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A lot could happen in three days. Or not. No golden-egg-laying goose had waddled through Eva’s front door, nor had some long-lost relative gone to glory and left her with a sizeable inheritance. Worse, the numbers in the ledger still refused to yield anything but a warning—and a dire one at that, with the added fifty pounds she must raise by mid-December. Hence, the sole reason she stood in the drawing room this morning with a sharp-nosed widow circling her mother’s beloved writing desk. Mrs. Muggins had been dissecting the antique bureau for the better part of half an hour now with nothing better to say about it than an occasional flat-lipped humph .

Eva smoothed imaginary creases from her skirts, giving her something to do other than bite her nails while waiting. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed after such diligent examination, Mrs. Muggins, you’ll not find a writing desk of higher quality at such a fair price as this one.”

The woman humphed again while rubbing her thumb furiously on one corner. “I cannot abide blemishes.”

Eva studied the wood at the indicated spot. Glossy wax reflected her face. “I don’t see any damage there.”

“I was merely pointing out a fact, Miss Inman.”

“Of course.” She forced a smile. “However, I assure you this desk is in impeccable condition, for it has had nothing but the utmost care. My mother was particular about such things.”

“Mmm.” She eyed Eva with all the admiration she might give a crust of dried manure on her shoe. “I must say it is rather callous of you to part with a sentimental heirloom that is part of your family legacy.”

Her stomach tightened. The woman could have no idea how much selling this desk wrenched her heart. She pressed her features into a benevolent smile. “This beloved piece of furniture is dear to me, which is why I feel your home is the perfect sanctuary for it. I know you will shower nothing but tender affection upon such a valuable keepsake.”

Mrs. Muggins pressed her hands to her belly as if digesting a compliment was a distress. Probably was. Not many in Royston favored her with so much as a good-day, so sour was the elderly woman. Eva wouldn’t have willingly singled her out if the widow didn’t possess such a sizeable bank account.

Without further ado, Mrs. Muggins went back to examining every nook and cranny of the desk.

Eva retreated several steps. She’d rather be spending her time helping those in need with the Royston Relief Society than hawking a family treasure to a tight-knuckled purse clutcher, but there was no time for that interest anymore. If she didn’t start setting away money for that tax bill now, she’d never have enough to pay it.

Another ten minutes ticked by. At this rate, her sister would be tromping in here with her book, which could cause Mrs. Muggins to flee. The woman barely had patience for adults, let alone for a precocious twelve-year-old. Surely there had to be some tactic she could use to force the widow’s hand.... “Now that I dwell on the matter,” she drawled at length, “I suppose Mrs. Grandbloom’s sitting room would make as fine a haven for this desk as your front room.”

“Mrs. Grandbloom! Tsk. That will never do.” Mrs. Muggins wagged a gnarly finger in the air. “The woman has cats. Cats!”

It was more of a hiss than an accusation.

Perfect. Clearly the idea ruffled the woman. “True, but she also has a husband who dotes on her, and she has admired this piece before.”

“Humph. The woman is spoiled, if you ask me.”

“And yet she might offer more than what I’m asking.” Eva paused to let that sink in. “Yes, now that I think on it, I could get more money if I—”

“Nonsense! Have your man deliver the desk to my home tomorrow, and I shall send the payment with him.”

“I don’t know.” She ran a finger along the front length of the desktop. “Mrs. Grandbloom might pay quite handsomely and—”

“I’ll add on a gratuity for prompt service. Good day, Miss Inman.” Mrs. Muggins whirled so fast, the feather atop her hat flapped in protest.

“Good day, Mrs. Muggins,” Eva called to the woman’s retreating skirt. Once the rustling fabric was fully out of sight and sound, she collapsed onto the sofa, an inordinately large grin stretching her jaw. The battle had been fierce, but what a victory!

Not two breaths later, Sinclair’s boots clunked into the room.

“Sorry to bother you, miss, but I think you’re going to want to see this.” He held out something small and grey. A stone?

She crossed the room and retrieved the thing from him, surprised that it was nothing of the sort. Oh, the metal ring was as dirty as a stone picked from the soil, but as she licked her finger and rubbed at the piece with the pad of her thumb, the filth gave way, revealing a tarnished silver band with an engraving of a fish on the front. She glanced up at the steward. “Where did you get this?”

“From Tom. He’s been finding all sorts of scraps while plow ing that plot o’ land. This one, though”—he pointed at the ring—“could be of value.”

“Perhaps that land isn’t cursed after all, eh?” She smirked.

Dixon sailed in then. Though lacking in stature, the white-haired housekeeper was an unsinkable frigate, going about her duties as if the Inman household were fully staffed instead of having only a maid and a cook to manage. “Reverend Blackwood is here to see you, miss.”

Just when things were starting to look up with the sale of the desk and a potentially valuable relic in her hand, the dour clergyman had to call. She stifled a sigh. “Very good. Show him in.”

Sinclair clapped on his hat with a dip to his head. “I’ll leave you to your company, miss.”

“Thank you, Sinclair. Oh, and would you see that my mother’s desk is delivered to Mrs. Muggins’s home tomorrow? Ten o’clock sharp, for she has all the patience of a gnat.”

“You’re being generous, miss.” He chuckled. “But, yes, I’ll see it’s done.”

Eva absently rubbed the ring as the steward exited. She’d never been completely comfortable in the rector’s presence even before her father’s deathbed warning. There had been a few Sundays when she’d considered attending a different church, but it seemed wrong to break with generations of Inman family tradition all for the sake of a severe clergyman. Besides, it wasn’t as if he singled her out with his cold ways. Mr. Blackwood was terse with everyone and had been ever since she could remember.

