“Nor does it have inclusions”-he, too, tapped the central stone-“but real emeralds almost always do. Just like that.”

“The pearls look real, too.” She sighed. “They told me they’d found it on one of the peddlers’ stalls at the festival. There’s one old man who comes every year-he’s known as Old Joe, but no one knows much about him. But he does have old, dirt-encrusted oddities, things he’s dug up at some of the old Iron Age or Roman sites, so it’s possible they did find it among the lumps on his stall, or one of the similar stalls. There were three.”

He waited until she looked up, caught her eyes, searched them. “Are you worried that they finally stumbled on some wreckers’ treasure?”

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s possible, I suppose, but rational thought suggests that if they didn’t find it at the festival-and other than an instinct that they weren’t precisely telling me the truth, there’s no reason to suppose they didn’t-then they might have found it buried among our grandmother’s things. There are boxes and boxes in the attics, with all sorts of bits and pieces, and they often go fossicking up there. While I would hope there was nothing of this value still up there, it’s entirely possible our grandmother misplaced this piece. She had a huge wardrobe and a jewel collection to match.”

He smiled. “Unlike you.”

She shrugged. “I’m not really one for jewelry. So little seems to suit.”

Reaching into his coat pocket, he returned, “That’s because you’re unique, and so it needs to be made specially for you.” He laid a tissue-wrapped package in her lap. “Like these.”

Madeline frowned at the package. “However did you get time to have anything made?”

“I have my ways, my contacts.”

“Hmm.” She unraveled the ribbon and unwrapped the contents-spilling an ivory fan with rose-gold filigree sticks, beautifully wrought, and what she took to be a rather strange wide bangle in two pieces into her lap.

She picked up the fan, flicked it open, marveled. “I’ve never owned anything half so beautiful.” She met his eyes. “Thank you.”

He smiled and she looked down, set aside the fan and picked up the odd bangle, trying to figure out how…

“Here-let me.”

She surrendered the two pieces, linked by some sort of mechanism. He fiddled for a moment, then turned to her, and lifted his arms above her head… Her eyes widened. “They’re hair ornaments!”

“Indeed. Specially designed to aid in controlling your wayward locks.” Gervase slipped the two halves over and around her still-reasonably-neat knot, then wound the little screws to tighten the vise. “There.”

He sat back, studied the effect, and smiled, well pleased. He’d had the piece made in the same rose-gold filigree as the fan; the warm sheen of the gold only emphasized the rich luster of her hair, the vibrant brown shot through with copper and red. He met her eyes. “Perfect.”

She studied his eyes, then lifting one hand, framed his jaw and leaned in to press a gentle, slow kiss on his lips. “Thank you,” she murmured when she eventually drew back. She looked again at the fan, then flicked it open; they rose and started back to the house. “Everyone has given me such useful, thoughtful gifts.”

“What did Muriel give you?”

“Riding gloves without buttons.”

He laughed.

She was defending her ability to manage buttoned gloves when they strolled back onto the terrace and into the drawing room-

“Oh! Here she is!”

“Happy birthday, Madeline, dear!”

Halting, Madeline blinked as the chorus rang in her ears.

“And many more to come, heh?”

She stared in surprise at an entire roomful of guests. She’d had a moment’s warning as they’d approached the French doors and the level of conversation-surely too great for the few guests they’d invited-had registered. But Gervase had had a firm hold on her elbow; he’d swept her over the threshold-into this.

She was instantly surrounded, immediately immersed in the business of accepting everyone’s good wishes and thanking them. Eventually she came upon Muriel, smiling smugly, in the crowd. She spread her hands in amazement. “How did this come about?”

Muriel grinned. “Your brothers decided it was high time you had a proper party for your birthday. It was their idea. The rest of us”-Muriel’s gaze rested on Gervase, still beside Madeline but currently distracted by Mr. Caterham-“just helped them make it happen.”

Madeline glanced at Gervase, remembered…“How did they manage to get me down early…?” She glanced across the room at Harry, chatting with Belinda and Annabel. “The clocks?”

“Indeed. Quite ingenious of them. They had Milsom and the maids set every clock in the house forward half an hour while you were out riding, then they changed them all back again-all except the one in your bedchamber-while you were bathing.”

