“You might want to tell her that.”
News of Miss Stanley’s misfortune had spread through the gathering, and now it was the premier topic of nearly every conversation.It was heartbreaking to see someone whom he’d counted a friend come under such distressing circumstances, but even though he harbored empathy for her, he would not be the man to swoop in and save the day.
“Likely she sees me as the easiest target.” Lucas stretched his booted leg out and leaned against the back of the chair.
“Oh no. Why would you say that?”
Lucas only glared at Tate. Seeing as Miss Stanley had no fortune, none of the other men would consider her. Lucas, however, likely seemed a more realistic option. He was established but did not have enough to tempt the wealthier ladies. This entire situation was not a game of hearts. It was a game of numbers.
“Is that pessimism I sense? From you?” Tate challenged. “Never thought I would see the day.”
Lucas supposed Tate was right. Normally he bucked pessimism in any form. He simply didn’t have time for it. But the discovery of the fake chinoiserie had rattled his normally steady outlook. Cloverton Hall was bursting with all sorts of artifacts other than chinoiserie that would bring in a fortune, but if word got out that the chinoiserie was, in fact, counterfeit, it would cast a bleak, unforgettable shadow on every other piece. The validity of everything under this roof would face even more scrutiny.
What was more, the scandal that his father had been involved in had already dealt a serious blow to Avery & Sons. If Lucas was involved in uncovering the counterfeits, it could throw him into another scandal—one he was not sure his business could survive.
He yanked at his cravat and adjusted the lapels of his tailcoat. The fire in the broad hearth was burning much too warm, and the weight of Miss Stanley’s gaze on him—again—was inescapable.
If he was honest, though, it was more than just MissStanley’s forwardness or the chinoiserie debacle contributing to his chagrin. The atmosphere was different tonight. Everyone laughed louder. The wine flowed more freely. Looks were more brazen, and behavior was laxer.
He looked forher...again.
MissBrannon had dominated his thoughts. He’d sought out opportunities to be near her ever since they all converged in the drawing room before dinner, but to no avail. Her reception to him earlier in the library had ignited a hope in him that even though other areas of life seemed to be sputtering, she might become a part of his life that would flourish.
But she’d seemed unusually elusive this evening. Her manner—her darting glances and the subtle twitch of her jaw—suggested that she, too, was uncomfortable with something.
He spied her. She was hurrying toward the veranda door.
He would not sit around and wait.
Lucas jumped from the chair. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
Lucas didn’t respond to Tate but followed Miss Brannon through the open doors to the veranda and found her standing at the thick limestone balustrade, staring into the night’s blackness. The weather was changing, and a cold, damp gust swept in from the garden, disrupting the loose curls that had escaped her chignonand rustling the tassels on the shawl pulled taut about her narrow shoulders.
She did not turn as he approached, so he stepped next to her, shoulder to shoulder. He leaned forward to rest his hands on the balustrade. “I have another confession, MissBrannon,” he said, not looking in her direction.
“What, another one?” A hint of amusement tinged her tone.
He chuckled at the continuation of their ongoing jest. “I fear so. I saw you come out here. You seemed troubled, and I was concerned.”
She tightened the shawl around her shoulders and lifted her hand to still the strands of hair. “No need for concern, Mr.Avery. I only needed some air.”
The silence returned, but it was not uncomfortable, as so many bouts of silence tended to be. Instead, an unspoken sense of solidarity simmered between them. “Cloverton Hall is quite different than London, isn’t it? Sometimes I come to these things, and they’re uneventful. And other times I feel like I’ve entered a different world.”
She still did not look at him, but her chest heaved in a small sigh. “I think it was a mistake for me to come here. I don’t fit into this at all.”
He wanted to protest, to reassure her, but in some aspects, she was right—she didn’t belong among these women. She was a cut above them in so many ways. “Many people do fit in with this sort.”
“And you?” She at last turned toward him. “Do you?”
He hesitated. Had that not been the very question that defined his youth? His school days? His efforts to make his business successful? “Isuppose that depends on what you consider fitting in. I went to school with them. I interact with them on a daily basis, but our views on life are quite different. As are our goals. Take Tate for example. I count him a great friend, but we will never truly understand each other.”
A shadow fell over her face, concealing her expression. “You play the role well.”
He smirked and cocked his head to the side. “I will take that as a compliment.”
“I meant nothing negative by it,” she added quickly. “It is just that you seem so at ease. I feel my discomfort is written all over me, and I don’t know how to conceal it.”
