The carriage lurched into motion, and her family’s shop faded from view.
“This is my maid, Teague.” Mrs.Milton’s tone rang flat, as if discussing a mundane transaction. “Since you travel with no maid of your own, Teague will assist you as needed.”
Olivia smiled at the wiry, dark-eyed woman, who merely nodded curtly in response. She gripped her fingers together in her lap. It would hardly be the time to mention that she’d never had a maid of her own, let alone a lady’s maid. She and Laura always helped one another with any dressing needs, and if necessary, the chambermaid would aid her. The thought of a true lady’s maid assisting her was as daunting as the assessment that was before her.
“And the modiste?” Mrs.Milton stroked the top of the dog’s fur with her pudgy, ring-adorned fingers. “She provided you with five gowns and the necessary finishings, did she not?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Excellent. She’s by far the very best in London.” Mrs.Milton’s orotund voice echoed with authority.
The carriage hit a rut, and the entire conveyance tilted sideways before it righted itself.
“I do wish the driver would take care.” Mrs.Milton clicked her tongue. “’Twill be a wretched journey if not. Have you traveled to Yorkshire before, MissBrannon?”
“No, ma’am.”
“A beautiful bit of earth. Different from London in every way conceivable. Cloverton Hall will be a fine introduction tothe county for you. It is an impressive place—nearly two hundred years old.”
A comfortable silence descended, for which Olivia was grateful. Mrs.Milton even managed to doze off, in spite of the uneven road with its jarring bumps and dips. By the time they left the busy streets of London behind and reached the open countryside, surrounded by verdant grass, ancient ash and oak trees, and open dirt road, a fresh wave of interest rushed over Olivia. This entire journey would be what she made of it, regardless of what she encountered at Cloverton Hall. And she would not allow a single opportunity to pass her by without exploring it to the fullest.
Chapter6
“Don’t dawdle in doorways, boy. It’s impertinent. What’s more, a man must never exhibit indecisiveness;otherwiseothers will never take him seriously.”
Lucas could hear his father’s voice as he hesitated at the door to the room that had been Timothy Avery’s private office. He paused, allowing his hand to hover over the worn brass doorknob. Would he ever be able to pass through this door without thinking about the man who’d raised him? Each time he approached the threshold, a different emotion accosted him. Grief. Anger. Numbness. Determination. His father’s death nine months prior, and the shock of it, had affected every aspect of Lucas’s life.
He gripped the doorknob and pushed the door open. Inside, memories of an enterprising life lived in every crook and cranny. For years this cluttered chamber had been his father’s domain, yet Lucas had spent nearly as much time here as he had in their house. He’d long since memorized the number of steps it took to reach his father’s desk from the door, which floorboards squeaked, and at what hour the afternoon sun would slice through the window.
But most importantly, he’d learned all about the business—the buying and selling of antiquities and valuable rarities.
It had not been hard to get swept up into his father’s view of the future. His contagious passion and enthusiasm influenced many. As a boy Lucas had hung on his father’s every word. Relished the trips to Persia. Egypt. The Orient. All in pursuit of the unique. Lucas was passionate because his father had been passionate.
But now, everything felt different.
Everythingwasdifferent, because not only was Father gone, but the scandal before his death cast a negative light on a legacy that should have been respectable. His father had always been a polarizing character, but the public accusation that he’d cheated multiple clients had cloaked his family in an unavoidable shadow that the business had not been able to shake.
Lucas didn’t want to think that his father would be capable of deceptive actions, but sometimes the mere suggestion of dishonesty was enough to make it so. As things stood now, Avery & Sons faced ruin. Most of their long-standing clients and investors had left them, and as a result he’d been forced to dismiss the bulk of his staff.
Lucas stepped back toward the desk, where a framed drawing atop the teak inlay caught his eye. He lifted it. Charles, his older brother, had drawn it nearly two decades prior. The amateurish charcoal rendering of the two Avery boys had been their father’s prized possession, and it had sat here, in this place of honor, every day since. But Charles had been killed in a battle in America six years ago, shortly after he joined the army. With both Charles and his father dead, Avery & Sons, as Lucas had known it, was nomore. If he wanted any sort of future, he’d have to fight for it and make it his own.
Clarence Night, Lucas’s clerk, knocked against the doorframe, stepped inside, and dropped a box atop a table just inside the door. “I’ve got those Milton records you wanted.”
Lucas scowled at the ensuing plume of dust. “It’s been a while since those have seen the light of day.”
Night pushed his spectacles up on his narrow, hooked nose. “I don’t think it’s been opened since your father was partners with Brannon.”
“Hmm.” Lucas lifted a thin stack of yellowed papers and parchments from inside and held them to the fading light streaming in through the window. “There’s not much in here.”
“Mr.Milton always did prefer working with Brannon, as you know.”
It had been one of his father’s greatest frustrations—the inability to lure the business of Francis Milton, one of the most celebrated antiquities collectors in the country, from Brannon after their partnership ceased.
“Have any pieces from Milton’s collection come to auction as of late?” Lucas inquired.
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“Thanks for these. I’ll take a closer look.” Lucas dropped the papers back into the box and set the lid on top.
