“True. My husband’s nephew, Teddy—he’s the one who holds my Reggie’s title now, you know—has been a tremendous help in my endeavors. I honestly underestimated how hard Bull would fight to protect that portrait. I would have never forgiven myself if BullorTeddy had come to harm. I hear they both had a rather frigid dunking. Such silly boys.”
Rosie slowly lowered her teacup to the saucer. “Bull was not protecting the portrait. He was protectingme.”
The old woman lit up. “Oh! That makes it far better, then.”
There was information all around, but none of it was making any sense. The Earl of Mistree? No bullets in the gun? Lady Mistree blackmailing the man she claimed was her dear friend?
“I do not understand, Lady Mistree: why did you send that letter to me? To Allie? Why would you steal from the National Portrait Gallery, and buy all the other paintings?” She gestured around to the portraits on easels—the small one from the wall of the Gallery, even the empty easel obviously set aside for the portrait Rosie carried now.
The old woman beamed as she glanced around. “I will explain it all. But first, I would like it very much if you called meAunt Eliza.”
Rosie’s confusion must have shown, because the old woman chuckled again as she leaned forward to place her teacup on the table beside her, and reached toward Rosie. Without thinking, she took the woman’s hand, marveling at the delicate strength.
“I am your mother’s Great Aunt Elizabeth,” Lady Mistree explained quietly, a twinkle in her eye. “She called meBetsy.I met you once, many years ago, when your mother brought you to visit. But since then I have watched you. Watched you and your mother both, to ensure you are happy.”
“We are,” Rosie whispered, not sure who exactly she was reassuring. “Da is—he is always—he is?—”
“And as for why I would do all of this…” The woman glanced around the room. “These paintings were all mine, at one point. Some of them were given away—by me or by others—and some were sold. Now I am dying, I wanted them back.” She glanced about in satisfaction. “Back here, with me. Where we belong.”
Rosie shifted, placing her cup down as well, and moving closer to the old woman so she could clasp both her hands around the one frail one. “So you stole them—or bought them back? From Madam Desiree and Lord Tittle-Tattle?”
“And others, too.” The old woman smiled. “I imagine, if you had come to this case a year ago when I began collecting my portraits, you would have found all of them as well. You are quite clever, my Rose.”
That was what Bull called her. Rosie glanced down at the ring she wore. “But the National Portrait Gallery would not sell you the one they owned.”
“Right!” Lady Mistree chuckled. “So I arranged for dear Teddy to steal it.”
A daring daylight robbery by the new Earl of Mistree.
“And Allie’s portrait, the one you tried to steal from us?—?”
The old woman smiled smugly. “I could have offered to purchase it from young Miss Hawthorne, of course, butthat would not have suited my goals. I got what I wanted for her, butyouhave made acquiring her portrait more difficult.”
Shaking her head in confusion, Rosie glanced at the nearest portrait. In this one, the mystery woman was a little younger, standing beside a swing in a garden. The leaves on the rosebushes behind her were beautifully crafted; Rosie could tell that the artist had put quite a lot of time into the plants.
“That one was her favorite,” Lady Mistree sighed, squeezing Rosie’s hand.
“Her?” Rosie swung her gaze back to the old woman. “These are not portraits of you? I assumed, when you said you wanted them back…”
“To remind myself of my youthful beauty as I slipped from this world? No, although she was always far more beautiful than I.” She nodded to the portraits. “These are all that remain of my younger sister Rosemary. These portraits…and you, my dear.”
Aunt Eliza.
Rosie remembered the genealogical research they’d done yesterday—had it only been yesterday? Before she’d gone to Bull’s room and her life had changed forever? “So you are Elizabeth Smith,” she breathed with a smile.
“Well done, my dear! IknewBull would benefit from having you at his side. Yes, my sister Rosemary was your mother’s grandmother. She was considered quite scandalous for taking so many lovers, and I am sorry to say that I do not even know ifshecould name little Amelia’s father. But the lassie was precious, and I—I was married to myReggie by then, and a Countess—made certain she was raised with all the benefits of my station, even after her mother passed. She married your grandfather quite young. We thought it might be the beginning of…well. I am sorry their marriage was not happy.”
Rosie’s stomach twisted. “You are not alone in that.”
Lady Mistree beamed at Rosie. “But your mother! Oh, your mother found happiness, and soon…” She lifted Rosie’s hand to smile at the ring. “Soon it will be your turn.”
Her sister, in the paintings. She was dying, and she wanted her sister back for a short time. But why would she think…
The truth struck Rosie. “Youpainted these portraits, did you not, Lady Mistree?”
“Aunt Eliza,” the old woman corrected gently.
And Rosie had to smile. “Aunt Eliza. This isyourwork. No wonder they are all unsigned. The identity of the artist has been one of the mysteries of this century, you know—second only to the identity of the subject.”
