The Puzzle of a Bastard

by Sande, Linda Rae

  “Acquisition?” Gabe repeated.

  “An Attic vase. It’s in my office in Oxford Street.”

  The younger man’s eyes widened. “Who did you buy it from?”

  Tom leaned toward Gabe and said, “Lord Henley acquired it on my behalf from a private collector in Athens. It arrived on the Sea Breeze this morning—”

  “Intact?”

  “Indeed. I am fairly sure the woman in the design is Aphrodite, but I’m afraid I cannot identify anyone else, nor am I sure which mythological story it’s meant to depict,” Tom continued. “It’s possibly the birth of Aphrodite. Would you be up for the challenge?”

  “I would, indeed,” Gabe replied, a grin appearing. “It would have to be outside of museum hours, of course.”

  “Of course,” Tom replied. “Perhaps you could stop by on your way to the museum in the morning?”

  Gabe thought a moment and asked, “Is eight o’clock too early?”

  “Not at all. I have a meeting scheduled a bit later than that. Would you like a ride to Trenton House?” Arthurs’ was only a ways down in St. James Street, but Tom felt honor-bound to offer his coach.

  “I came in the Trenton town coach,” Gabe said. “But thank you for the offer.” After another moment, he leaned forward and asked, “Pray tell, who is it that warms your bed these days?”

  Tom arched a brow, at first tempted to reply that it was none of Gabe’s business. But he saw that Gabe wasn’t asking for the purpose of teasing him. “Unfortunately, no one,” he replied. “Or perhaps it is fortunate. The pursuit of the perfect woman for me is proving rather difficult. So much so, I have ceased thinking about it.”

  His face displaying a look of disbelief, Gabe said, “You do realize that once you find her, you’ll have to chase her until she catches you,” he warned.

  His brows furrowing at hearing the odd comment, Tom finally allowed a chuckle. “Perhaps that is what I am doing wrong. I will see you in the morning. Good night.”

  Gabe watched the older man take his leave of White’s before he settled back in his chair. Try as he might, he couldn’t not think of Mrs. Longworth.

  The woman was proving to be vexing even when she wasn’t in the same room.

  And he rather doubted she was chasing him.

  Chapter 9

  A Homecoming of Sorts

  An hour-and-a-half later, at Woodscastle

  Having finished another chapter of The Story of an Earl, Emily was about to close the book and head to her bedchamber, but she instead poured another cup of lukewarm tea. She sat pondering the leather-bound book, dimpling at the thought that she had determined the identity of the actual earl on whose life the book had been based.

  Written nearly twenty years ago, The Story of an Earl was Lord Sommers’ follow-up to The Story of a Baron. Both tomes were filled with thinly veiled characters based on real-life aristocrats, so half the fun of reading the stories was trying to determine who was who.

  Emily was fairly certain she had figured out the main characters, but then an odd comment or unlikely event would have her second-guessing her choices.

  Thinking of taking the book with her to bed, Emily stood up and dared a glance out the windows. She had deliberately remained in the library all evening. Should James Burroughs decide to begin his tenure at Woodscastle this night, as he had implied during tea earlier that afternoon, she wanted to be awake to greet him.

  Or perhaps Lady Andrew had talked him into staying at Merriweather Manor, at least for one more night. Emily could imagine how much Jane would want her stepson to remain close. He had just returned from having been away for a long time, after all.

  The sound of horses’ hooves and a town coach had her smiling in anticipation. For some reason she could not explain, her brief visit with her distant cousin had left her feeling lighter than she had in some time. She had thought at first that ever seeing him again would merely prove painful, a reminder of why she had been so heartsick this past year.

  Instead, their conversation had been easy. She had remembered his preferences for milk in his tea and his distaste for Dutch biscuits as if she had learned of them only the day before. She had even teased him about his choice of biscuit, wondering if a gentleman could change his opinion of a particular flavor. Now she knew it was unlikely.

  Despite being Henry’s brother, James was nothing like him and yet was just as easy to be with.

