She slowed her steps.
Mr.Avery had shown her counterfeit porcelain—pieces she would have expected to be authentic. Everything within her resisted the idea that there might be something amiss with the Cavesee Vase. After all, she had personally witnessed it being unpacked from its crate, but a great deal could have happened in the years since she saw it last.
Interest flaring, Olivia glanced to her right and then to her left. All was quiet and still. Not a soul was in sight. She’d been told that the men had gone to the village for the day and the women would be in the parlor, so she took advantage of the solitude to enter the gallery undetected. Her footsteps were light on the polished wooden floor, and she made her way to the far wall and looked up at the shadowed space.
The vase was a few feet above her and out of reach. If she could only tap it with her fingernail and hear the resulting sound, she’d be able to gauge its authenticity.
A small ottoman was in front of a chair by the window, so she dragged it near the piece. As she prepared to step up on it, a noise cracked.
She jerked toward the door.
Mr.Wainbridge stood in the threshold, staring at her. Surprise, or perhaps confusion, tweaked his features.
“M-Mr.Wainbridge,” she stammered. “I thought the men were to go to the village today.”
“Change of plans. We decided it would be much more pleasant to stay indoors.” He cleared his throat. “Is there something I can help you with?”
A nervous laugh escaped. “No, no. I was just admiring this vase.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and looked up. “That is the Cavesee Vase. It’s nearly two hundred years old, or so I’ve been told.”
At least four hundred, to be more exact.
She thought it best not to correct him.
Grateful for the dreary shadows to hide the flush she knew was tinging her cheeks, she knitted her fingers before her. “It really is spectacular.”
“You witnessed my conversation with my aunt, so you know my uncle dedicated his life to these things.” He picked up a small carved jade Pixiu beast from another shelf on the wall.
She bit her lip.
He was lifting it by the tail.
She resisted the urge to take it from him and return it to the safety of the ledge. “And do you share Mr.Milton’s passion for such things?”
“Egad, no. Not at all.”
He returned the statue to the shelf, and she exhaled in relief. Sensing the opportunity to help bridge the gap between the relatives, she nudged the ottoman back into place. “Your aunt is quite fond of it all, you know. I think it brings her comfort.”
“I’m well aware.”
She ignored the flatness of his tone. “I don’t believe she intends to be so cross. Memories of loved ones are powerful, and all of these remind her of her husband.”
He narrowed his gaze at her and smiled strangely, as if awed. “You are quite a sentimental creature, aren’t you?”
“I suppose.” She moved toward the door. “Again, I apologize for intruding where I should not have been. I am due in the parlor. Mr.Romano is to paint my portrait.”
“Ah, I see.” He clasped his hands before him. “Then by all means, do not let me keep you.”
Olivia could feel the weight of his attention as she swept by him and into the corridor. Eager to put the awkward encounter behind her, she rushed to the parlor. She expected to see the ladies gathered but was shocked to see the men present as well. Mr.Avery, Mr.Tate, and Mr.Fielding were interspersed with the ladies, and tables had been set up for games of cribbage and chess.
“MissBrannon!” Mr.Romano’s exclamation captured her attention. His customarily bright expression eased her, and he extended his long arms in her direction. “I am so glad you could join me on such short notice. I know many thought the rain was a damper to our day, but I consider it fortuitous, for look at the time it has afforded us. I’ve been waiting for you. Please, sit.”
Olivia did as she was bid, cognizant that the other guests’ focus was drifting to her.
“As I told you in the garden, I’ve been most eager to paint you from the moment I laid eyes on you.” He motioned for her to move at certain angles and tipped her chin up slightly before retreating to his spot by his easel.
She glimpsed motion from the corner of her eye, and she cut her gaze to her left while keeping her chin still. Dread trickled through her when she saw MissHaven sauntering toward her.
