“I’ll take the horses,” Ives said when they reined in at the lodge. “I’ll come in through the garden and make my way up so I am not far from the library. Leave the door open so I can hear.”
Gareth entered the library, lit two lamps, pulled out a book, and shed his frock coat. He placed his pistol in the drawer of a nearby table. He had just settled in to read when he heard the carriage arrive.
Hurried steps sounded on the stairs from below. Not Ives. Harold appeared, pulling on his coats and combing his hair with his fingers. He stuck his head in the library. “Your brothers, sir? Or visitors?”
Gareth cursed. He had clear forgotten that Harold had stayed tonight, the better to serve the duke and lord visiting by day. “Visitors, I believe.” He had to decide fast whether to trust Harold, or send him back down, to be dealt with by Ives. “I need you to show no surprise when you open that door. Just bring them here, then go below. Lord Ywain will be there. Do whatever he says.”
Good soldier that he was, Harold did not even express surprise at the odd command. He straightened and disappeared.
The door opened. Muffled sounds of conversation. Erasmus laughed. Footsteps, and Eva entered the library, followed by Erasmus and another man.
Eva introduced the stranger as Mr. Crawley.
“Crawley,” Gareth repeated. “Aren’t you the cousin of Viscount Demmiwood?”
“I am. I likewise know who you are. The lady says you are holding some art of hers. By an unfortunate misunderstanding a few of my own pictures got mixed in with them.”
“The hell you say.” He scowled at Eva. “This is most irregular, Miss Russell. Had Mr. Crawley become aware of this a fortnight hence, retrieving his property would have been difficult and expensive.”
“I cannot blame you for being vexed, Mr. Fitzallen. I also am relieved this was discovered in good time.”
Gareth smiled at Crawley. “The pictures are all crated for shipment, but if you tell me which ones are yours, I will—”
“Well, now, not so fast. You’ve a buyer for all of them, it sounds like. No need to change plans. Just when you receive payment, you can split off mine.”
“That would certainly simplify matters.” Gareth invited Eva and Crawley to sit, then returned to his chair. “Now, which ones are yours?”
Crawley’s gaze drifted to the decanters on one bookcase. He pulled his attention back. “The Annibale Carracci is one. Then the Claude landscape, and the Titian Danaë.”
Gareth swallowed the urge to throttle the man. He had just identified three of the most valuable pictures. Along with the ten he already thought Eva was returning, he was probably not leaving her with anything resembling a fair share.
“Are you sure you agree to this, Miss Russell?” he asked.
“Of course. Mr. Crawley is better familiar with how the collection was divided than I am.” She looked over. Her eyes all but said,It doesn’t matter. Remember?Which it didn’t, he reminded himself.
“Then that is how it will be.”
Crawley chewed his upper lip for a moment. “Would this collector be interested in others? I’ve more, you see. Important works.”
“I am sure he would be. However, if you have other pictures of this quality, you can do better selling here in England. It was only the lack of sufficient provenance for her pictures, and the need for a fast conclusion, that led me to advise a foreign sale to Miss Russell.”
“I, too, would prefer a fast sale, all at once, much as she is doing.”
Gareth pretended to ponder that. “I had intended to transport these soon. There will not be time to write and confirm that he also wants yours. I think he will, but—”
“If you are going with them, I would send mine as well, and travel along. If this collector does not want them, another might.”
“Oh, certainly. If they are all you say, I am sure another would.”
“Mr. Fitzallen does not broker anything but the best,” Eva said. “He came highly recommended. Why, he would not even talk particulars with me until he had seen the pictures.”
“What Miss Russell says is true. I would have to see what you have. Is the collection nearby?” Gareth hoped Ives was listening carefully and appreciated how damned close they were to being led to the rest of the art.
“A day’s ride. Maybe two.” Crawley’s eyes narrowed rather longingly on the decanters again. “It would be better for me to bring several of the works here.”
Not close enough. Damn. “You do own all of them free and clear? No estate encumbrances, for example? I once wasted almost a year on a collection that it turned out required the death of the man’s father before it could be sold.”
“As it happens, all the required deaths have taken place.” Crawley found that very amusing.
