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rubies. Necklace and bracelet, as you can see, but the earbobs went missing some fifteen years ago—Mother’s lady’s maid was dismissed over it, but they were never recovered. Father gave the set to Mother to commemorate their wedding, and she has always been greatly distressed that part of it went missing on her watch, as it were. I thought to have the set completed while she is still wearing only jet and present it to her when she dons color again in a few weeks.”
    While Macnab nodded along, Brice pulled forward the smaller box, along with a framed photograph. “I’ve secured gems that match the others in clarity and color. Six of them—three for each side. And here is Mother’s wedding portrait. As you can see, they were dangling affairs.”
    “Aye.” The jeweler traced a finger over the ornate setting of the necklace, his eyes focused on the picture. No doubt envisioning the gleam of gold dripping down and around the jewels. He held out a steady, lined palm for the loose gems.
    Brice shook them into the hand as if they were nothing. As if two of them hadn’t brought his friends unimaginable grief. As if they were all the same, and scarcely worth counting.
    Macnab turned them in his palm. Perhaps he was noting the cut, the size, or some other factor known best to the men of his trade. He wouldn’t, Brice prayed, look at them too closely. The rubies were the best match he had been able to find for the diamonds—bright, clear, red as blood. But no ruby ever had such fire in its heart.
    When the old man pulled out a loupe and held it to his eye, Brice nearly whimpered. But Macnab made no sharp inhalation of shock, no grunts of discovery, no sign whatsoever that he had noted the difference that must be obvious under magnification.
    He just lowered the loupe again and looked over at Brice with calm, questioning blue eyes.
    Well, he’d known this was likely. The average viewer wouldn’t note the difference at a glance, but this was a man who had dealt with gems longer than Brice had been alive. He passed a hand through his hair and held the jeweler’s gaze. “It’s to help a friend. Discretion, you understand, is vital.”
    A smile drew deeper creases into the man’s lined face. “Then allow me to exclaim now, just this once—I’ve only heard of such things as a possibility. Never thought to hold such rarity in my own hands. Where do they come from—do ye know? Africa?”
    “India—these, anyway.”
    “India.” Macnab echoed him reverently as he shook the gems together. “Ye must have searched for months looking for rubies so close a match. Those are rare enough too. Though the ones in the Nottingham pieces are nearly as clear and bright, I grant you.”
    He had shared his search with absolutely no one. Frustration had nearly bested him once or twice too. “Six months. I trust no jeweler in England enough to handle them and keep quiet about it.”
    Macnab let the jewels drip back into the box. Blinked, and blinked again as he now drew in that sharp breath. “I’m right honored, Yer Grace. Right honored. I’ll ne’er breathe a word, nor will I put it to paper. And if by chance my Maggie asks why I’ve not recorded the work I’ve done, I’ll tell her ye wanted no proof that the earbobs weren’t original to the set. Family secrets, ye ken. Yer mother can claim to have found them, misplaced all this time.”
    A grin pulled at the corners of Brice’s mouth. “I appreciate it. And I shall pay you—”
    “The price of gold and labor, and not a pence more. Yer father, God rest his soul, helped me from a tough spot some years ago.” He lowered the lid and clasped the box in his hands. “I’m only thankful for a chance to repay one of his own, in small part.”
    A bit of the weight on Brice’s shoulders eased. He closed the more ornate box and handed it over as well, for comparison as Macnab worked. “It isn’t so small to me. I’m grateful.”
    “Say no more of it.” The old man levered