Ducal Encounters 03 - Portrait of a Duke

by Wendy Soliman

  “Who is with Grandpapa?” Nia asked.

  “He is having a good day, chérie,” Sophia replied. “The most lucid he has been for weeks. The boys are up there with him and he is teaching them to play chess.”

  Nia brightened. If her grandfather was clear-headed enough for chess, that was a very good sign. “That should keep them occupied for a while,” she replied.

  “Sean has been telling me about his findings in London, Nia,” Frankie said. “I am so very sorry it has come to this.”

  “Thank you, but it only confirms what we already suspected.”

  “Who owns this latest forgery?” Lord Vincent asked.

  “Sir Angus Smythe,” Sean replied.

  “Brooke Street?”

  “Yes. You know him, I assume.”

  “He is a member of my club. Who has the other two?”

  Sean gave the names but Lord Vincent shook his head. “I don’t think I am acquainted with either of them.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Sean replied. “They are wealthy nabobs who wouldn’t move in your social circles.”

  “No matter.”

  Lord Vincent paused to sip his tea. He was elegantly draped in an old armchair that she happened to know was excruciatingly uncomfortable, as was all the furniture in this room. It was the shabbiest room imaginable, and their sophisticated visitor ought to have looked quite out of place in it. Instead, he gave every impression of being perfectly at his ease. Nia and Hannah had done their best to brighten the space up with vases of flowers plucked from the wilderness that had once been a garden, and displaying the few decent remaining ornaments in their possession. Two of their grandfather’s paintings, favourites of Nia’s that she had so far stubbornly refused to sell, hung on the walls.

  If Lord Vincent noticed the dilapidated state of his surroundings, he was far too well-mannered to comment upon them as, of course, was Frankie.

  “You said just now that you had an idea how to expose the forger,” Nia said when Lord Vincent did not immediately speak again.

  “Yes, about that. Is your grandfather absolutely determined not to do more portrait work?”

  “He cannot, or rather he could, but we as a family are not prepared to take the risk with his reputation,” Sean answered before Nia could. “It is all he has left, and is precious to him, as it is to us all.”

  “I understand that, but if he were to be commissioned to paint a portrait of someone who knows of his condition and would not speak of it—”

  “A person of consequence?” Frankie caught Lord Vincent’s eye and smiled, as though she knew what or whom he was referring to. Nia did not, but she sat forward and fixed Lord Vincent with an intent look.

  “Precisely so,” Lord Vincent said in reply to Frankie’s question.

  “A duke, perhaps.”

  Nia gasped. “Your brother…his grace…but I do not see how…” Too surprised to string an intelligible sentence together, Nia shared a glance with an equally astounded-seeming Sean and gave up trying.

  “That is a remarkably generous offer,” Sean said, recovering first. “But I do not see how it would serve.”

  “There is nothing generous about it. Zach’s portrait is long overdue, but he keeps finding reasons to delay sitting for it. Our mother often remarks upon his neglect in that regard. To have such an eminent artist accept the commission would be sufficient to rouse even Zach from his ennui.” Lord Vincent paused. “Naturally, we would pay the going rate for your grandfather’s services and consider ourselves fortunate to have secured them.”

  “You are too generous,” Sophia said sotto voce, clearly as shocked as Nia felt.

  “It is remarkably generous of you,” Nia agreed, “but, like Sean, I fail to see how that would help to catch the forger.”

  “Nothing could be simpler,” Lord Vincent replied, placing his cup aside and leaning back in his uncomfortable chair. Nia thought she saw him wince. So he was human after all and the discomfort was finally getting the better of him. “Does your grandfather paint quickly?”

  “Extremely,” Sean replied. “Just so long as he is mentally acute, of course, but there is no rhyme or reason as to his state of mind, unfortunately.”

  “If he has his wits about him the entire time, how quickly would such a portrait be finished?”

  Nia and Sean exchanged a look. “Two to three weeks should be sufficient,” Nia replied.

