And while she was still processing this extraordinary turn of events to her otherwise humdrum morning, he lifted his head and rested his forehead upon hers.
“I apologize. I know kissing you here, in your parents’ home is probably even worse than in Rare Confectionery—”
“Is it?” she asked.
“Most disrespectful,” he added, “especially with their being away. They are away still, aren’t they?”
She nodded, feeling giddy at how his tongue had stroked hers and the way he still clasped her hands so tightly.
“But as soon as I’m near you ...,” he trailed off.
“I know. I feel the same.”
“I don’t want to lead you on,” he said with a groan and released her. “Where has that cat got to?”
“She’s ...,” Beatrice scanned the room. “Miss Sylvia is now under the sideboard. Why?”
“Her collar,” he said simply. “I think you hit the nail upon its head, and I was too stupid to realize it.”
“Frankness, Greer,” she admonished him.
“I believe her collar, the one my devoted, loving mother bestowed upon her, is encrusted with real gemstones after all.”
“Dear God!” Beatrice approached the long walnut cabinet, crouching low so she could peer under it.
Miss Sylvia hissed and turned her back.
“She is definitely out of sorts.” Beatrice stood up and turned to him. “What makes you think so?”
“The painting. Did I mention there is one hanging at Carsonbank, in the study?”
“You did. You said it was the spit and image of your own father.”
“My grandfather is holding a strange, clunky chain with jewels upon it.”
“We call that a necklace,” Beatrice quipped.
“I know. I know. But it was, at least to my eyes, ugly. I mean look at the collar. Would you wear all those stones at once around your neck, even if they were on a gold chain rather than a leather strap?”
Beatrice tried to imagine such a gaudy display. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”
“In any case, I remembered seeing the necklace and thinking it odd. Then something distracted me, one of the rats racing about the place, perhaps—”
“Rats?” She shivered. The very notion of them scurrying about made her skin crawl.
“I told you, it’s derelict in places. There was a hole where the fieldstone wall had caved in and no one had done more than stuff straw there and hang a blanket. It’s not the bloody Langham.” He gave a bark of laughter. “I thought about asking the caretaker if he knew about the painting, but he wasn’t around, if there even is anyone besides the maid and the shepherds.”
“Who is the executor of the trust?”
His eyes opened. “You are so sensible. I knew I came to the correct place to go over my own scattered thoughts. I’ll write to the trustee in Edinburgh and ask about the jewels. Can I borrow a piece of stationery?” He ran a hand through his hair and walked around the room distractedly as if his mind were racing. “Meanwhile, I have a friend who offered to appraise it.”
“You do? Who? Where?” Beatrice hadn’t heard of such a person in his life.
“I have some men I meet with once a week,” he said.
“Oh, yes, those at the chophouse.”
“Exactly. One is an antiques dealer who knows about jewelry.”
