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“ Beware of Blackwoodsssss ... hissss .”

Her father’s last words had woken Eva up in the middle of the night, sat next to her on the coach ride back to Royston all the next day, and now—standing next to Bram and Penny outside the vicarage on a cold December evening—those same words spread over her skin like a stinging rash. How wrong she had been! All this time she’d been wary of Mr. Blackwood when her father had been trying to warn her of his sister ... but how had he known?

Penny tugged on her coat sleeve, pulling her from the unanswered question. “They’ve been in there for quite some time now. How long do you think it will take?”

Eva stared at the front door of the small cottage from where she stood on the driveway with Bram and several other Royston citizens. She’d had no idea when they returned Ginny, Lucy, and Andy that their families would follow along to the police station and then to the vicarage. It made perfect sense, though. Why wouldn’t they wish to see justice played out as much as she did?

She squeezed Penny’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t be much longer now. The constables ought to be bringing out Mrs. Mortimer very soon.”

“I hope so. I cannot wait to tell that woman what I think and—”

“You shall do no such thing.” Her words puffed out on a cloud of steam. “You will remain silent, or I shall have the professor take you back to the coach. Is that understood?”

A magnificent scowl carved into her sister’s brow.

Bram leaned aside, his breath warm against Eva’s ear. “I could say the same to you, you know. The constables warned us all to keep our distance. They will not abide a mob.”

Eva glanced at the other families gathered near the police wagon, anger and resentment present in the folded arms, the wide stances, the grim jawlines. Her own fingers curled beneath her gloves. “I think it safe to say we all just wish to see justice carried out.”

“And so it begins.” He gestured toward the house, where Mrs. Mortimer strode between two constables, Mr. Blackwood at the rear.

“There she is. Vile woman!” one lady called.

“A jail cell’s too good for the likes o’ her. She ought to be made to work in a sweatshop like my little Ginny,” another harsh voice cried out.

“She should be strung up, that’s what,” someone else called out.

“Back off, all of you,” the lead constable growled as he swung the wagon’s rear door open.

Reverend Blackwood frowned at the gathering. “Come, now. Let us behave in a godly fashion while this matter is sorted out.”

“Tell that to yer sister.” One of the men shook his fist in the air. “She’s the one what sold our little ones!”

Mrs. Mortimer tossed her head. “And you were all glad to part with them. Not one of you put up a fuss ... save for you.” She speared Eva with a malignant gaze. “This was your doing, was it not?”

It was strange to see the woman without her feathered hat or string of pearls, her hair frizzled about her shoulders, her skin paler than the moonlight without her thickly painted cosmetics. She looked like a bizarre sketch waiting to be painted.

“No, Mrs. Mortimer. You brought this on yourself.” Eva faced the reverend. “How could you let your sister get away with such fraud? You are a man of God.”

His head dipped slightly. “I had no idea what she was involved with,” he murmured.

“Of course you didn’t,” his sister snapped. “Your nose is stuck in your holy books from dawn till dusk.”

He jerked his face toward Mrs. Mortimer. “That is no crime.”

“Neither does it smack of the brotherly love and duty you preach on Sunday mornings. And where has all your talk gotten you? A tiny house in a nowhere town without a friend to call upon. You will die a lonely, bitter old man, Ebenezer. Quite a legacy for a vicar.”

The constable rattled his keys but made no move to gather Mrs. Mortimer into the wagon. Instead, his gaze shot to Mr. Blackwood as if this were a game of cricket to be observed.

Eva stared as well. The stoic reverend—the intense, commanding deliverer of brimstone and hellfire—aged in front of them like the turning of time’s pages. His blue eyes faded, a haunted mask carving lines on his face. He was speechless. Helpless. Hopeless? It appeared so, for his hands twisted together as if he were grappling with demons too formidable to conquer. Eva got the distinct impression that if one were to touch him ever so slightly, he’d shatter into a million pieces right there on the drive. She’d never seen the man so broken.

And the sight—quite surprisingly—broke her heart.

She immediately stepped up beside him and faced his sister. “You are wrong, Mrs. Mortimer. I call myself a friend of Mr. Blackwood. I daresay many others would as well.”

A sharp intake of air from the reverend cut a hole in the sudden quiet.

“You’re no saint, Miss Inman,” Mrs. Mortimer sneered. “And neither was your father. He knew all along what I was doing, caught me in the act the very first time I snatched that orphan boy off the streets—and he took my money to keep quiet about it. I can only say it was a good thing your father died when he did, for I’d have not allowed him to continue to bleed me.”

