Three hundred pounds. A diamond-pendent necklace that had once been his mother’s. A broach inlaid with mother-of-pearl. A silk sachet with a trinket contained of conflicted recollections, and a pair of gold cufflinks. The last item surprised August a little, and he eyed Jefferson curiously as he rolled the stemmed, auric stubs around in his hand. “Every bit helps, I suppose,” Jefferson said with a shrug. “I only wish we had more, but it was all we could—” “It’s more than enough,” August interrupted, realizing his voice was a bit gruff. It was more than he, Maeve and Augusta needed to make an escape, and by no measure a small amount of money and wealth by common standards—but how long could it last? If they were humble with acquisitions, perhaps a year or two? But again, they would be starting from scratch, leaving Boston and heading west for a fate unknown with nothing but the clothes on their backs, Maeve’s still the ones given to her by Owen before the fire had consumed him, and the love in their hearts.
