by Jo Goodman
“I imagine he did so to see you.”
She nodded. “He admitted as much. He wanted to tell me that you had taken a mistress.”
Emma thought Restell might curse or otherwise take exception to this intelligence. Not so much as an eyelash flickered. He did not blink or shift his weight in the chair. Neither of his eyebrows lifted in the cynical arch he often affected. The corners of his mouth remained as flat as the seam of his lips.
She could not have imagined that such profound stillness could be so threatening. She knew a moment’s unease, not for herself, but for Neven Charters. “Restell?”
“Go on,” he said. “He is referring to you, of course.”
“That’s right. He’s known for a fortnight. There must be gossip as a consequence of you escorting me to the hell.”
Restell’s response was dry as dust. “How clever he is to keep his ear to the ground. The only surprise is that he waited so long to bring the news to you.”
“You judge him harshly, Restell. He was quite aware that his behavior was beyond the pale. He came to me only after he told Marisol what he’d learned.”
“That does not improve my opinion of him. I do not trust his motives, and neither should you. If someone was compelled to tell you, it should have been your cousin.”
“She would have announced it publicly. Indeed, she almost did. Recall that tea was with your mother, your sisters, and the countess. She baited me. I would not have been on my guard if not for Mr. Charters.”
“I must remind you that Mr. Charters gave Miss Vega the bait.”
Emma sighed. “I still think you are severe in your judgment.”
“Then I freely admit my confusion. If it was not Charters or his announcement that you found disagreeable, what set you off at a run?”
“I do not think I ran.”
“McCleod and Shaw would beg to differ, but we will leave them out of it. Tell me the rest, please.”
“I cannot like it that you are so bloody single-minded.”
Restell was wholly unoffended. The smile he offered her was perfectly genial. “Like a dog with a bone.”
“Oh, very well. Mr. Charters was banging his walking stick against his boot. It was unnerving. He has one with a brass tip, and the sound of it against the leather welt over and over simply made my head pound. I remained on the sidewalk as long as I could, but I was afraid I would be sick or faint or begin to scream. Discovering you had a trio of mistresses would have been less distressing than what he was doing with that stick.”
Restell was immediately solicitous. He sat up and leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Emma. You did well, though, to get away as you did. Not so long ago you couldn’t have managed it.”
Much struck by this observation, Emma became reflective. “It’s true, isn’t it? I remember thinking fearless. Odd, that, because I wasn’t fearless at all. I only pretended that I was. I think I might have fooled myself.”
He smiled at that. “Quite effective, is it not?”
“I could not have predicted it.” Emma swung her feet onto the window bench and curled comfortably against the pillows in the corner. “Perhaps I will fool myself tomorrow as well. That is worth considering.”
“Oh?”
“I am determined to call upon Lady Rivendale on the morrow.”
“You are? I thought you would be with Sir Arthur.”
“In the afternoon. I want to speak to the countess about one of the paintings in her music room. The Sir Anthony Eden. Do you know it?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. Is it a portrait?”
“A seascape. I had opportunity to study it while I was convalescing in her home.”
“You wish to purchase it from her?”
“Oh, no. Mr. Charters informed me that it’s a copy.”
“Really?”
Emma nodded. “He has the original in his home.”
“So you mean to tell her ladyship the truth?”
“I haven’t decided. Mr. Charters said he would not tell her, but I think she might want to know the truth. I’ve listened to her discuss her collection with my uncle, and I think it is a point of some pride to her. She owns a Vermeer, you know, and a Reynolds. Even her lesser pieces show that she is particular in her taste. She mentioned that she intends that her paintings should be divided equally between her godson and his sister when she turns up her toes. That is her description of her eventually passing, by the way, not mine.”
“I’m sure it is,” Restell said. “And I imagine it did not escape your attention that her godson’s sister is Ferrin’s wife and my sister-in-law.”
“No, that was borne home to me. I confess, it caused me to feel a sense of obligation that I had not felt before. When I saw the painting again this afternoon, my curiosity was roused. It is not as fine a copy as I originally supposed. I wish to hear how she came to make the purchase, then I will decide what I must say about it.”
“Very well.”
“You do not think it’s unseemly of me to impose my presence on her? She hasn’t invited me.”
“I’ll send a note around in the morning of your intention to call. She will be intrigued, I think, and quite happy for your attention. I am accounted to be a favorite of hers since I made my proposal to you in her music room, as are you because you had the great good sense to accept it. I imagine that we could not be higher in her estimation short of conceiving our firstborn there.”
Emma set her mouth in a parody of prudery. “And I believe, Mr. Gardner, that Mrs. Posey’s frequent interruptions were the only thing that gave you pause.” Uncurling at the window seat, Emma stood then crossed the room to her husband’s side. She took his hand and bid him rise. Her smile was an invitation now. “Come, I know where there is a pianoforte.”
Lady Rivendale reclined comfortably on her chaise and watched her guest study the Eden seascape. “Your expression is very intense, Mrs. Gardner. You will crease your brow permanently with such an aspect.”
