“Did Miss Russell agree to attend that ball?” Lance asked casually. “Ives here said you snared an invitation for her, and intend to escort her yourself.”
Gareth glared at Ives, who made it a point not to notice. “I was not there when she received the invitation, so I do not know yet if she is agreeable.”
“She will not go,” Lance said. “She will want to. Any woman would. But she will not.”
“You know that, do you?”
Lance nodded. “It struck me last night. No matter who the escort, or even if there is none at all, she will not go. She doesn’t have a suitable gown and headdress. I’ll lay odds on that.”
Gareth just looked at him. Lance was right. She didn’t. It would matter to her. To any woman.
One of Lance’s eyebrows rose. “Of course, you could offer to buy her one. There is still time. Allowing it, however, carries certain implications. I doubt she is ignorant of that. So she will not accept the gift.”
No, she wouldn’t. She already hadn’t, when he first broached the idea of this visit to London.
Lance showed smug pleasure in how he had cornered the entire question, but also some curiosity. “So, what is the vicar going to do?”
“He is not going to offer to buy her a gown, that is obvious,” Ives said. “However, in an impulsive gesture of noblesse oblige, you will.”
CHAPTER19
“Iam so enjoying this,” Rebecca said while she and Eva strolled down a small lane in the City. All kinds of printer shops lined it, along with a few bookstores. “It is pleasant to spend an afternoon, just the two of us, taking whatever path we want.”
“Very pleasant, although I have a confession to make about the path we have taken. We are not taking the path we want. We are lost.”
Rebecca giggled, and they broke into peals of laughter. “Thoroughly lost, or just middling lost?” Rebecca asked after she caught her breath.
“Since I am perplexed as to the answer to that question, I suppose the answer must be thoroughly. The plan was to visit Mr. Christie’s auction house. He is said to have frequent auctions, and often his gallery is full of works to be sold.”
Rebecca looked to the sky. “The afternoon is getting on. We should find it soon if we are going to visit.”
Eva felt her reticule. A satisfying weight on the bottom moved, making tiny clinking sounds. The wonderful thing about money was one could solve problems like this. “I saw cabs on the last block. We will take another one. The coachman should know the way even if we do not.”
A half hour later they walked into the auction house. A big, square room, its ceiling soared. In the center of the ceiling a large square section rose yet higher, with transom windows that permitted light to flow down on the pictures hung on the walls.
“Look at all the colors,” Rebecca exclaimed. She peered at the pictures near the door. “Not all are great masters, are they? This one here is no better than your views. Not nearly as good, in my opinion.”
Eva agreed, although neither she nor Rebecca were connoisseurs. She took heart that while her own efforts would never compete with the best on these walls, they also would not be laughable.
Other patrons toured the walls, strolling past the abundance of pictures. She and Rebecca stopped now and then at ones they especially liked. Eva scrutinized a few to see how some effect was achieved with the brush. She was doing that when Rebecca gripped her arm.
“Eva. Over there. Isn’t that—”
Eva straightened and looked where her sister pointed. On the wall facing the door, right in the center, a still life hung at eye level. No one would miss it. Her gaze swept over the glass goblet depicted, and the blue porcelain dish, and the ripe fruit.
Her heart pounded so hard that her head throbbed too. She knew that composition very, very well. She had painted it four months ago in her library.
“It can’t be,” she whispered.
They scurried over to look more closely. Much like a signature—an artist knows her own hand at work. This was indeed hers.
Eva felt sick. “I do not understand.”
“Don’t you?” Frowning, Rebecca looked around the chamber, then marched over to a man standing in a corner. She spoke to him, and pointed at the still life. He in turn opened a pamphlet and pointed to a page in it.
Rebecca returned with the pamphlet. “It will not surprise you to learn that your name is not listed. According to the auction house, this is a work by the Dutch artist Cuyp, who lived two hundred years ago.”
Eva examined the page in the pamphlet. “I must be a better copyist than I thought.”
