“I used to paint quite extensively, my dear. It was one of the things Reggie liked about me—one of the many things, I flatter myself to admit. But we became interested in touring, and my oils didn’t travel well. When I tried to take it up again I fear I had lost some of the talent, along with the ability to see things up close…”
“You had remarkable talent,” Rosie assured her. “And your sister—my great-grandmother—lives on through your work.”
“Yes.” Aunt Eliza sighed in satisfaction as she settled against the bath chair. “Yes, Rosemary has always lived inmy heart, long after her death. She was my dearest friend, and she always said I was hers, for not turning my back on her as the rest of Society had.” Her pale eyes had a glint of humor in them. “Her Amelia was a serious little thing, but I see my sister in Georgia, and in you. Both you and your mother have been unafraid to grasp what life can offer, and I am so very proud to call you family.”
Rosie’s throat was rough from emotion. “I…am grateful to know you as my aunt.”
“An aunt who might have done some rather naughty things, but all for the greater good, I assure you.”
With a twitch of her brow, Rosie hummed. “Blackmailing poor innocent Allie?”
“Dear Rupert was takingforevergetting around to proposing to that poor girl!” Aunt Eliza shook her head. “My letter was intended to retrieve the final portraitandgive him the kick in the rear he needed! Otherwise I would have just offered Allison money for the portrait, for goodness’ sake!”
Chuckling, Rosie had to admit the truth as she pulled her hand from her great-great-aunt’s and stood. “Itdidnudge them toward marriage, which was quite a nice announcement to finally hear.” She bent and pulled Allie’s portrait from the briefcase, her fingers shaking. This was it. The end of the puzzle. She had—mostly—solved it. “And I am certain she would not begrudge you ownership of this. In fact, her intention was initially to send it to you as soon as possible, had Bull not requested a chance to study it.”
“And onceyoubecame involved—with that amazing disguise you chose!—I know you recognized the family resemblance and insisted on joining the investigation.” Theold woman chuckled again. “A mustache, of that proportion? Really, dear?”
Flushing, Rosie arranged the last portrait on the last easel. “In my defense, it was the only disguise I could think of where Bull wouldnotrecognize me right away.”
“You are just as mischievous, just as brave, just as willing to embrace your own fortune as your great-grandmother, my dear.” Aunt Eliza sighed happily, then glanced down at the ring Rosie wore. “And now you shall have the opportunity, with Bull, to embrace your future.”
“I…do not know.”
The old woman hummed. “What is it, my dear?”
Rosie pretended to study the placement of the portrait, scooting it to the left a quarter inch, then back, then left again so she wouldn’t have to meet Aunt Eliza’s eyes when she confessed. “This case…I was useful to Bull. I know it. Even this ring—it is part of the many disguises I have worn. Not the mustache.” Finally, she grinned ruefully and glanced up. “Although that was a brilliant disguise. But the others…”
“Are you afraid he was wearing a disguise as well? Do you know his true self?”
Staring in the eyes of her long-dead scandalous great-grandmother, Rosie exhaled. “I know him,” she whispered. “I have always known him. But these last days with him…I see therealhim. He is always so loud, so charming, so confident, and suave.”
“Yes, he is,” Aunt Eliza murmured. “Why is that?”
The answer was obvious, now. “Because he secretly is afraid that he isnotall those things, and he is making up for that fear.”
She heard the old woman exhale, and when she turned, Rosie saw the older woman beaming, though there were tears in her eyes. “Aunt Eliza?”
“I am so very proud of you for seeing the real Bull, my dear. He has been my friend for a long time, and I care about him greatly.”
“I do, as well,” Rosie whispered.
“I can see that. And you are right about him. He is afraid he does not deserve someone like you.” She glanced at the ring on Rosie’s finger. “Has he told you of his inheritance?”
Inheritance? Who had died? Bull was related by blood and love to quite a few families, but Rosie frowned, trying to remember any who had left him an inheritance. “I do not think so. Who is the inheritance from?”
“Me, my dear!” The old woman chuckled at Rosie’s look of surprise. “Earlier this year, when I realized how quickly this blasted disease was taking me, I began to give my loved ones—and even a few people I only knew through beloved stories—their inheritances. I pride myself on bringing together a few couples who needed a nudge toward marriage.”
“Oh! Like Rupert and Allie?”
“Yes, indeed.” She smiled proudly. “And Allie’s uncle with Bull’s sister Marcia. And dear Gabby and Hunter with their current spouses, as well—I claim the credit there, too. But I was saving something truly special for my Bull. Somethinghe might not feel he deserves, but which definitely deserves him.”
With her heart pounding in excitement, Rosie stepped closer to the bath chair. “What was it?” she breathed.
Lady Mistree opened her mouth to answer—but was interrupted by a commotion out in the foyer.
“No—you cannot go in there!” came the cry of the elderly butler, Jones, but it was cut off by the sound of a scuffle and the door flung open, and Rosie whirled around?—
To see Bull’s terrified expression as he burst through the door.
