“I will be traveling to Yorkshire tomorrow.”
“Yorkshire?” she cried with as much annoyance as he expected. “Whatever for?”
“Business dealings—hopefully—at Cloverton Hall. The new master has requested assistance in evaluating Mr. Milton’s collection.”
“What a shame for Mrs.Milton,” she responded flatly before looking out over the street. “Life goes on for the living, does it not? What does he want to do with the collection?”
“He wants to sell.”
She huffed. “It’s truly a shame how quickly people wish to part with keepsakes of those no longer with us.”
Lucas passed the next hour in his mother’s melancholy company, endeavoring to lift her spirits and divert her attentions. But try as he might, his efforts were again in vain. He missed the mother who not even a year ago had welcomed him with smiles, comforted him with her positivity, and encouraged him with her optimism. He refused to believe those parts of her had vanished forever, but after a visit like today’s, he felt heavy, as if he was carrying the weight of his father’s loss all over again.
Chapter7
“Treat every client as if your entire business depends on them—as if their items, their hopes, are the only items that matter to your business.”
Timothy Avery’s words rambled in Lucas’s mind as the Yorkshire countryside flashed by the mud-streaked window.
“If you can do that, you’ll have a customer for life.”
Lucas could almost laugh at the irony of his father’s advice, for in this instance, his entire businessdiddepend on his ability to convince Wainbridge of how to proceed with the collection.
Lucas and Tate, along with Tate’s valet, had departed London the previous day and, according to the driver, would arrive at Cloverton within the next quarter of an hour. The journey had been relatively uneventful, and every day, every hour, not spent in active pursuit of saving his business felt wasted.
“If you had to guess”—Tate’s random musing once again broke the silence—“how much do you think that house is worth?”
Lucas pulled his gaze from the landscape. “Cloverton Hall?”
“Yes. Just think on it.” Tate leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’ve heard the name Francis Milton all mylife. Father was always envious and said Milton’s collection put his own to shame. We both know Father’s collection is impressive. Milton’s must be absolutely massive.”
Vincent Tate, William’s father, had been one of their more extravagant clients for as long as Lucas could remember, but when news of his father’s scandal came to light, the elder Tate severed ties with Avery & Sons. The younger Tate much preferred gambling and women, and as the oldest son of a very wealthy landowner, he could afford to bet on a young but promising antiquarian.
“I couldn’t begin to guess,” Lucas responded with a shrug. “I’m surprised you’ve not visited Cloverton before. You and Wainbridge seem thick.”
Tate scoffed. “Believe me, I’ve dropped plenty of hints that I expected an invitation, but Wainbridge ignored them completely. But you heard him at Brooks’s. Poor chap. He’ll be forced to contend with reality sooner or later, and the fastest way out of his current dilemma is to marry well. Mark my words: I’m sure a lovely selection of eligible ladies will be present.”
“And, of course, you need not marry,” gibed Lucas.
“No, of course not. Only for love, should I choose. Speaking of that, I’m told MissHaven will be in attendance, and she’s always a good sport.”
“I seem to recall that she didn’t recognize you when we encountered her at the opera last year.”
“Ah well, never mind that. We’re both a little older, a little wiser. All that aside, my sole objective is to support you. And my investment, of course.”
“Very selfless.”
Tate snickered at his own jest and smoothed his decidedly blond hair from his broad forehead. “But I do hope you intend to have a little fun at Cloverton and not completely bury your nose in those dusty relics. Besides, you’ve yet to meet Wainbridge’s sister. She’d be the perfect match for you. I’m sure Wainbridge would include some artifacts in her dowry if you two were to hit it off.”
“Tempting, but if the Wainbridges are in need of funds, I doubt MissWainbridge will look my way.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Avery. You’ve qualities besides money,” Tate heckled good-naturedly. “Surely there is something about you that women would find attractive.”
“I can always count on you for a boost of confidence.”
Lucas had long since given up trying to imagine what it would have been like to be carefree and affluent, like Tate and so many of his other clients. His business required him to interact with this social class regularly, but he’d never truly been one of them. The women might flirt with him, but he was hardly wealthy enough to entice one of them toward matrimony. Invitations to events like this had been driven by business, not pleasure, and every resulting relationship was a bargain to be struck.
“At last!” Tate leaned forward to look out the window. “The infamous Cloverton Hall.”
