Page 126 of Four Promises to Love

“Bottoms House is the obvious place,” Gigi said slowly. “The lies that circulated about Rose and Thomas began when he was killed here.”

“We have renovated the estate from top to bottom,” Ethan said. “Wouldn’t the cache have turned up by now?”

“By that logic, the entire village would be a candidate,” Grantley said. “Think of all the lies that have spread in Chuddums over the decades. Actually, never mind decades—think of what happened mere months ago. Everyone believed my erstwhile relation Abel Pearce was an upstanding citizen. In reality, he was a scheming bastard who had a habit of aiding cutthroats and engaging in criminal behavior.”

“Thank goodness you exposed his true nature, darling,” Gigi said. “Otherwise, he might still be exploiting the village for his own gain.”

“If nothing else, you saved us from that eyesore of a monument he dedicated to himself,” Ethan said with feeling. “That monstrosity ruined the entire village green. I nearly cheered when it was removed.”

“Pearce’s true nature.” Finn sat up straight, her eyes wide. “That is the lie.”

“What does Abel Pearce have to do with anything?” Grantley asked.

“Not Abel—Langdon. I had it wrong. The lie didn’t have to do with the perception of Felix but Langdon. Langdon’s sterling reputation blinded people to the truth of what he’d done to Rose and Thomas. That is the biggest lie of them all. And Felix, invisible and observant, would have known this better than anyone. All we have to do now is look beneath the lie—which has been in plain sight the entire time.”

The realization struck Owen.

“The founder’s monument,” he said. “Bloody hell, you’re a clever chit, Finn.”

“It wasn’t just me. I had help.” Excitement sparkled in her eyes. “Let us hope that the treasure is still there after all this time.”

They waited until midnight to enter the village green.

While Finn had simmered with impatience, she understood the need for discretion. To the villagers, Langdon Pearce was a saint and to desecrate the stone placed in his honor was akin to sacrilege. If she was wrong about the treasure’s location, then she—and the Harringtons—would have much to answer for in the morning.

They arrived at the small slab of reddish stone, set beneath the bare branches of the withered tree. Finn had passed the monument on numerous occasions, but the flickering light of the lanterns and shifting clouds imbued the area with a sinister feeling.

“In memory of Langdon Pearce, Hero and Soldier of Justice, May He Rest in Peace.” Lord Ethan read the dedication plaque aloud, his tone cutting. “Not for long. Ready to have at it, fellows?”

Owen distributed the shovels to the men.

“Ready,” he said.

“I can help,” Finn offered.

To her surprise, the marchioness drew her aside.

“Leave the mucking about in the dirt to the males,” Lady Blackwood advised. “It is a bonding activity and makes them feel manly.”

“Yes, my lady,” Finn said.

“You might as well call me Mama, dear—or Penny if you wish. Since we are soon to become family.”

The invitation warmed Finn to the marrow. “That is kind of you, um, Mama.”

“I am not being kind. I quite like you.” Mama smiled. “We have a great deal in common, you and I, and one day I shall tell you about it.”

Finn had no idea how that could possibly be true, but she was distracted by Owen. He’d assembled Manderly, Grantley, and his papa around the monument, and they each held a shovel.

“We are doing this, then,” Owen stated.

He looked at Finn, and she saw he was aware of the significance of their actions. They were about to topple a decades-old shrine to an exalted figure. If they were wrong in their suppositions, there would be no going back.

“Do it,” she said.

The shovels hit the ground. The men worked quickly, piling up dirt behind them as they excavated the area around the stone. Meanwhile, Lord Ethan was giving orders that had the others rolling their eyes—or in Owen’s case, tossing a chunk of earth at him.

Owen, Finn saw with smug pride, worked the most efficiently. The area he’d cleared was bigger than anyone else’s, and she didn’t mind the view of him, either. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves, his sinewy forearms rippling as he tossed back shovelfuls of dirt. The monument began to sink, slowly at first, then faster. Suddenly, it tilted, plunging at a lopsided angle. A fissure showed behind the plaque, spreading quickly through the stone.