She was glad to hear that he did not suspect that Mr. Milton acquired the pieces from her father in this condition, but the alternative he offered was grim indeed. And she could not argue with his logic.
“Does Mr.Wainbridge know yet?” She returned the piece to him.
“No. I intend to get a better handle on what it is we’re dealing with before I do. In fact, you’re the first person I’ve told.”
Again, that strange sense of kinship flared within her. He took her seriously—and that fact alone drew her to him even more. “Do you suspect foul play by Mr.Milton?”
“It’s hard to tell, but regardless, someone who understands these pieces is attempting to deceive another.” Mr.Avery lowered the piece he was holding to the table. “I need to tell him soon, though. I know he was counting on this, but I can’t sell these. Not as Chinese porcelain.” His tone sobered. “There’s one other thing I’d like to show you.”
“Goodness,” she exclaimed, “this is quite a bit of information as it is.”
He pulled a letter from his pocket and extended it to her. “Go ahead. Read it.”
She accepted and unfolded it, then angled the letter toward the light to read it.
Olivia thought she would be sick.
In a single moment, everything she was attempting to do discreetly came crashing down around her.
“So youarehere on business,” he said, more a statement than a question.
She was not a liar. And she’d not start now. “Yes. I am, but not in the way you suspect.”
He said nothing, leaving a wide, empty moment of silence.
“Mrs.Milton stopped by our shop a couple of weeks ago and said she had a collection of her own that she wanted to sell, but she did not want to draw attention to it. She thought that if I masqueraded as a guest I could evaluate and catalog it, and then my uncle would broker the deals. She feared that if her nephew found out about the collection, he’d attempt to claim the pieces as his own.”
“And do the pieces belong to her?”
“Yes. Most of the paperwork is in order, and for items without a bill of sale, she has dowry papers to support it.”
His questions came quickly. “What’s in the collection?”
The more she talked, the easier it was to confide in him. “Jewels. Stones and shells from India and the Orient. Bronze sculptures. Porcelain.”
He lifted the porcelain once more. “Was there anything like this in there?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
She extended the letter back to him and waited for his reaction. She had, after all, deceived him, in a manner of speaking.
He tucked the letter back in his pocket. “Perhaps we should keep this information between us until we understand a bit more. I’ll try to find out the extent of the counterfeit items, and then we can figure out what to do.”
“We?”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “The way I see it, I need your help—help from someone who understands this business. And maybe you’ll need mine.”
Since first arriving in the library, she managed a genuine smile. She liked the idea of working with him. She liked the idea of being taken seriously as an antiquarian. But above all, if any deception was transpiring, she wanted to expose it, not let it continue.
Footsteps sounded outside, and muffled voices followed.
“I should return,” she said.
“You certainly don’t want to get caught alone in the library with a rogue like me. What would the others say?”
She could not help but laugh at his poke of the overly rigid rules of the gathering. “I can only imagine. Good evening, Mr.Avery.”
He bowed in parting. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
