Laura Brannon sank onto the bed in their shared chamber with a huff, lifted the new ivory silk gauze gown that Mrs.Milton’s modiste had fashioned for Olivia, and dropped it on her lap. “It’s not fair. Why should you get to go while I have to stay here in this prison?”
Olivia shook out a linen nightdress and draped it over her arm. “Aprison? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think? Besides, I’ll beworkingwhile I am there. You despise all things old and dusty. Remember?”
Laura rolled her amber eyes and fell back against the bed. “If learning to love porcelain was what such an adventure would require, then I’d devote my life to it. You’ll meet new people. See new places. I only ever experience Kingsby Street. There is so much beyond this dreary bit of London, and I’ll never get to see it!”
Olivia understood her sister’s desire to see more, but whereas Laura’s main concern was expanding her social life, Olivia wanted to expand everything. She wanted to see China. One day shehoped to visit Rome and see the Nile, just as their mother had traveled with their father before she died. No, Cloverton Hall was not India, but as a step out of London, it was better than nothing.
In a flounce of satin ribbons and pale mauve jaconet, Laura flipped over to her side and propped her head up with her hand. “If you’re smart, you’ll take advantage of this situation and set your sights on theotheropportunities. Perhaps you’ll meet a wealthy man, someone who can take you—and me—away from this place.”
Olivia stiffened, unsure of what to do with her sister’s intense desire to leave their home. Ever since their bachelor uncle became their guardian, Laura’s sights had been fixed on leaving London entirely. Whereas Olivia had been able to find solace, even comfort, in certain aspects of life remaining the same, Laura had not. The relationship between her uncle and her sister was unarguably tense. He refused to allow Laura the freedom a young woman required to blossom. She needed to be out among society, but their uncle’s mismanagement of their father’s business and its effect on their financial situation had crippled both their prospects.
Olivia took the gown from Laura, gently folded it, and added the garment to the pile before returning her gaze to her rosy-cheeked, chestnut-haired sister. The two of them could not vary more in tastes and personality, but at times, looking at Laura was like looking into a mirror—same straight nose, same arched eyebrows, and the same dimple in her left cheek.
It would be a lie to say Olivia was not interested in the idea of meeting new people. To Laura’s point, Olivia’s life did not fluctuate—every day ushered in the same tasks, people, androutines. The only aspect that varied was the antiquities that passed through their warehouse.
Olivia desired what every woman desired—security. And she ardently wanted to believe that she could find security in a manner other than marriage. As much as she prided herself on her knowledge and expertise, she had to be practical. One day she’d probably marry, but it wouldn’t happen today. In the meantime she was determined to establish herself as a legitimate antiquarian, and performing this task for Mrs.Milton was an excellent first step.
Olivia forced a smile. “I think you may be getting ahead of yourself, dearest. It’s one journey—it is a rather lofty expectation to assume that I’ll meet my future husband there.”
Laura lifted a loose bit of discarded pale pink ribbon and absently wound it around her fingers. “Maybe not on this excursion, but it’s only a matter of time. Youwillmarry. Then what will become of me? I’ll be left behind here with Uncle Thomas.”
Olivia placed a reassuring hand on Laura’s thin shoulder. “It’s two weeks, love. And then I’ll be home, and everything will return to normal.”
Heavy footsteps sounded on the corridor’s creaky wooden floor just outside their room, and her uncle’s bulky frame stepped through the chamber door. His candle’s light wavered on the hard angles of his face and his graying side-whiskers and emphasized careless wrinkles on his sloppily tied linen neckcloth.
Thomas motioned to Laura. “I need to speak with your sister. Privately.”
A flash of indignation darkened Laura’s chagrined expression. She cut her eyes in Olivia’s direction, huffed, stood, and tromped from the chamber. When all was again quiet, their uncle crossed farther into the room and stood next to the dark hearth.
Olivia’s nerves tightened as she waited for him to address her. The week since Mrs.Milton’s visit had been fraught with curt exchanges and aggravating silences, but despite his obvious displeasure, he’d stopped short of forbidding her from going.
She wasn’t exactly sure of the true root of his opposition. He might be concerned for her safety as he’d indicated, but Olivia surmised it had more to do with his wounded pride than her reputation. Perhaps he begrudged the fact that Olivia was consulted and he was not.
“I leave tomorrow at dawn for Devon,” he blurted as an awkward start to their conversation.
She blinked at the bluntness. “Devon? Why?”
“To visit Walter Sutherland at Cottetham Park. He has Delft he wishes to part with. Bowls and plates and the sort.”
She stiffened at the reference to the valuable Dutch pottery. He didn’t know nearly enough about the style of art to accurately assess them, let alone to suggest or make a purchase. “Is Russell to accompany you?”
“No. Russell will stay behind and tend to things here.”
Something akin to guilt crept over her. If she were to stay at home, then Russell would likely go with him and advise. The thought of her uncle making imprudent purchases was unsettling. He might be the owner of Brannon Antiquities, but with thedecisions he’d been making as of late, they would not be able to stay in business long.
“You’re certain you’ll be all right without me here?” she asked.
“As I’ve told you numerous times, you’re not an agent here.” His words were flat, almost to the point of coldness. “Crane and I will manage quite well.”
She nodded but said nothing. The suggestion that her contributions were not valued stung. At present she would have to be satisfied with the truth—her absence would be felt whether he acknowledged it or not.
He shifted, and the planks beneath him groaned once again. “I’ll see you when you return. Keep on your guard. Remember the people at this gathering are not like you. They’re different—their motives. Their designs.”
It would be easy to take offense to his tepid words. She might not be as worldly as some, but she wasn’t naive. The memory of the two years she had spent at a girls’ school following her mother’s death flared. The experience was over a decade ago, but how vividly she recalled the cruel whispers and harsh stares of the girls from more elevated stations.
He motioned toward the gowns. “If nothing else, it appears you will be dressed the part.”
She tensed at his sarcastic lilt. “Fine gowns or not, I’m attending to assess the collection. These gowns are to please Mrs.Milton. Nothing more.” Unable to resist a last retort, she lifted her chin. “But before I forget, I do intend to take Father’s Vinci jewelry with me. Unless you object, of course.”
