“Come tomorrow and ask him. I believe it’s a drawing by Albrecht Dürer. The man is to bring it to the gallery.”
“Yes, of course. I’m no expert, but I’ll be interested to see it.”
Bianchi was entitled to buy and sell his paintings if he wished. What bothered Jason was the fact that the baron had misled him. He’d said it was his love of sharing his art collection with the world that had brought him to London. Might he be involved in fraud? Tomorrow he would take a closer look at the baron’s dealings.
***
Helen and Diana had spent several delightful hours shopping at Thomas’s Fashionable Warehouse at the West End corner of Chancery Row, near Temple-Bar, buying ribbons and hosiery, shawls, and fans. At Marchant & Co, in New Bond Street, with their wonderful display of leghorn hats, straw chips, and all manner of bonnets, Diana tried on a dark straw with a huge ostrich feather that dipped over her face. She posed before the mirror. “This is the latest thing. What do you think?”
Helen considered it far too old for her. “Too fussy. Simpler styles suit you best. I do like that gray-blue silk with the camellias around the brim for myself.”
Diana removed the hat and handed it to the saleswoman. “You’re right, Helen. Thank you, Miss Brown. “I’ll try that wide-brimmed straw.”
As the saleswoman went to fetch both hats, Diana turned from the mirror. “I believe Lord Peyton visited us again yesterday while I was in the music room with Master Benne.”
“Yes. Peyton is still searching for a reason for Bart’s death.”
Diana’s blue eyes clouded. “But why?”
Helen took a deep breath. “Peyton hasn’t discounted the possibility that Bart might have been deliberately poisoned.” As the investigation dragged on, she’d come to realize it was inevitable Diana would find out and, despite her mother’s warning, believed her sister had a right to know.
Diana gasped. “It wasn’t an accident?”
“Lord Peyton is unsure what occurred. But he will find out, have no fear.”
“But if Bart was deliberately poisoned, then the poisoner might still be amongst us.” She put a fist to her mouth. “Oh, how dreadful!”
Helen placed a hand on Diana’s shoulder. “The tonic might have been tampered with before Bart brought it home. We can’t be sure what the herbalist put in it.”
Diana sagged in the seat. “Yes, that seems far more likely. I can’t imagine anyone in Kinsey House would do such a thing.”
“I have every confidence in Peyton discovering the answer.”
Helen watched the saleswoman arrange the straw embellished with blue silk flowers and ribbons around the crown on Diana’s head. “My, that hat does suit you!”
“Yes, I do like it.” Diana turned her head from side to side.
Helen eased out a breath. As Diana’s ball grew closer, she did not want her sister caught up in the possibility of murder. But Diana was perceptive and intelligent. It would be hard to keep things from her.
Diana adjusted the hat. “What do you think of Lord Peyton? You’ve seen quite a lot of him of late.”
Diana’s casual inquiry didn’t fool Helen. No doubt her sister planned to dazzle the earl at the ball. “He seems a decent man.”
“Yes, that was my impression. Mama says he’s accepted the invitation, along with his sister and younger brother. I hope to dance with Peyton. Dancing with a man must tell you so much about him, don’t you think?”
“I imagine so.” Helen allowed herself a brief vision of the handsome earl, his arms around her guiding her over the ballroom floor as Miss Brown placed the gray-blue silk with the camellias on her head. “No, I don’t care for this. It’s a little drab,” Helen said.
“And much too old for you,” Diana observed.
“Dancing must be a little like making love.” Diana leaned forward to closely examine the stitching that held the blue flowers in place. “Mama said that after she danced with Papa she made up her mind to marry him.”
Miss Brown hovered with an emerald green poke bonnet in her hands, and her mouth dropped open.
“Hush.” Helen recalled her own horrible experiences at the hands of nasty gossips. “You would not want anyone to think you fast, Diana, before you’ve even stepped out into Society.” She glanced at Miss Brown, obviously bursting to relate the tale to the owner of the establishment. “I know we feel we can be quite comfortable here and can rely on the discretion of Madam Marchant and her staff. Is that not so, Miss Brown?”
“Oh, indeed it is,” Miss Brown said with a bob.
Helen smiled. “I believe we’ll take that lovely straw. And I do like that emerald green velvet. It will match my new pelisse perfectly. How very clever of you to bring it.”