He stalked into the room on silent steps, dressed head to toe in grey, which added to the impression that he’d recently crawled from one of the graves in the churchyard. The only colourful thing about the man was the intense blue of his eyes—and that was no improvement. His gaze cleaved one’s spirit from the bone.

She dipped a proper curtsey. “Good morning, Mr. Blackwood.”

“Miss Inman.” He gave a sharp nod.

“Please have a seat. May I offer you some tea?”

Please say no. Please don’t stay.

“None needed. I shan’t stay long.”

She breathed freely, but only for a moment. The longer he stood there staring at her, the more she fiddled with the ring. “Did you have a matter you wish to discuss with me, Mr. Blackwood?”

“I believe the matter has been resolved without any discussion whatsoever. I came to see for myself if you were alive and well, being that your pew has remained empty these past two weeks.” His aquiline nose bunched. “My sister is worried about you.”

His sister? As shepherd of the parish flock, ought he not have been concerned? She slid the ring on and off her index finger, composing a less snappish response.

“It is kind of Mrs. Mortimer to have noticed my absence, though she needn’t suffer any anguish on my account. The truth is that Penelope suffered a cough the Sunday before last, and more recently our only horse to pull the pony cart got into the hemlock and came down with a case of colic. I fully anticipate, though, that my sister and I shall make this week’s Sunday service.”

“Hmm. And yet neither of those occurrences directly affected you.” He lifted his nose. “Neglecting the gathering of the saints is no small thing. The consequence of such abandon not only reduces the church rates but hinders your spiritual health.”

Hah! Church rates indeed. There wasn’t a single rain bucket catching leaks beneath the roof of All Saints Church. Nor did the rectory suffer in any way. She forced a smile. “I shall take that into consideration.”

“Very good. But I am curious, Miss Inman, what is it you’re so preoccupied with this morning?” His gaze shot to her hands.

Her fingers froze. How many times had she scolded Penny not to fidget when entertaining a guest?

“It is nothing of consequence, sir. Just something my farmhand unearthed out in the field.”

He held out his hand, palm up, the lift of a single brow commanding her to pass it over. Which she did. One ought not to refuse a man of God such a simple request. So why the anxious twist to her belly?

“Hmm.” The sound rumbled in his throat as he studied the tarnished ring. “Very interesting. Where was he digging?”

“The back corner of the estate. Why do you ask?”

“Clearly this is a historic find, possibly even church related.”

“I assure you my man only did as I asked. He wouldn’t have ventured to plow on any property other than my own.”

His blue eyes skewered her. “I implied no wrongdoing, Miss Inman.”

Oh dear. She’d gone and indicted a clergyman. Perhaps missing services truly had impacted her more than she realized. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Blackwood.” But then just as quickly, she jerked up her chin. “What do you mean, church related?”

He held up the ring, observing it with one narrowed eye. “I cannot be sure, of course, but this engraved fish, while admittedly much more ornate than I’ve ever seen, might be an ichthys.”

“A what?”

“Ichthys. The Greek word for fish . It is claimed Christians used the inobtrusive symbol to silently identify one another at a time believers faced persecution by the Roman Empire. Though what it would be doing buried in your farmland is anyone’s guess.”

Now that was interesting. She paced a tight circle on the rug, each step adding to her excitement. If that ring was of historical significance, it just might bring in the funds she needed. This could be an answer to prayer!

She stopped in front of Mr. Blackwood, disregarding her usual caution about the man. “Might you have a connection with anyone who would be interested in purchasing that ring?”

A frown darkened his face. “How can you sell an item if you don’t know what price to collect?”

“Point taken.” Selling the ring might not be as easy as she’d thought. She held out her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwood. I appreciate your insights.”

“I am happy to help, Miss Inman. I shall get this appraised for you.” He pocketed the ring and wheeled about. In two long strides he was at the door.

Eva scurried after him, and though it was not proper or probably even holy, she sidestepped the man and planted her body directly in his path. Clergyman or not, there was no way she’d let him take what might be a valuable antiquity from this house. “While I appreciate the offer, I should like my ring back now, Mr. Blackwood, and will trouble you no further.”

The cut of his jaw was a diamond, hardened at her deterrence. “I thought to save you the trip to Cambridge, what with your colicky horse.”

He may as well have given his whole explanation in Greek, so little did she comprehend it. “Why would I be going to Cambridge?”

“You will need an expert’s opinion on whether this ring is of Roman origin. The history professors at Trinity College are unmatched in their scholarship. It is not proper or seemly for you to travel such a distance alone. I shall accompany you. Does tomorrow suit?”

Pah! She’d sooner travel three hours seated next to the Grim Reaper. “That won’t be necessary. My steward’s been meaning to visit his brother there anyway, and I’m sure he’ll be glad for the diversion from his work. Our pony is also quite well now and will likely enjoy such a jaunt. All that being said, you may return the ring.”

Once again she held out her hand.

And once again he ignored it, holding the bit of silver up to squint at it.

“Mr. Blackwood. The ring, please.” It took all her willpower to keep her tone pleasant.

“Hmm? Oh. Of course, Miss Inman.” He lowered the ring to within an inch of her palm, his unsettling gaze boring into her soul before he dropped it. “But be mindful of the past you’ve unearthed. More often than not, things are buried for a reason.”