  “Then even allowing for twice that long, we could set a date for six weeks’ time for a private preview at Winchester Park of your grandfather’s landscapes, with the portrait of my brother forming the centrepiece. The viewing, as I say, would be private but word would spread; you may rest easy on that score. And that word would tell the world that Patrick Trafford’s star is still very much in the ascendency.”

  Nia was again almost lost for words. “You would do that for us?” she managed to stutter.

  “With the greatest of pleasure, Miss Trafford,” he replied, sending her a searing smile that heated her cheeks, and all the rest of her. “The event would be invitation only, but it would be the most natural thing in the world for you to invite Smythe, Trafford, given that you recently viewed his forgery.”

  “And you intend to invite Patrick’s students as well, the ones we think might be responsible for the forgeries, in the hope that Sir Angus will recognise the one who sold him his painting?” Sophia’s smile was radiant. “But that is inspired!”

  “If the forger transacted the business with Smythe in person,” Lord Vincent warned them, raising a hand as though he did not wish to raise their hopes. “My suspicion is that he most likely would have done. He couldn’t risk including anyone else, unless he trusted them absolutely, for fear of the deceit being discovered.”

  “You know,” Sean mused, rubbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger as he thought the matter through. “It just might work. We had the devil’s own job getting rid of the three people we suspect. They would jump at the chance to have anything to do with Grandpapa again, and if one of them does not, then his reluctance will reveal him as the forger.”

  “Who are the individuals in question?” Lord Vincent asked.

  “There is a fellow called Parish,” Sean answered. “Damned good artist, but Grandpapa doubted if he would ever get to exploit his talent because he was prone to prolonged fits of depression. When in that condition, it wasn’t uncommon for him to abuse those who had commissioned portraits, or destroy perfectly good work because something about it offended his artistic eye.”

  “Artists can be very temperamental,” Sophia pointed out.

  “He left us because he became engaged to an heiress,” Sean said.

  “Well then, I don’t suppose he’s our man,” Lord Vincent replied.

  “He might well be,” Sean said. “The engagement was broken when the young lady’s father learned of it. He had not given his permission for it and did not approve of Parish. He seemed to think he could re-join our household at that point, but I set him straight on that matter.”

  “In which case, he could be set upon revenge,” Lord Vincent mused.

  “There is another gentleman by the name of Kenton,” Nia said, looking at her hands as she spoke his name.

  “Bounder tried to take liberties with my sister,” Sean said, scowling. “I sent him packing as soon as I heard of it.”

  “The devil he did!” Lord Vincent muttered.

  “Actually, he proposed to me, I declined and he accepted my decision. The unpleasantness only exists in Sean’s mind,” Nia said, blushing. “We got along quite well and he mistook my friendship for something more than it was. I did not wish to marry Mr. Kenton, but I don’t think for one moment that he is responsible for the forgeries.”

  “Is he capable of painting them?” Lord Vincent asked.

  “All three of the men in question are,” Sean answered before she could. “But my sister is right, I suppose. Perhaps I overreacted a little.”

  Nia quirked a brow. “A little?
”

  “Kenton remained in Belgium when we returned to England and my understanding is that he was starting to make a name for himself in his own right. Unless his fortunes took a downturn, he would have no reason to turn forger.”

  “All right,” Lord Vincent said. “I accept what you say, but will bear his name in mind. Who is the third suspect?”

  “A man by the name of Weale,” Sean said. “He returned to England with us but left us a few months ago because he received several commissions after exhibiting his work with Grandpapa’s last collection. However, there was some unpleasantness over one of them, we never did learn what. Word spread and the rest of the commissions were withdrawn.”

  “He most likely became too attached to the sitter’s daughter, or wife, or some female beneath his care,” Sophia said. Nia widened her eyes. She had not realised Mr. Weale was a womaniser, whereas Sophia had clearly got his measure. “Anyway, he tried to re-join us when we moved here, but Sean wouldn’t allow it.”