  A sudden lump in her throat had her fighting back tears, and her hand clutched the ring that hung from the gold chain around her neck.

  The sound of the front door opening had her straightening, determined to greet James as if he was the long-lost cousin he was.

  Rounding the corner from the library to the entry, Emily watched as two footmen carried a trunk between them. “I can escort you,” she offered, curious as to why James hadn’t yet appeared at the front door.

  She made her way up the stairs, glad she had ordered the sconces remain lit in the hallway above. The footmen followed her into the bedchamber, depositing the trunk at the end of the bed before turning to head back down the stairs.

  As she was about to go back down, James was making his way up. “Welcome to Woodscastle,” she said.

  James grinned and took her hand in his. “I am glad to be here,” he replied, and then lowered his lips to the back of her hand. “Your brother sends his regards.”

  “Ah, so you found him,” she said as she dimpled.

  “He was at White’s,” he affirmed, offering his arm as they made their way to the bedchamber.

  Emily placed her hand on it. “As were many others, no doubt.”

  “It was quite crowded.”

  “Did you see many of your old friends?”

  He frowned. “No, I did not,” he replied, in a manner suggesting he hadn’t given it any thought before her query.

  “But you made new acquaintances,” she said, not making it a question.

  “I take it you are familiar with Gabe Wellingham?”

  Emily stopped just inside the bedchamber to turn up a candle lamp. Intending to show him the dressing room and bathing chamber, his comment had her regarding him with surprise. “I am, of course. He is my mother’s cousin. Ever so polite. I last saw him at a dinner party I attended at Worthington House just a few weeks ago.” She paused before she turned to regard him. “I take it he was at White’s tonight?”

  James nodded as his gaze took in the bedchamber. “I think we may have teased him overmuch.”

  A musical giggle erupted from Emily. “He no longer looks as much like Cupid as he used to,” she claimed.

  Allowing a chuckle, James said, “I thought at first he did look like Cupid. But, no, our teasing was over one of his co-workers.” He did a quick survey of the chamber. “This will do nicely,” he said, moving to stand next to her by the fireplace. Although he had ridden in the town coach from White’s to Merriweather Manor, he had elected to ride his horse from there once his trunks were loaded on the coach.

  “A co-worker at the museum?” Emily asked, wondering why Gabe Wellingham would be teased if not for his blond curls, blue eyes, and resemblance to Cupid.

  “Indeed. A potter. Your brother and I may have placed bets on his bachelor status ending as a result of her. It was silly, really.”

  Emily couldn’t imagine Tom being so frivolous with money. He rarely placed bets, even during horse races.

  “This woman would have to be just like his mother for him to even look at her twice,” she said.

  James’ brows arched in surprise. The earl’s son had made the same claim earlier that evening. “Humph. Then I will lose my bet in four months’ time, for I was not left with the impression that Mrs. Longworth is anything like the countess.”

  Emily blinked. “Mrs. Longworth?” she repeated. “The potter you speak of is... is a woman?”

  It was James’ turn to blink. “Apparently so.”

  “The potter who does the restorations at the museum?”

  James rega
rded Emily for a moment, amused by her expression of shock. “You speak as if you have met her but thought she was a... a man, perhaps?” he guessed, just then remembering Tom’s reaction when Gabe had spoken of her.

  Giving her head a shake, Emily said, “I haven’t had the pleasure, but I have read the character. I remember Tom asking what I thought about his... her qualifications when he was deciding whether or not to approve her hiring at the museum. I had no reason to suspect she was a woman when I read it.”

  “Well, apparently Mr. Wellingham didn’t either. At least until he discovered he’s vexed by her.”

  Emily dimpled. “I rather doubt anything will come of it. As I recall, she had a good deal of experience at one of the largest pottery factories in all of England, so she’s probably much older than him. Besides, he’s far too young to be thinking of marriage.”

