“I’m afraid you must, sir,” she said with a little shrug. “I play no instruments.”
“No instruments!” He winced, as if struck. “You are a rare creature, MissBrannon. Rare indeed. I knew it the moment we spoke at dinner last evening.”
“Then that only proves my earlier point. I am interesting to you only because you do not know me,” she teased, indulging in a moment of harmless flirtation. “If you knew me, really knew and understood me, I fear you’d find me quite dull.”
“That I cannot believe. Well, if you are not to perform, which I think is surely a travesty, then you must be my guest for the evening. Sit with me.”
She beamed up at him and placed her hand on his extended arm, and he led her to the chairs. All around her, preparations were underway. Night had fallen, and soft candlelight cast a golden hue on all the guests. The windows were open, allowing a delicious cool breeze to waft in.
The excitement and eagerness in the room hummed, from Miss Stanley ordering the room’s arrangement to Miss Haven testing the pianoforte keys. The general beauty of such elegance—womenclad in gauzy summer gowns, men in tailored clothing—seemed like a dream, one from which she did not want to wake.
***
Lucas was increasingly distracted. Not by the music. Not even by the Cavesee Vase. But by MissBrannon.
She was seated, straight and tall, on the opposite side of the gallery. Her chestnut hair was swept up atop her head, and soft curls framed her face—one of which escaped the pearl-encrusted comb and trailed down her slender back. Her willowy arms were bare, exposing fair skin of alabaster, and a Vinci necklace around her neck—a different one than the previous night—glittered and sparkled in the candlelight.
Fielding sat next to her, puffed up and proud, chattering and laughing.
It shouldn’t, but the sight of the man entertaining her irritated him.
Tate must have noticed Lucas’s divided attention, for he leaned over and lowered his voice. “See there. It appears Fielding is wasting no time in being friendly with the new arrival.”
Lucas did not respond. He’d not yet told Tate about his connection with MissBrannon or disclosed her tie to the industry. Lucasshouldinform Tate, as his primary investor, but to what end? He didn’t need Tate getting nervous about a possible bidding war for items in the collection. At present, no evidence existed that she was in any way attempting to buy or bid on the Miltoncollection, and whatever the reason for her friendship with Mrs. Milton, it should not concern them.
“I’m not surprised he’s the first man to attempt to get in her good graces.” Tate folded his arms over his chest, amused. “He told us at the hunt he found her unequaled in beauty and charm.”
Lucas scoffed. “Well then, I feel for MissBrannon. Fielding’s sense of self-importance is unparalleled.”
Tate chuckled. “He’s convinced she’s an heiress, citing her unaffected manners and aloof presence. Why else would she be counted among Mrs.Milton’s friends?”
“Perhaps.”
“Or maybe she’s here as a companion or a favor to a family member or something of the sort.”
Tate’s last statement seemed odd. “What makes you say that?”
“Think on it. MissHaven told me that MissBrannon will not perform in the concert tonight, for she has no musical talent. Have you ever been to a house party where a lady did not have a talent she was prepared to boast? I’d be willing to bet that every one of the other ladies came here with a practiced song—no,songs—ready to perform at the mere sniff of a suggestion. But to not even play? At all? It’s like a soldier stepping onto the battlefield without any armor.”
Once the flurry of activity settled, Miss Haven was the first to entertain at the pianoforte, followed by Miss Stanley on the harp. In turn each female guest entertained, and each man dutifully praised and applauded. At times it seemed almost a ridiculous parade of unwarranted accolades, but this was what a house partywas all about. To see and be seen. To show off and compete for the attention of the opposite sex.
And yet the procession of accomplishments could not hold Lucas’s attention.
A strange protectiveness stole over him. It was not his business who MissBrannon chose to speak with, but the truth was that one time their families had been close—very close. Their mothers had been the closest of friends. Their fathers—partners.
At the concert’s conclusion it was decided that Mr.Romano should waste no time in sharing his talents with the guests. Chairs were cleared and instruments were returned to their original locations to allow the artist space to work. MissHaven was his first muse, and once the paint, canvas, and easel were set up, the guests gathered around to observe the master engage in his craft. During this time Mr.Fielding stayed close to MissBrannon, but eventually Mrs.Milton called MissBrannon to her side. When Mrs.Milton was drawn into conversation with some of the chaperones, Lucas saw his opportunity and seized it.
“Will you be next?” he asked as he approached where MissBrannon was standing at the back of the group, watching the artist at work.
Amusement danced in her expression, and she tilted her head to the side as she watched Mr.Romano. “No. He is talented, though. See how fast he works?”
“I’m sure that is the secret to his popularity,” quipped Lucas. “His efficiency.”
The sound of her laugh warmed him.
“And you?” She tucked a wayward lock behind her ear. “Will he paint you?”
He hesitated. The question reemphasized that she was not familiar with the popular happenings in London society. Romano never painted men. But Lucas would not call her on it. “I do not think I’d inspire Mr.Romano. No, no. But I wanted to inquire about your opinion of the Cavesee Vase. Tell me, what do you think of it now that you’ve seen it again?”