Madeline shook her head, but she was smiling.

What her brothers had decided constituted a “proper party” began with a banquet for sixty. Madeline couldn’t recall the last time the long dining table had had every leaf added, and every chair in use.

Harry, seated opposite her at the head of the table, proposed a toast to which everyone responded with a cheer. And then the food arrived, served on the huge silver platters that so rarely saw service, with crystal glasses and gleaming cutlery. The noise of conversations enveloped the table. Bemused and deeply touched, she smiled and chatted, then simply relaxed and enjoyed herself.

But there was more enjoyment to come. Somewhat to her surprise, the question of the gentlemen passing the decanters never even arose; at her signal, intended for the ladies, the company rose as one, and followed her and Gervase-not back to the drawing room but into the ballroom.

Which had been opened up for the event.

Looking around, twirling to take it all in, she let her amazement show. “How on earth did they manage all this without my noticing?”

Gervase grinned. “It seems they planned well.”

She thought-remembered how all three of her brothers had remained in the office, how all had asked questions, kept her occupied through the afternoon. “The office is on the other side of the house, in the other wing. They kept me there all afternoon.”

“They held you prisoner?”

She smiled affectionately. “After a fashion.”

Their plans had included musicians and dancing. The next hours winged by in untrammeled pleasure; she waltzed with Gervase twice, then later gave in, to herself as well as him, and danced the last waltz with him as well.

The French doors to the terrace stood open throughout the evening, letting the balmy night air wash over the gathering. The room was more than large enough to accommodate their number without crowding, allowing everyone to move freely, talking with this one, then that. The musicians seemed inspired by the gay atmosphere and happily kept playing into the night.

Everyone had an excellent time, as they assured Madeline when, hours later, one by one, they took their leave. Gervase had remained by her side throughout the evening; that everyone in the neighborhood was expecting to hear an announcement of their engagement any day he no longer had the slightest doubt. But, of course, with him standing by her side, no one had been so gauche as to mention it, or even hint at it, for which he was grateful.

He’d accompanied her into the front hall. He stood a little behind and to her side as with Muriel she farewelled the guests; when he wished he could fade into the background, at least to some degree.

But then he saw Harry hanging back by the wall nearby, his eyes locked on him. Harry caught his eye, then tipped his head down the hall to where the shadows hung more heavily.

Turning to Madeline, Gervase chose his moment to touch her arm and whisper, “I’ll be back.” Then he drifted to where Harry was waiting.

Harry nodded in thanks, his gaze passing beyond Gervase to rest on Madeline. “It’s about that brooch. We just wanted to check.” He met Gervase’s eyes. “We found it on the beach below the tide line. That makes it ours, doesn’t it?”

Gervase nodded. “Which beach?”

“The one north of Lowland Point, immediately beyond the headland.”

Gervase let a moment go by while he considered the possibilities. “The brooch is yours in law, and you’re entitled to gift it to Madeline. It’s not wreckers’ treasure-there’s been no wrecks listed so far this summer and I have it on good authority that the wreckers aren’t working the Manacles.”

“So there’s no reason we shouldn’t look for more?”

He paused, then met Harry’s eyes. “Hold your brothers back from searching further for the moment. Let me check again in Falmouth if any registered ship has been listed as overdue. If none has, then it’s possible there has been a recent wreck on the Manacles, but of a smuggler’s vessel.”

“So the brooch might have been…whose?”

“If it was coming in on a smuggler’s ship, there’s no way to tell, but frankly I can’t imagine why smugglers would be dealing in such goods.”

They both looked at Madeline, thinking of the brooch.

Harry frowned. “It doesn’t seem likely, does it?”

Gervase shook his head. “The other possibility is that it’s an item from some long-ago wreck that for some reason happened to wash up now. I’ve heard that the Manacles can hold wrecks for decades, if not centuries.”

“I’ve heard that if a ship gets wrecked out there, there’s often nothing ever found-no debris or even bodies.”

Gervase nodded. “So just because there’s no evidence of any wreck doesn’t mean there wasn’t one.”

The last guests were chatting with Madeline; Sybil and his sisters had left long ago. He shifted. “I’ll check in Falmouth and let you know. Until then, stay away from the cliffs and coves.”