Eva’s hand flew to her throat, the truth of the woman’s words stealing her breath. He’d known! She’d been the source of her father’s unexplained revenue. No wonder he’d tried to warn her against the woman.

Eva’s knees weakened and were it not for Bram’s strong arm shoring her up as he stepped beside her, she’d have collapsed on the spot. Her father had taken money—for a vulnerable child, no less! What a betrayal. What a...

Her breath caught as a new revelation hit her sideways.

Her father hadn’t just been trying to give her a warning. That’s why he’d not allowed her to profess her secret. He’d been trying to breathe his own guilt through lungs that no longer worked. A cry strangled in her throat.

Oh , Papa!

“It is all right, Eva. I am here. I have you,” Bram whispered in her ear.

Or was it God speaking to her soul?

Either way, the words ignited a fire within her—a determination to seek justice and redemption where he had not. Slowly yet surely, strength seeped into the weak cracks of her soul. She pulled away from Bram as Mrs. Mortimer was loaded into the police wagon.

“My father’s actions do not define me, Mrs. Mortimer, nor will they absolve you of your sins. Justice will prevail. I shall see to it.” Eva cast a glance around at the jutted jaws and eyes burning around her. “We all shall see to it.”

It was a solemn ride home. Understandable on Penny’s behalf. She was stretched out on the carriage seat, head leaning hard against Eva’s shoulder, the rhythmic sway of the coach having rocked her to sleep. A smile tugged at Bram’s lips. The girl looked so peaceful now, but when awake, she was a regular firebrand.

Directly across from him, Eva stared out at the night, silent as a gravestone. Were she not wearing gloves, no doubt her fingernails would be chewed to nubs. But even agitated, never had a woman captivated him more.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Do not be overly tough on yourself—or on your father. Mrs. Mortimer bears the weight of guilt in this matter.”

Her gaze shot to him, and even in the spare moonlight whispering through the window, sparks flared in her pale blue eyes. “My father should have gone to the authorities. He never should have taken that woman’s money.”

“And tell me, how was that budget once you took over the reins of the family estate?”

She looked away, backbone rigid, shoulders set. The next rut in the road could snap her in half. She had every right to feel betrayed, yet he’d learned long ago that though truth might be absolute, discerning the right course of action when living that truth was often anything but obvious. Like guiding stars, the light offered direction but did not clear the path one had to walk.

“Eva.” He rested a light touch on her knee, as if the contact might lessen some of her anguish. “Your father loved you and your sister. He would have done anything to provide for his daughters and save the family estate, and by the looks of it, he did. I am not saying it was right. I merely suggest his intentions were not solely self-serving. He was a man caught in a desperate situation, willing to sacrifice his integrity to ensure the well-being of his family. It is easy to judge from the outside, but we can never truly understand the burdens others carry or the choices they feel forced to make. We are all fallen creatures.”

She stared at his hand for a long while. Good. Hopefully he’d offered some sort of comfort to her tortured thoughts.

As the coach rolled through the gates of Inman Manor, she lifted her face. Sweet mercy, but she was beautiful in the shadowy confines of this coach.

“How did you become so wise?” she murmured.

He pulled back, a chuckle rumbling in his throat. “Years of practice in making awful decisions.”

The carriage eased to a stop. He opened the door—Edmund having provided only a driver, not a footman—and once his feet hit gravel, he immediately offered his hand.

Penny yawned her way out. “Are we home?”

Home. The word did strange things to his gut. Would he ever be settled in a house of his own instead of relying on his uncle’s good graces? Have a wife? A family?

“You are, indeed, my girl.” He righted Penny, then clasped Eva’s hand to help her down.

Once inside the manor, Dixon bustled to the front hall and ushered Penny upstairs. Bram had turned to Eva to wish her good night when the thud of footsteps pounded down the corridor. Who would be in such a clip at this late hour?

Mr. Sinclair appeared, hat in hand, coat over his arm as if he’d either rushed to get here or was in a hurry to leave.

“I’ve been waiting for you two. Come see.” He wheeled about and retraced his steps, leaving Bram to arch a brow at Eva.

She merely shrugged and followed the man.

Sinclair swung into the breakfast room that yet faintly smelled of old artifacts. Bram inhaled the musty scent, taking comfort in the familiarity of it. The steward led them to the far end of the table, where a canvas had been laid out. Atop it sat a stone box the size of one of Price’s humidors.

Bram swooped over to the relic, pulse racing. The heavy lid appeared to be fused shut with the passage of time and a thick line of wax. He glanced at the steward. “Where did you find this?”

