***
Olivia knew better than to do what she was doing. It did not matter who she was or which social class she belonged to. She should not be meeting Mr.Avery secretly.
But she couldn’t resist the invitation.
Upon returning from the picnic, Mrs.Milton had decided to rest before dressing for dinner. The other ladies were also making dinner preparations, and the men had embarked on a ride to the nearby village. It would be at least an hour before they returned. Olivia took advantage of the quietude, slipped out from her chamber, and made her way to meet Mr.Avery.
Once at the library she opened the door to what had to be one of the largest rooms in Cloverton Hall. The thick damask curtains were drawn over tall windows, but daylight seeped in around the edges of the fabric, illuminating dust motes hovering in the air. Shelves of books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filling the space with their unmistakable scent. A large corner shelf covered with pottery and ceramics summoned her to explore. In the center of it all stood a full-size marble statue of a feminine figure, like a sentinel keeping watch over the treasures.
“You’re here.”
Mr.Avery was standing next to another door with a stack of crates piled next to him. He wore no coat, and his white shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms. His navy checked waistcoat hugged his athletic torso.
Each time she encountered him, his effect on her intensified. The reality that she was meeting him—alone—raced through her mind.
She feigned composure. “This room is impressive. It’s even larger than our storeroom.” She drew closer to the statue in the room’s center. The worn, smooth marble called to her. She reached out and touched the hand. “It is a statue of Venus?”
He joined her next to the piece. “I’d say.”
She marveled at the detail of the fingernails. The intricate carved draping of the fabric. The locks of hair. “Normally I only see items like this in my uncle’s warehouse. I rarely see them in a home. Like this.”
“Well, I’ve seen a lot of parlors, libraries, and studies stuffed to the brim, and I can say with certainty this is a rare collection indeed.”
She shook off her awe and refocused. As much as she would like to stay and get lost in the pieces here, she needed to be mindful. “You said you wanted to speak with me?”
“I do.” He crossed the broad space and picked up a small chinoiserie urn adorned in blue-and-white vines. “What do you think of this?”
She accepted the piece from him. Immediately something felt off.
It was far too light.
She carried it to the window, pulled the curtain away, and held it up to the light. The piece should be somewhat translucent, but the amount of light coming through was off. She angled it so the light hit it directly. The blue pattern had a slightly greenish hue. The shade of white was too warm.
She flicked her eyes back to Mr. Avery. “This was in Mr. Milton’s collection?”
He nodded.
Her chest grew tight as the reality rushed her.
This was not an authentic piece.
Surely Mr.Milton was enough of an expert to be able to spot the difference. What was more, her father was the one who worked with him to build his collection. He most definitely would have known the difference.
She looked back to Mr.Avery and his expectant expression.
She was confident in what she was doing. Why should she feel shy? “There’s something amiss with this.”
His forehead furrowed. “You see it too?”
Relieved that his assessment matched hers, she turned it over in her hands. “It is a very good likeness, but it is not Chinese. Or Japanese, for that matter. I think it’s bone China.”
“Exactly what I thought. Made somewhere here in England. And fairly recently.” He took it back from her and placed it on the table next to him. Then he reached up and took two more off the stair-stepped shelves and handed one to her. The piece in question was almost identical in weight and material to the first. Her stomach clenched within her as her mind raced to map the implication. “Are they all like this?”
He shook his head. “Not all, but several are.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” She frowned. “Mr.Milton was an experienced collector. He surely would have known.”
“The way I see it, either Mr.Milton bought counterfeit pieces, which I highly doubt, or somewhere along the way the original pieces were exchanged with these to make it appear as if the collection was intact.”