  “And yet three of your contemporaries have seen fit to marry recently,” he countered. He had learned earlier that day that the Grandby twins, Angelica and George, and Gabe’s younger sister, Anne, had married only the week before.

  “One of them to one of yours,” she replied just as quickly, referring to Sir Benjamin, heir to the Wadsworth earldom. He was in his mid-thirties.

  “Touché,” James said, acting as if he’d been stabbed. “Ben had to, though. He’s due to inherit and will require an heir.”

  Emily smiled, and James grinned at seeing the delight in her eyes. Did she have any idea how happy she made him when she found humor in his antics?

  “Lady Angelica will make him the perfect wife,” she assured him. “I was at the dinner party where he announced he was going to propose. And then, apparently he did once all of us had taken our leave that night.”

  “He is a better man than I,” James remarked. “Cupid will have to empty his quiver and not miss a single shot to have any effect on me,” he claimed.

  “Well, Society will not let you go unmarried for long,” Emily warned, a grin still teasing her lips. “You are the grandson of a duke. I can hardly belief you haven’t yet been caught in the parson’s mousetrap.”

  He pounded a fist against his chest. “You wound me, my lady,” he replied, pretending offense. Then he straightened, his eyes widening. “Society will demand the same of you,” he countered.

  She shook her head. “Not if I choose the life of a spinster.”

  James sobered. “You wouldn’t.”

  Emily was about to explain herself but decided it was a discussion best left for another day. “Did you find the bank agreeable?”

  Shrugging, James said. “It’s much the same as when I was last there, but the area around it looks as if change is imminent.”

  Furrowing a dark brow, Emily realized what he meant when she remembered the nearby church. “They’re going to tear down St. Bartholomew’s, probably in a year or two.” She was about to say more, but Humphrey appeared at the door.

  Suddenly aware she was in the guest bedchamber with James after midnight—without so much as a servant to act as a chaperone—she said, “I will let you get settled, Mr. Burroughs. We can continue this discussion over breakfast.” She dipped a curtsy and then hurried from the room, hoping her reddening face hadn’t been apparent to James.

  Directing a neutral expression in the direction of the butler, James said, “Humphrey.”

  The butler gave a slight bow. “Are you in need of anything before you retire, sir?”

  James’ first thought was of Emily, but he quickly erased the image from his head. “Peace and quiet is all I require. Good night.”

  Humphrey bowed and shuffled back the way he had come, leaving James suddenly all alone, and the room very quiet.

  Well, he had what he claimed he wanted.

  So why was he looking forward to breakfast with Emily?

  Chapter 10

  Appraising Aphrodite

  The following morning in Tom’s office in Oxford Street, London

  Having never stepped foot into Tom’s office before, Gabe Wellingham took a moment to survey the posh hall just inside the door. Thick carpet swallowed up the sounds of traffic in Oxford Street. The walls appeared polished—wood paneled on the lower half and silk-covered up to the mouldings. The deep green of the fabric reflected a moire pattern that moved with his every step.

  “Good morning, sir,” a secretary said from where he sat behind a marble counter.

  “Morning. I am Gabe Wellingham, here to see Mr. Grandby.”

  “Ah, you’re here about the vase,” the man said. He stood and moved to a door on his right. A moment later, and Tom appeared.

  “You found the place,” Tom said as he held out his hand.

  “Wasn’t hard, but didn’t this used to be a solicitor’s office?”

  “It was,” he acknowledged. “Father had the office next door, and when I joined the business, he bought out the solicitor and we combined the two. Six months of renovations gave us both good-sized offices, but now that Father is retired...” He allowed a shrug. “His office has become a show place for the pieces he’s collected on his travels.”

  Gabe glanced across the hall and caught a glimpse of what Tom meant. “I imagine his study at home must be full of artifacts as well?” he guessed.

  Tom agreed. “A veritable museum.”

  “Will you look for another partner?”

  Shaking his head, Tom said, “I’ll let Father see to it. It’s possible one of my younger brothers will join me.” He waved Gabe into his office.