Listening with just half an ear, Emma simply nodded.
The countess was not deterred. “Sir Arthur has remarked on your earnest nature. I must say that yesterday’s spirited defense of your husband did much to confirm that opinion in my mind.” Her attention strayed to the painting. She tilted her head to one side and pondered the seascape. “What is it that has piqued your interest? The composition is altogether uninspiring, I think, but I admire the vibrancy of the colors. Eden is very good at capturing the power of the sea. One might expect to touch the painting and come away with wet fingertips.”
Stepping closer to the painting and raising her hand, Emma glanced in Lady Rivendale’s direction. “May I?” she asked.
“Touch it? Yes, of course.”
Emma placed the pad of her index finger at the lower left-hand corner of the painting. She slipped the tip of her nail under the frame and made a scraping, then examined her nail.
“What is it?” asked Lady Rivendale.
“I’m not certain,” Emma said. “I truly did not expect to find paint on my nail. This piece is far more than a century old after all. A painting is considered fully dry after sixty or eighty years.”
“I must say, I was not thinking you meant to take a poke at the thing.”
Emma had the grace to flush. “I beg your forgiveness. I didn’t know I meant to do it, either.” She dropped her hand to her side and stepped away from the painting to remove further temptation to touch it. “May I know how you acquired this particular work?”
“Goodness. I shall have to think on it.” Her brow creased in a way that was not so different than Emma’s earlier expression. “I believe it was from the Battenburn estate. Yes. Yes, I’m certain of it.” Her countenance smoothed, becoming thoughtful, not troubled. “It was all very sad about the baron and his wife. They came to a bad end under circumstances that are still not known well. The estate languished for several years in the hands of solicitors while the true heirs wer
e sorted out. Battenburn had a stunning collection of art and artifacts. You might inquire of Mr. Charters. He will know something about it. The evening he was here, he mentioned that he also acquired paintings from the Battenburn heirs.”
“Were you discussing the Eden painting at the time?”
Lady Rivendale tapped her cheek with her forefinger. “No, I do not recall that the Eden came up in the course of our discussion.”
“Then you have other paintings from that estate?”
The countess shook her head. “I don’t. Now that I consider it, I’m not at all sure why he introduced the Battenburns into the conversation.”
Emma supposed it was because Neven’s mind was occupied by his discovery that the Eden in Lady Rivendale’s possession was a copy. “I expect that I shall see Mr. Charters this afternoon. He has business with my uncle.”
“Then Sir Arthur will be at home today?”
“Yes. I am going there directly.”
“Oh, then I suppose he will be painting.”
Emma was careful to temper her smile. Lady Rivendale could hide neither her hopefulness nor her disappointment. “I believe that is his intention, yes, except for the time he spends with Mr. Charters. However, regardless of his plans, I know he would welcome your arrival.”
“You know it?” the countess asked cautiously.
“Uncle Arthur has said as much to me.”
“He has? Oh, how very good you are to tell me.”
Emma was glad of the change of subject and happily encouraged Lady Rivendale’s interest in Sir Arthur. She answered her ladyship’s questions, amusing her with anecdotes that complimented Sir Arthur’s character and underscored his charm. When Emma determined it was appropriate to take her leave, the countess did not inquire about her interest in the Eden, or even seem to recall that it had been the purpose of her visit. In every way, that was to Emma’s liking.
Arms braced against the balustrade outside her uncle’s studio, Emma watched Marisol step onto the sidewalk and open her parasol. She twirled it as she walked away from the house, her maid following at a discreet distance. Looking around for a few moments longer, Emma finally spied Lewis trudging dutifully after her cousin, though she suspected his real interest was the provocative swing of the maid’s skirt.
“Can Covington Street truly be so remarkable?”
Startled, Emma’s left hand slipped on the rail, and she had the sensation of falling before she managed to jump back and find her land legs. “I didn’t hear you,” she said, turning sharply on her heel. She threw out one arm to ward off Neven Charters’s approach. “I’m fine. Truly, I have no need of your assistance.”
Neven halted his advance. His gaze dropped to her outstretched arm, then lifted to her face. “I suppose you are recalling the mishap at the fountain. At least there is no chance that you will drown here.”
Emma had no appreciation for him trying to make light of an awkward moment. “You might have announced yourself on the stairs.”
“You are right, of course. It did not occur to me that I wasn’t heard. I didn’t try to hide my approach.”
She did not apologize for her churlishness. Her heart was still thumping hard in her chest, and the air seemed distinctly thin. The balcony rail was at her back, and there was naught but the sidewalk and street below to cushion her fall. The vision of herself sprawled and broken upon it seized her mind and would not be easily put aside.
“Come,” Neven said, beckoning her with his fingertips. “You are shaking.”
Emma did not accept the hand he held out to her. Instead, she turned sideways and slipped past him, stepping over the sill and into the studio on her own. Without waiting to see if he followed, she reached for an apron and put it on, then began setting out the materials she required to size a new canvas.
