after her adventure to Burrington, her mind was changing. “Yes, I think I might have.” The words came out slowly, as if she’d just come to that realization. And perhaps she had.

Selina clapped her hands together. “Wonderful!”

Cassie sat forward in her chair and pushed her spectacles up her nose as she studied Amelia with keen interest. “Tell us what you’ve done.”

“Er, done?”

Cassie nodded. “What you’ve discovered or researched. We write papers and publish them under an alias. We could help you share what you’ve learned—that is our overarching purpose.”

“So they won’t know we’re women,” Selina clarified.

Certain she’d stepped into the deep end of a pond, Amelia tried to find a suitable answer. She settled on the truth. “I haven’t discovered or researched anything. I’ve only come upon this…interest recently. This week, in fact.”

Cassie’s brightness dimmed just a bit, and she inched back on her chair. “Oh.”

Andy rolled her eyes at her sister. “Don’t be like that. Amelia has come to us with an interest, and who better to guide her? I know you were hoping she might be able to share stories with you, but—”

“Well, I can share one story,” Amelia interjected before she could censor herself. Three pairs of eyes turned toward her expectantly. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything. Liking these women and wanting friends wasn’t the same as trust. She’d trusted too easily once, and it had buried her in trouble. “My grandfather discovered something extraordinary—it’s in the Ashmolean Museum.”

“The Heart of Llanllwch, yes,” Andy said. “We know all about that. It’s an astounding achievement. We wondered if he found anything else of note.”

Were they pursuing specific information? What if they were somehow linked to the Order? Except their women-only society and disdain for the general antiquary community seemed to infer that they were on their own. She couldn’t see an ancient organization like the one Penn had described as something they would be involved with. Still, she should be wary. Hadn’t Penn advised her to do just that?

Taking his advice grated, but she had to grudgingly admit he was right.

Andy’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, you think we’re trying to ferret information from you. Please accept my deepest apology. We want nothing of the kind.”

“That’s not entirely true, sister,” Cassie said pertly. “We always want information. However, we want it for the sake of knowledge—nothing more.” Cassie smiled at Amelia, which softened her features.

Selina turned toward her on the settee. “We suspect your grandfather also found the dagger, which goes along with the heart. Are you familiar with the tale of Hilaria and Ranulf?”

“Quite.” Amelia relaxed slightly. “My grandfather did find the dagger, and I only recently went in search of where he’d hidden it. Unfortunately, someone else found it first and it was stolen.”

Three sharp intakes of breath filled the room, followed by a rather unladylike curse from Cassie. “Do you know who it was?” Cassie asked, her eyes narrowed in what seemed to be a mix of anger and determination.

Before Amelia could answer, Blessing returned to the doorway. “You’ve another visitor, the proxy for your missing member, I believe.”

Andy blinked. “Ah yes, I forgot.”

“Do you know who found and stole the dagger?” Selina pressed.

Amelia jumped at the opportunity to query them about Penn. “I wanted to ask you about this individual—the one who found the dagger. I suspect he’s a well-known individual in antiquarian circles.”

Blessing’s deep voice sounded from the doorway once more. “Mr. Pennard Bowen.”

Amelia turned her head and rose from the settee, aghast. “Him.”