“Don’t be so silly. I have plenty to do at home, including raising a son who has more energy than a live volcano.” Caro warmed, as always, when she thought of her beloved Leo.
“Where is dear Leo this afternoon? In the care of Singleton? The poor man will be run off his feet.” Jo grinned, picturing Singleton’s discomfiture.
“No, Mr. Stone has rather taken Leo under his wing,” Caro said before she thought.
A sharp light entered Jo’s eyes. “Mr. Stone? Who is Mr. Stone?”
“No one at all.” Caro tried to keep her cheeks from scalding, to no avail. “He works for Cheswell’s gallery and was sent to look over a few art pieces I wished to sell. Mr. Stone became interested in the duke’s collection and is inventorying it.”
Jo’s steady gaze was unnerving. She was no fool, and Caro regretted the easy way Mr. Stone’s name had tripped off her tongue. Caro had just revealed to Jo that she trusted Mr. Stone with both her husband’s artwork and her son.
“I see we do need to have a chat,” Jo said. “Wait here. I must do my duty and not disappear, but after the crowd has gone, we will withdraw.”
Caro had called today to bury the disquieting feelings Mr. Stone stirred in her by listening to Jo rattle out the latest gossip. She hadn’t intended to bare her soul, but nothing slipped past the astute Jo.
“Very well,” Caro said meekly.
Jo slid away to chat with the other ladies in the room, and Princess Maude, as good-natured as her daughter, made certain that Caro had a glass of cool lemonade to sip.
Princess Maude was nothing like the mother Caro remembered from her childhood, a beautiful lady taken from Caro far too young. However, the dignified Maude always had a kind word for Caro and a reassuring hand on her shoulder when needed.
The callers drifted away more quickly than Caro anticipated, and soon Jo waved at Caro to follow her.
On an upper floor of the house decorated by the Adam brothers, Jo ushered Caro into a sitting room that was no less luxurious than the drawing room they’d left. Gilded moldings surrounded panels that held paintings of soft landscapes and one portrait of Jo as a child, her golden ringlets surrounding a winsome chubby face.
The same eyes and smile from the portrait fixed on Caro as soon as the door shut, leaving them alone.
“Now then.” Jo tugged Caro to a rose-and-white striped settee and pulled her down upon it. “Tell me everything.”
Chapter 7
Everything?” Caro strove for an innocent tone.
“Oh, my friend, I have known you far too long.” Jo leaned to her with a brush of lemony perfume. “You did not call today because you craved a bit of society. You barely spoke to anyone and listened less. Who is this man who’s come to value your pictures, and why do you trust him to look after Leo?”
“He is not looking after Leo,” Caro said quickly. “Singleton and Mama-in-law are there for that. Leo admires Mr. Stone. Natural, I think, since the poor lad lost his father. Mr. Stone was an officer in the war, and Leo is interested. That is all.”
“Yes, but who is he?”
Jo obviously would not be put off. “He has excellent references.” Or so Caro assumed. The haughty owners of Cheswell’s gallery wouldn’t have hired him otherwise. She could ask to view the letters of reference any time she wished, couldn’t she?
Caro would most definitely not tell Jo what the dowager had proclaimed, that Eamon’s father had been a charming rogue who’d had a way with the ladies.
A new and younger voice joined the conversation. “You are asking the wrong questions, Aunty Jo.”
The door of an ornately scrolled armoire swung open, and a slender girl popped out. Her fashionable pale pink and cream gown was a near duplicate of Jo’s, a pink sash separating skirt from bodice. The cloth roses on the sash now hung precariously by a few threads, and the girl’s pink slippers were smudged with dust.
“What are you doing in there, impertinent miss?” Jo asked her sternly.
“Eavesdroppers learn much to their advantage,” the being returned without shame. “Is that a quote from something, Aunt Caro?”
Caro was not the girl’s aunt, but she’d accepted the honorific years ago. Twelve-year-old Meredith Sutcliffe was the daughter of Jo’s older sister and a handsome British earl. Young Merry held the courtesy title of Lady because of her father, and under the curious inheritance laws of Osagard, she also retained the title of Princess.
“I’m not certain,” Caro said in answer to Merry’s question.
“You are very, very bad and won’t have any ices,” Jo scolded.
“I’ve already eaten three,” Merry chirped. “I know Miss Crone will give me only bread and weak tea when I go home, so I’ve filled up.”