“Have I given you disgust of me?” asked Neven. He took up a stool at the end of the table. “Should I have said nothing at all about your husband’s mistress?”
“That you insist on mentioning it again does not make you a restful companion.”
“Sir Arthur said that you wished to speak to me when my business with him was concluded. Did I misunderstand, or was I misled?”
“Neither, but if I’d been informed that your business was ended, I would have come to you.”
“Should I take that to mean you are not comfortable meeting with me here in the studio?”
“You may take any meaning you wish, but my desire was not to inconvenience you.”
Neven’s narrowed glance revealed his skepticism. “You are cold toward me of a sudden.”
“Perhaps I am,” Emma said. She made no apology for it. She smoothed the linen over the small, twelve-by-twelve stretcher frame Sir Arthur had chosen. Turning it over, she made certain the fabric was securely tacked. “I visited Lady Rivendale this morning. I wanted to see the Eden painting again.”
“You did?”
She nodded, wrinkling her nose slightly as she opened a jar of rabbit skin glue. When she located the brush she wanted in a wooden box on the shelf behind her, she began applying the glue in even strokes onto the stretched linen. “I agree with your assessment of the painting.”
“I didn’t realize you had ever questioned my opinion. I told you that I own the original, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s what you told me.”
Neven Charters frowned. “I’m not certain I approve of what I hear in your tone, Emmalyn. Do you think I lied?”
“No. Not at all.” She finished the first application of glue, set the brush aside, then picked up a bowl of finely ground chalk to spread across the surface. “Lady Rivendale told me she purchased the painting from the Battenburn estate.”
“Did she? That is interesting. The heirs have much to account for, then. They, or their representatives, are guilty of perpetuating a fraud.”
“You also told me you purchased your Eden there.”
“And so I did. Several other pieces as well.”
“But you’re certain yours is the original.”
“Quite certain.”
“Mighten it simply be a better copy than the one the countess owns?”
“I don’t think so.” Neven brushed a dusting of chalk away from the edge of the table before he set his forearm upon it. “You did not find her ladyship’s copy well-executed?”
“No, I didn’t. It’s odd because I do not recall thinking that when I studied it before.”
“It was not shown in the best of light, I suspect.”
“That probably accounts for it. It was a good deal brighter in the music room this morning.” Emma finished layering the linen with chalk dust. As soon as it dried, she would add another layer of glue and then more chalk until she was satisfied the linen was properly sized. This priming would keep the oil paints from making direct contact with the fabric. Out of the corner of her eye she observed Neven was no longer watching her work, rather he seemed deep in his own study. She waited him out, certain he was working up to some question he meant to put to her.
“Would you like to see the Eden in my gallery, Emmalyn? I suspect it would rest your curiosity.”
Chapter 14
“You are very pensive,” Restell said, watching Emma stare out the window of the carriage. “In point of fact, you’ve said little this evening. Wynetta remarked on it as we were leaving.”
“Did she? I suppose I have not been good company.” The expression she turned on Restell was a guilty one. “I do apologize if I’ve been a bit off.”
“Are you sickening for something?”
She shook her head and returned her attention to the view outside her window. Her card play had been abysmal tonight. Wynetta and her husband had trounced her and Restell. For herself she did not mind, but Restell was a good player and did not enjoy losing, especially to his own sister. “I meant to play better,” she told him. “I’m sorry I could not follow the cards.”
“It did seem as if your mind was elsewhere.”
&n
bsp; Emma knew it was true.
“Just as it is now,” Restell said. “Dare I assume that your call upon Lady Rivendale is what still occupies your thoughts?”
Her head snapped around. “Am I so transparent? How did you know?”
“You haven’t said a word about it. Silence is usually a sign.”
“Of course,” she said softly. “Shall I tell you now?”
“If you like.”
“Very well, but I shall tell you the part you will like least first: I spoke to Mr. Charters today—alone—in my uncle’s studio.”
Restell said nothing for a moment. “I hope you’re right, and this is the worst of it.”
Emma accounted for her time with Lady Rivendale, then described her exchange with Neven Charters. “I did not expect he would come to the studio,” she said afterward. “Certainly it was not my intent that he should. He made it seem that he was doing me a favor by attending me there.”
“But you thought otherwise?”
“Yes.”
“You are usually charitable in assigning motives to Charters.”
“I know.” She added somewhat reluctantly. “I was made uneasy by his presence. I cannot describe it better than that.”
“That’s sufficient.” Restell regarded Emma thoughtfully. “What is it that you suspect, Emma? That Charters is also in possession of a copy of the Eden painting?”
“No. I think he has the original in his possession. Do you recall seeing it hanging in his gallery?”
“No, but then neither do I recall noticing Lady Rivendale’s work.”
“I thought you would say that.” She sighed. “Mr. Charters perceived I had some doubts. He invited me to examine his painting.”
Restell used his forefinger to tip his hat back so Emma could not mistake the gravity of his expression. “This is what I’m liking least.”
“I did not accept, Restell. I would not, not without you or Marisol at my side.”
