MissBrannon jerked. “And you didn’t make yourself known? Is that not unethical?”
“Unethical? Come now, MissBrannon. We are in the same business. It’s our responsibility to broker sales and to ensure the legality of such transactions. It’snotour place to question what is sold, when, or why. I’d be more than happy to entertain any questions Mrs.Milton might have, but at the day’s end, Mr.Wainbridge is the rightful owner of the estate, and as such, he’s who I must answer to.”
“I don’t disagree. And I told Mrs.Milton as much.”
“You know as well as I do that there is no place for emotion in these dealings.”
“On that point I must differ.” A sudden flush colored her high cheekbones, and an impassioned sharpness flashed over her delicate features. “Emotion is the entire reason we do what we do, be it love, pride, affection, fear, or any number of motivations for why people amass things. What are any of us without emotion? Mrs.Milton is grieving, and her husband’s collection is her last link to him. Once those items are gone, he will be lost to her all over again.”
He sobered. “She told you this?”
“Not verbatim. But I can only assume.”
When her words fell silent, he offered a smile to alleviate the topic’s gravity. “I hope this does not sound presumptuous, but I must say I find your friendship with Mrs.Milton quite unusual. It does not seem as if you two would have much in common.”
“Friendships come in many forms, Mr.Avery,” she refuted. “She’s known my family a very long time. And you? Are you friends with Mr.Wainbridge?”
Her masterful ability to turn the tide of a conversation impressed him. “Come now, MissBrannon. There’s no need for pretense. You may know I’m here on business, but no one else needs to know that. It would ruin the fun.”
Her chest rose with a sigh, and her ardent aspect softened. “Well, if you’ll not divulge what specific pieces you are considering, I cannot force it from you. But I can say that I envy you. You’respending time with the famed Cloverton collection—one of the greatest collections in all of England.”
Lucas decided in that moment that he liked MissOlivia Brannon. He liked her passion and her directness. He supposed he always had on some level. When she was a child, he’d been amused at her determination. As a young adult, he’d admired her perseverance. Even though she did little to hide her distaste of his family, he found her transparency refreshing. No, she was not as polished and cultured as the other women in attendance, but he suspected there was a depth to her—a sincerity—that intrigued him all the more.
The more he talked with her, the more he wanted to know about her. But he had to be careful. Just as with anything else, he would have to build trust before she’d let her guard down around him.
And he wanted her to trust him.
He supposed it would be easier for him to overlook the precarious past of their families than it would be for her. After all, it had been his father who wronged hers—not the other way around.
Under normal circumstances he would never presume to speak to a woman about his business. For not only would she not be interested, but it would be considered impolite. But Miss Brannon was different. “Have you seen the Cavesee Vase yet?”
“The Cavesee Vase.” A soft smile curved her full lips, as if a memory had just been recalled. “I wondered if that might be one of the pieces you’re eyeing. But to answer your question, no, I’ve not. Have you?”
“No, but I think it’s in the gallery, in the room directly above us, where tonight’s concert is to be held. Speaking of the Cavesee Vase, do you recall that day at the auction house, all those years ago?”
“How could I not? My father was so proud that day.”
“And I seem to recall you being quite enthused at the prospect of seeing a tiger.”
Her heart-shaped face flushed crimson. “I was a child.”
“What were you? Fourteen? Fifteen? Ah, doesn’t matter,” he bantered. “And did you ever see your tiger?”
“I did not, but I did see the Cavesee Vase, which was the true spectacle. And no one could question Mr.Milton’s tastes. Just looking around this chamber, I see a dozen pieces I’d love to examine.”
“When I first saw you here, I assumed you were here to evaluate the Cloverton collection on your uncle’s behalf,” he admitted.
“No, no. You’re quite mistaken.” A small, playful grin tugged at her lips as she volleyed back a quip of her own. “Antiquities is a man’s realm, as I’ve been told time and time again. Far too indelicate for a lady.”
He laughed heartily at the subtle sarcasm in her tone. He could only imagine the sort of prejudice she’d encountered. “Well stated, MissBrannon.”
“In all seriousness, though, I’ll put your mind at ease. I will not be evaluating Mr.Wainbridge’s property. I’m a guest of Mrs.Milton, that’s all.”
A sparkle, which had been absent when they’d first sat down, now resided in Miss Brannon’s eyes, and she reached for her wine with her long, slender fingers and took a sip.
He followed suit and lifted his glass, but he found looking away from her difficult. Like it or not, he was inexplicably drawn to her understated yet confident tenacity and the manner in which she challenged societal perceptions.
And he admired her for it.
