It seemed an impossible request. Making such inquiries of Mr.Avery would result in disaster, but whether she liked it or not, she had no choice but to appease Mrs.Milton. She needed to stay in the lady’s good graces to ultimately be successful and reach her goal of being self-sufficient. “I’ll find out what I can.”
Commotion sounded, and as Tabitha entered the chamber, the tension eased.
Mrs.Milton’s countenance softened. “Tomorrow morning I’ll introduce you to my collection, and tomorrow afternoon and evening there will be activities that, unfortunately, require both our attendance. Consider what I’ve said, and don’t forget it. I’ll bid you good night, then.” Mrs.Milton, followed by Teague, retreated through the paneled door, leaving Olivia and Tabitha alone in the Blue Room.
Olivia was in no mood for conversation as Tabitha helped her doff her gown, let down her hair, and wash her face. Once Tabitha had departed, Olivia extinguished the candles, and the only light that remained was the simmering fire in the grate and the slivers of white moonlight that filtered through the gaps around the curtains. Otherwise, all was silent and dark and still, save for the occasional burst of masculine laughter emanating from the floor beneath her chamber.
She crawled atop the soft mattress tick. Her body called for rest, but her mind was alive with all she’d witnessed.
The evening had spun by at such an alarming pace. Dazzling beauty and magnificent manners. Intriguing chatter and intoxicating elegance. She’d tasted champagne. A gentleman had flirted with her. She’d been treated as an honored guest.
Yet homesickness crept in.
The Blue Room seemed extravagant. The voices from below were disquieting. Furthermore, her encounter with Mr.Avery had revived memories that had long lain dormant—memories of her father, of her family. Of how events had converged to get them all to the point where they were today.
Her greatest childhood desire had been to travel with her father to all of the exotic places he had visited, like her mother had done when Olivia was young. China. India. Egypt. Her mother’s stories had fueled Olivia’s imagination, and she had determined that she would be exactly like her mother.
But then Olivia’s mother had died.
And then her father had died too.
With each loss, her world shifted, and the luminous dreams that once had blazed before her faded to lackluster hopes. Now she’d likely never travel to Egypt or India. Her father’s business was barely surviving, and if it weren’t for Mr.Milton’s strong relationship with Father years ago, she might never have even been offered this opportunity.
But she’d made it to Cloverton Hall and survived her first day. And the fact that she was here to assess antiquities in some way made her feel closer to her parents than she had in a very long time. It was a chance to prove herself.
Chapter15
Lucas never slept past dawn. It was yet another trait his father had drilled into him—lounging in bed and wasting daylight was an unforgivable offense.
Now, the first light of day was inching through the attic chamber’s two deep-set, narrow leaded windows. Tate slumbered across his narrow bed, still fully clothed in the previous evening’s dinner attire, but Lucas had kept his senses about him and was ready for their first full day at Cloverton Hall.
The day’s agenda was straightforward. The men were to spend the morning hunting pheasants, and then they’d dine with the ladies upon their return in the evening. But before that, Wainbridge had indicated that he wanted to meet with him privately prior to the hunt to discuss Mr.Milton’s collection.
Lucas poured cold water from the jug into the basin near the far wall, washed his face, cleaned his teeth, wet his comb and attempted to tame his unruly hair, and dressed quickly in attire appropriate for the morning’s hunt. Normally, he’d be excited for such an impending conversation, but as he saw to his ablutions,one nagging question continued to pester him: Why was Olivia Brannon here?
Her parting words to him roiled in his mind:“Whatever you know of me, of my family, I would appreciate it if you could, at least for the time being, keep it to yourself.”
On the surface it seemed a reasonable request, but the more he considered it, the deeper the question developed. What was more, the entrancing expression in her hazel eyes and her intriguing smile allowed him to think of little else.
Once he was ready, Lucas made his way down to Wainbridge’s study on the ground floor. He rapped his knuckles against the doorframe.
“Ah, you remembered.” Wainbridge motioned for Lucas to enter.
Like Tate, Wainbridge was still clad in the previous evening’s attire. The start of a dark beard hugged his pronounced jawline, and his discarded coat had been tossed over his desk. All around the untidy study, candles sputtered in pools of their own wax, and several blankets were piled on the lounging chair under the window. Stale dust and lingering smoke incensed the entire room, and haphazard piles of papers cluttered the desktop. Crates stood several deep along the far wall, and a half-eaten tray of food and drink littered the table at the chamber’s center.
Lucas stepped in farther and paused to straighten an empty glass that had been set on its side. “Did you spend all night in here?”
Wainbridge waved a dismissive hand and responded with a lopsided smile. “Ah, you know how these things go. No one sleeps at a house party.”
Lucas would not argue.
“What’s that you’ve brought with you?” Wainbridge gestured to the packet in Lucas’s hand.
Lucas held up the portfolio. “Transaction records. My father and your uncle had a handful of dealings well over a decade ago. Since I was unsure about what sort of records Milton had maintained, I brought the little information I had, just in case.”
He handed the bound package to Wainbridge, who opened it and flipped through a few pages. “This is a preposterous amount of money. And spent on what? Pots and statues and the sort?”
The shock in the man’s expression was a clue about his host. Clearly Wainbridge did not come from money himself. Most of the wealthy elite would not bat an eye at such figures.
