She’d not told Russell or her uncle about what had happened regarding the Cavesee Vase or the counterfeit pieces. It hadn’t felt right. But now, would it be best to divulge what happened?
She tapped her fingers atop the piece. “When I was at Cloverton Hall, a handful of chinoiserie pieces were discovered to be counterfeit. I could almost swear to the fact that I saw one of the replicas there and here is the original.”
“Really?” Russell frowned and took the piece from her.
Olivia moved to the files, looked up the number on the tag with the piece, pulled out the papers associated with it, and laid them before her.
“That’s odd.” She flipped one of the papers over, then returned it to the desk. “There is no bill of ownership, just a transaction history.”
Russell moved to read over her shoulder. “You know your uncle. He’s not nearly as scrupulous as your father was.”
And Russell was right. How many times had her uncle made decisions that should have been passed on or failed to secure the necessary paperwork?
“And the seller, J. Wakes? I’ve never heard of him before.”
Russell scratched his fingers through his curly hair. “Your uncle has taken to going to those auctions at the docks. Might that be it?”
“It hardly seems like a responsible way to do business.” She clicked her tongue.
“I don’t disagree.” Russell replaced his spectacles. “But what’s to be done?”
She hid her annoyance. Russell had an irritating habit of agreeing with her, regardless of her stance. She needed a real conversation, not to be told what she wanted to hear.
“I suggest you take the matter up with your uncle,” Russell said. “You never said much about your time at Cloverton Hall. How did it go?”
Olivia had tried not to spend a lot of time dwelling on her experiences there. If anything, her visit had opened her eyes to how other people lived. She had felt awe at the beauty surrounding her, she’d received the flirtatious attention of aristocratic gentlemen, and she’d had her likeness painted. But she had also experienced a different side of the higher social strata—one that was harsh and ugly, hurtful and unforgiving.
“It was nice to meet new people, but like I said, I am glad to be home, where things are familiar.”
But as she returned the piece to the crate she found it in, a strange twinge pulled at her heart. She had been honest—most of the people were nice to meet, but it was just as easy to forget them. But one stuck with her in the most uncomfortable manner—and she feared it would take her heart quite a while to forget him.
***
Lucas flipped open his watch—the hour was growing late.
He’d arrived back in London just that afternoon, and already he’d called on his mother. This time she’d refused to leave her bed,and Mrs. Smith had shared that she’d spent nearly every hour of the last week in her chamber. Even so, he spent an hour with her and told her all the details of Cloverton Hall, but he stopped short of telling her about Miss Brannon. He was unsure how she would react to that particular link to the past.
He was not nearly as selective about what he shared with Night when he went to the shop.
Lucas filled his agent in on every relevant detail of the event, from the counterfeit pieces to MissBrannon’s presence, to the haphazard paperwork, to the fate of the Cavesee Vase. Wainbridge had permitted him to bring one of the counterfeit pieces—a small bowl—back to London to show his agents with the hope that one of them recognized it.
“This is impressive, isn’t it?” Night exclaimed as he lifted the piece to examine it more closely.
“I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t even realize it wasn’t authentic until I held it,” Lucas admitted. “Cloverton was full of them.”
“I’ll share it with the others and see what they can find out.” Night tucked it under his arm.
Once he was satisfied that his men had the information they needed to continue with their work, Lucas had one more thing to attend to. He patted his pocket and felt the miniature portrait that Romano had given him.
The walk from his shop to the Brannon shop was a short one. He had no qualms with Russell Crane, but he’d never interacted with Thomas Brannon and had no idea how the man would receive him. He also had no idea if Olivia had told them about encountering him.
Memories flared as he approached the modest door. This was the building his father had shared with Edward Brannon all those years before their partnership dissolved. Lucas and Olivia had spent hours in the warehouse with their fathers, learning and playing. They’d been very young, of course, but he still remembered. Olivia was a few years younger than he. Were her memories as vivid as his were?
When Lucas opened the shop door and entered the receiving parlor, a bell chimed at his arrival. A few seconds later, Russell Crane, with his curly blond hair and heavy leather apron, stepped through a connecting door.
“Mr.Avery!” he exclaimed, his light blue eyes widening with surprise. “My word. This is unexpected.”
“Good day, Crane. How are you?”