  “All three of them could easily have convinced themselves they have reasons aplenty to feel aggrieved,” Lord Vincent remarked in a considering tone.

  “Yes, I imagine so,” Nia replied.

  “Are they all in England? You mentioned Kenton remained in Brussels.”

  “I believe he has now returned to these shores,” Sean replied.

  “Do you have means of contacting them?”

  Sean nodded. “Oh yes, I know where they all are, sure enough. Since we got wind of the forgeries, I have made it my business to find out.”

  “Well then, what do you say to my suggestion? I hope, if your grandfather agrees, it would not inconvenience him to do the portrait at the Park. My brother is far too impatient to come here every day.”

  Nia suspected it was more likely Lord Vincent didn’t think Stoneleigh Manor a fit place for a duke to spend hours of his time. He was right about that and she appreciated his tact in not actually saying so.

  “Yes, I’m sure he would be agreeable, provided you have a place with plenty of natural light where he could do his work,” she replied. “I can drive him over each day and stay with him. He needs me to mix his paints, you see. Besides, he has become accustomed to either Sophia or me being with him all the time and he gets confused if he is alone for too long.”

  “Indeed.” Lord Vincent shared a smile between them. “Besides, we don’t want Drake or Miss Tilling to interfere. I have not absolutely absolved either of them of blame for the theft of the drawings of you, Miss Ash.”

  “You said you knew of a way to retrieve them,” Nia reminded him anxiously.

  “We shall ensure word gets about that the preview is for collectors with bottomless pockets. The drawings are, if I understand you correctly, some of the most inspired work your grandfather has ever done.” Lord Vincent glanced at Sophia as he spoke and sent her a rakish grin. “Given the subject matter, I can well understand his inspiration.”

  “Why, thank you, Lord Vincent,” Sophia replied, a wicked light illuminating her eyes.

  “We must assume the thief will be amongst those invited, and I cannot imagine he would let the opportunity pass him by to try and attract buyers.”

  “That would be rather daring,” Sean said hotly. “With all of us in the room.”

  “Indeed, but I think our thief would take the chance, especially if we make it known your grandfather plans to retire after this last exhibition and return to Ireland.”

  “He will want to have buyers lined up, ready to bid against one another, the moment Patrick leaves the country,” Frankie said musingly. “I dare say you are right, Lord Vincent. He sounds like an arrogant and rather desperate fellow who thinks he can get away with absolutely anything.”

  “With good reason, to date,” Nia pointed out gloomily.

  “Fear not. His arrogance will prove to be his downfall,” Lord Vincent replied calmly. “I have been meaning to ask, what servants do you have and how long have they been with you?”

  “You suspect our servants?” Sean asked, elevating one brow.

  Lord Vincent smiled. “I have a suspicious nature.”

  “We have Hannah, who was Sean’s nursemaid, then mine, so has been with us forever and her loyalty is beyond question,” Nia said. “I could not manage without her. Apart from her, we have just two maids-of-all-work, Annie and Beth.”

  Lord Vincent looked surprised, as well he might. It was hardly the army of servants he was accustomed to. “How long have they been with you?”

  “We acquired their services in Belgium,” Sean replied. “Sir Edward Fairstock died in an accident and his widow, Arabella Fairstock, discovered he had not left her well provided for. At least, that’s what we assume must have happened since she dismissed everyone except her personal maid, closed up the house her husband had rented and disappeared, leaving a string of unpaid debts behind her.”

  “It was too bad of her, really,” Sophia said, taking up the story. “Annie and Beth are English and travelled to Belgium with her and Sir Edward, making the Fairstocks responsible for their welfare. They had no means of getting back on their own and were stuck in a foreign country where they did not speak the language. Fortunately we heard about their plight, were in need of discreet servants, and so counted ourselves fortunate to procure their services.”

  Lord Vincent nodded. “But they also have reason to be grateful to you and so don’t sound as though they would be a threat.”

  “No, I agree,” Nia replied.

