Logan smirked at her sarcastic tone. He had quite an extensive art collection, having decided to become a collector in recent years. He had started off with landscapes and moved on to horses and animals, only recently becoming transfixed with portraits. This particular piece had been suggested to him by none other than Lady Belle Smyth when she had overheard his desire to purchase a pair of Marchelies. She had advised him that Marchelies was overpriced and not a good investment, while a new and upcoming artist out of Paris, a man known as Donovan, had recently begun making a name for himself in the art world. He was a portraitist and was rumored to have painted the most stunning courtesan, though it had been announced that that particular painting was not for sale.
Intrigued and eager, Logan had offered him a king’s ransom for the piece, taking Belle’s word to not be dissuaded. Eventually, the young artist had been persuaded to sell the piece after all, and now the portrait was his.
“It’s a woman,” he said, nodding to the house as the servants moved the piece up the front steps.
A short man with a prominent bald spot and a thin, brown mustache bowed. Evans, the butler, had come from an aristocratic household in Fife. He had been let go when the earl had suffered some poor investments. Logan hadn’t even wanted to hire him, particularly because he was so stringent, but he had proven to be a loyal servant.
“Where would you like it, sir?” he asked.
“Bring it to my bedchambers, Evans,” Logan answered before returning to Arabella.
“A woman?” she asked. “Who?”
“Well, that’s the interesting part,” Logan said as he waited for his sister to enter the house, followed by Jaco. “Rumor has it that the model for this piece is some member from the ton.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Possibly a member of the royal family, but who knows if that rumor is to be believed.”
“Is that why you bought it?”
“Partly. And Lady Belle suggested this up-and-coming artist as a good investment.”
“What’s his name?”
“Donovan.”
Arabella made a face.
“I’ve never heard of him.”
“He’s still rather new to the art world, but his talent has been discussed at length in the periodicals. He’s a strange artist, however.”
“Aren’t they all?”
Logan smirked.
“I suppose so. But he is even more so. Apparently, he only works on commissioned pieces. When his clients wanted evidence of his talent before hiring him, they would be invited to his studio where he would reveal one painting.”
“Only one?”
“Yes, but apparently this painting was so beautiful that it was enough to secure ten years’ worth of commissions.”
Arabella’s eyes widened.
“Goodness! That’s rather impressive, I suppose.”
“That’s what I thought,” Logan said. “So, I bought it.”
She gave him a look, as a maid helped remove her cloak. A golden teardrop-shaped stone hung from a pendant around her neck, giving him pause. Many years ago, Arabella had given Logan a circular piece of amber stone, with a hole drilled through it. It was a small custom in their area, to give stones to people for protection. As a child, Arabella had been convinced that amber was lucky. She had been sad when he’d returnedfrom Burma without her good luck charm, but she had held fast to the belief that it had saved his life.
“You’re quite like a dragon, you know,” Arabella said, shaking him from his thoughts. “Piling up your coffers with treasures.”
“And you read too many fairytales,” he said as he followed her into the parlor where their father sat in the corner, sleeping in an oversized, overstuffed chair. “You should try being more practical.”
She rolled her eyes as she sat across from their father.
“And become boring and disillusioned with life? No thank you.”