  “Now this is an office,” Gabe said with appreciation. “Mine is but a tiny room in the basement of the museum.” His gaze fell on the caryatid that held the Greek vase, and he made a sound of appreciation.

  “I have to admit, my reaction was the same,” Tom said as he admired his acquisition.

  Gabe stood before the black Attic vase featuring red figures and stared in wonder. “She’s beautiful,” he breathed. “And she’s definitely Aphrodite.”

  “Indeed,” Tom agreed. “What else can you tell me?”

  “Its shape is what we call a pelike—”

  “Not an amphora?” Tom asked.

  “Similar, because amphorae also have the two handles and the narrow neck. But pelike are distinguished by their belly,” he explained as he traced the curved outline of the near-spherical pot. “Where an amphora is wider near the top.”

  “Ah, I see,” Tom murmured.

  “The style of the art would suggest it’s from the Classical period,” Gabe continued.

  “And who are the other characters featured in the scene?”

  Holding a magnifying glass between his face and the vase, Gabe studied one of the males depicted in the artwork. “The one flying near Aphrodite’s head is Eros,” he said quietly. “The one with the trident there on the right is Poseidon. You can see there’s a fish there, too.”

  “I thought so,” Tom murmured. “And then who is the one on the right?”

  Gabe chuckled. “That would be Hermés. He appears to be resting on a plinth.” He pointed to the staff the character held. “That’s a kerykeion. A herald’s wand,” he said as he straightened. “I have to admit, I’m quite jealous.”

  Tom dipped his head. “I’m sure you can afford one should you decide to start collecting them,” he said.

  “Not this one,” Gabe replied, his manner most serious. “That cockle shell she’s standing behind? That represents the castrated member of Uranus.”

  Tom winced. “I think I recall that story.”

  “Then you must recognize what this image depicts,” Gabe prompted.

  “Is it truly the birth of Aphrodite?” Tom asked in a whisper.

  “It is. Did you have reason to think otherwise?”

  Tom shook his head. “When I sent word to Lord Henley that I was in search of such an artifact, he wrote back that he thought it would be easy to find one. I, of course, thought he was boasting.”

  Gabe continued to study the decoration around the edges. “No doubt there are others just like it or
similar, but this one is in exceptionally good shape. I cannot imagine Mrs. Longworth having to use any of her skills to improve upon it,” he murmured.

  “How old do you suppose it is?”

  Gabe stepped back and regarded the entire piece. “Probably from around 350 BCE,” he murmured. “May I ask how much you had to pay for it?”

  “It was equivalent to about a hundred pounds, plus the cost of shipping it here,” Tom replied. The way he said the words suggested he was pleased at the price.

  “Did you have Wellingham Imports handle it for you?”

  “Of course,” Tom replied. “My uncle would have been offended if I hadn’t.”

  “You did well. Had I been the owner, I would not have parted with it at all. But knowing what the museum has had to pay for some recent acquisitions, you might find its worth closer to two-hundred pounds.”

  Impressed, Tom straightened. “I shall take very good care of it,” he murmured.

  “You may wish to find a more secure mount for it,” Gabe suggested. “I would hate to hear that someone had knocked it off its pedestal.”

  Tom pointed toward the shelves along the short wall of his office. Books filled the outer edges of the shelves, but sculptures were on display in the center of each. “I’ll move it there. Place it right in the middle,” he said.

  “And insure it if you can,” Gabe said as he turned his attention back to the pelike. “Seeing this makes me wonder what other treasures we’re going to receive from the hold of the Sea Breeze,” he said. “So far, I’ve only received three items.”

  “How many more are you expecting?”

  “At least seven,” Gabe replied. “And I’m hoping they will all arrive intact.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  Gabe allowed a shrug. “Mrs. Longworth will be very busy,” he replied. “Which reminds me. I need to take my leave. I’m expected in my office shortly, and I will have to pay a call on the potter.”

  “Oh?” The word was accompanied by waggling brows.