  Lord Vincent stood up and smiled at her. “Can I tell my mother she will have the pleasure of your company at dinner tomorrow so we can discuss the matter of the portrait, and this other business, at our leisure? You are, of course, included in the invitation, Trafford, as are you, Lady St. John.”

  “For my part, I accept with pleasure,” Frankie replied.

  “As do we all,” Sean added without bothering to consult Nia. “Thank you, Lord Vincent. We are very much obliged to you for your help.”

  Lord Vincent took his leave of them. Instead of ringing the bell, which probably didn’t work and even if it did Nia would not inconvenience Hannah, she walked to the door with Lord Vincent herself.

  “You need to move your horse,” he remarked, looking out at the garden. “He has made a very efficient job of that area of grass and is probably anxious to move on to the next.”

  “So he has. I shall see to it.”

  “No, allow me.”

  Before she could protest, Lord Vincent bounded down the crumbling steps, pulled up the stake to which Ned was tethered and move it and him to a fresh patch of grass.

  “Thank you,” Nia said, as she walked towards their ramshackle stable together to retrieve Lord Vincent’s stallion. “You have been remarkably kind.”

  “It is entirely my pleasure.”

  He reached out and grasped her chin between his gloved fingers. All of Nia’s recently formed resolve to resist his advances evaporated. She froze to the spot as she gazed up into eyes burning with unfathomable emotion. He lowered his head and brushed her lips with his own for the merest fraction of a second. So swiftly she might almost have imagined the gesture, except her lips burned from the contact, so she knew she had not.

  “Don’t imagine I have forgotten what we were doing before your brother found us,” he said, a dangerous light in his eye that caused her to shiver with anticipation as he released her chin, swung up into his saddle and raised a hand in farewell. “Until tomorrow night,” he said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Vince was the first of the brothers to enter the drawing room the following evening. Of his mother and sister there was, as yet, no sign. He helped himself to whisky and stood with his back to the fire, enjoying a moment’s solitude as he pondered upon the events of the previous day. He had been doing a great deal of pondering since becoming acquainted with the Traffords, and most of his mental perambulations had been centred upon one particular member of that rather unorthodox family.

  Niamh Trafford bot
h compelled and intrigued him, but he was unable to decide why. Her fierce loyalty towards her grandfather, and determination to protect him from the ugly side of human nature in his declining years, had won his admiration. Except he had been drawn to her before he knew any of that. His fixation upon her was totally baffling, especially since there was nothing remarkable about her.

  Everything about her was extraordinary.

  She was aware of his family’s influence and standing in society, knew there were three single brothers within its ranks, and that the future of any lady marrying into it would be secured for life. But she appeared unintimidated by their wealth and consequence, and had no apparent interest in being admired by any of the Sheridan males. That was so unusual that it almost made Vince suspicious. Young ladies and their ambitious mothers never tired of inventing stratagems to beguile, trap and trick them into matrimony. Vince thought they were immune to them all. Could it be that Nia Trafford had found a creative new means to achieve that ambition?

  Vince berated himself for his cynicism, not believing Nia capable of being so disingenuous. Her family had been in the district for over a fortnight and had made no attempt to bring themselves to the notice of the Sheridans. It was Vince who had inflicted himself upon them, thanks to the antics of Leo and Art. That chance meeting could not possibly have been contrived. Perhaps she really did intend to remain single and devote herself to her grandfather’s comfort during his declining years. Such single-minded devotion was as refreshing as it was admirable. It was also a timely lesson in humility. Vince chuckled. Perhaps he and his brothers were not so very irresistible after all.

  He continued to smile as he recalled her appearance the previous day; her hair a hopeless tangle cascading over her shoulders and tumbling down her back. Leaves were caught up in the unruly mass of curls, the ribbon that was supposed to hold it back hopelessly inadequate. He wondered if he should have told her that she had smears of dirt on her face to compete with the freckles she probably despised. In the end, he had decided he preferred her just the way she was, imperfections notwithstanding.