“Tom and I were filling up that sinkhole Miss Inman told me about when I took a misstep and landed my leg in the chasm. Took some work to get me out, which made the opening larger—and that’s when we saw the corner of this box. It was too perfect to be a simple rock. Thought I’d wait till your return to see what’s inside. Didn’t wish to bring a curse down on my head.”

“Oh, Sinclair.” Eva shook her head. “You and your superstitions.”

Bram’s fingers itched for tools he didn’t have. “Can you get me a wooden mallet and a chisel?”

“Straightaway, Professor.”

In the meantime, Bram flipped open his pocketknife and bent to scale away the wax seal bit by bit.

“What do you suppose is inside?” Eva’s question curled over his shoulder.

“No idea.”

“What is your best guess?”

“Anxious, are you?” He grinned up at her. “Coins, most like. Or jewelry. Maybe even a religious item or documents, something that whoever sealed this did not want ruined by water or air.”

“I wish your uncle could be here to see this.”

His heart panged. “Me too.”

Moments later, Sinclair returned with the requested items. Once the wax was removed, Bram set down his knife, then ever so carefully placed the tip of the chisel into the opening crevice. Even more gently, he tapped the handle with the mallet’s flat head. Little by little, the lid gave, until finally he dropped the tools and lifted with a great heave. Centuries of dust crumbled to the canvas. Stone ground against stone.

And then he stared into a darkened, miniature tomb. “Light, please.”

Eva brought a lamp close, illuminating rectangular wax tablets.

Bram raised one reverently, completely forgetting to breathe as his eyes scanned the Latin.

“Well.” Eva huffed her disappointment. “Certainly not the treasure I had hoped for.”

She had no idea.

Bram jerked his head up, gaze seeking Sinclair’s. “Ready my horse at once.”

Willing his hands not to tremble, he gently laid the tablet back in the box with all the care of a newborn babe.

“Where are you going at such an hour?”

He straightened, hardly able to stand for the thrill coursing through his veins. “I must return to Cambridge immediately. This is exactly what my uncle and I had hoped to find.”

Her brows knitted. “But that is not the Holy Grail.”

“It does not need to be. These tablets are a covenant for the members of Caelum Academia—indisputable proof there was a Roman settlement here, serving as both an intellectual refuge for artists and a secret place of Christian worship during a time of religious persecution. Just as my uncle said!” He grabbed hold of her shoulders, grin wide. “Do you understand what this means, Eva? My uncle will be vindicated. His pension, his position, both restored. It is a miracle!”

She smiled. “How wonderful!” But then her smile faltered. “I, em, I suppose you shall be reinstated as well?”

“Likely, but what really matters is my uncle’s career will no longer end in shame.”

“You are right. I am very happy for him—and for you. Though I cannot say I am pleased about you riding all the way to Cambridge in the dark. Please be careful.”

“Don’t burden yourself on my account. I generally land on my feet.” He reset the lid, then wrapped the canvas tightly around the box and tucked it all beneath his arm.

“I guess this is good-bye, then.” Her voice rang surprisingly hollow.

He faced her, searching her gaze for the cause of such a strained tone—but her eyes were still waters, unwilling to give their secrets. “It is good-bye, though I am sure Penny shall have something to say about me leaving without any parting words to her.”

“She will survive.” Eva turned away, words traveling under her breath. “Though I am not sure I will.”

He cocked his head, turning her around with a firm grasp to her arm. “What was that?”

A battle waged on her face, her jaw shifting as if she chewed on something too large for her to swallow. What on earth troubled her so?

Alarm churned in his belly. “Eva? What is it?”

She inhaled so deeply, the rise of her chest pressed hard against her coat buttons. And when she blew it out, she tipped her chin defiantly. “If this is good-bye, then you should know you take my heart with you—just as you did when you left all those years ago. Whether I like it or not, you are part of me, Bram Webb, and I am a better person for it. I wish you all the best and brightest.”

Flinging her arms around his neck, she lifted to her toes, her lips meeting his with an abandon he’d never known. He’d kissed plenty of women in his day, but none had given themselves to him so earnestly, so pure and raw that the touch ached in his soul.

And then she was gone. Before he could pull her into his embrace. Before he could kiss her back with all the passion inside him begging to be released. He should follow her. Chase her down. Profess the love that beat with each pound of his heart and tell her he would return as soon as humanly possible.

But the box beneath his arm weighed heavy. If they were to have any kind of future, he must see to this now.

Duty called. God help him.

Duty called.