Chapter Twenty-Four

S affron stood in the shadows of the ballroom, watching her sister stand stiffly beside the Duke of Canterbury. She had considered and rejected the idea of telling her sister about the letters. It would only hurt her, and she needed all her strength to survive marriage to Canterbury.

Assuming Mr. Mayweather doesn't call him out.

Simon lurked at the fringe of Angelica's entourage, casting baleful glances at the duke. He had made several attempts to engage Angelica in conversation, but she expertly deflected him each time.

In a corner, Lady Allen stood with a drink in her hand, surveying the room. Saffron made her careful way toward the woman, sticking close to the walls, nearly bumping a maid carrying empty glasses back to the kitchen.

"Quite the crush," Lady Allen said. "It's as if the whole of London descended upon us." She wore an elegant gown in olive, watered silk. Large emeralds dripped from her ears and her hair was done up with an oil that smelled of violet.

"The estate has been closed off for so long," Saffron said with a sigh. "We could not turn them away, not when there are no other inns for miles."

The parade of guests had started after they'd returned from the village, and had not let up, keeping them busy for hours. Almost all the guest rooms were occupied, after a herculean effort by Mrs. Banting.

Lady Allen inclined her head, her lips twitching. "Do you intend to purchase anything?"

"I do not have the funds. And you, my lady?"

"I have set my eye on a few," Lady Allen said, although her gaze passed over the paintings and settled on the guests. As her eyes came to rest on Leo, Saffron's shoulders tensed. That would be just her luck if the lovely woman desired an arrangement with the man who had captured her heart.

"You feel something for him, don't you?" Lady Allen asked.

Saffron startled. "You did that on purpose. You were trying to provoke a reaction out of me."

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" Lady Allen laughed, hiding her mouth behind an ornate, ivory fan inlaid with mother-of-pearl gems and fledged with chartreuse lace.

What would it be like to be a companion to such a lady?

"So, you aren't interested in him?" Saffron asked, trying to sound as if she didn't care.

"I do not steal what belongs to others," Lady Allen replied. "I don't need to. However, if he wishes to return to me, I might consider the idea."

Saffron leaned closer, forcing Lady Allen to retreat. "That's enough."

Lady Allen's eyes were wide above the curve of her fan. "Pardon?"

Saffron flicked her hand in a dismissing gesture. "I know what you're doing. Trying to force me into action. It won't work."

She turned and strode away, leaving the older woman standing alone. It took three rotations of the room before she regained control of her emotions.

I can't believe I just did that.

Lady Allen had deserved the rebuke, of course. The woman was an incessant meddler. Given free rein, her interference would only have worsened.

I stood up for myself, that's what I did.

A curious lightness filled Saffron's chest, chasing away the fear and anxiety she'd felt only moments before. She used the moment to peruse the paintings. In each of the smudged faces, she imagined her brother. A hand grazed her hip as Leo came to stand beside her.

"I see Sabrina's face in all of them," he said, in a disturbing echo of her own thoughts. He took her hand and escorted her around, earning gasps from several of the older ladies, who gathered and muttered behind their fans, shooting dark looks their way.

What did they think, seeing her on his arm?

Curiously, she didn't care.

*

Leo struck the match against the top of the small, wooden table set at the front of the ballroom. The room was silent, all eyes on him. Wind rattled the shutters and whooshed down the fireplaces to make the flames dance.

"Quit the dramatics," Mr. Morgan called out before being shushed by his wife.

Leo lowered the match to the wick of a four-inch white candle set on a burnished silver stand. The wick flickered and caught flame. When the candle burned out, the auction would end.

As the guests dispersed, he wondered if the thief was present. Detective Jansen had reported nothing, and neither had his sources in the village. But he knew better than to let his guard down. He searched out Saffron, who had taken a position by the exit, artfully laughing with one of his guests. She caught his eyes and winked.

"Capital idea, this auction."

He turned to find Simon standing with a cigar in one hand.

"Ravenmore is quite popular," Leo said.

Each of the pieces of art was presented at a singular platform, with a special moderator to start the bidding on each purchase. With each sale, a footman ran into the room and took one painting and ferried it into the auction room. He stood and watched as painting after painting was removed and the crowd thinned. He was not interested in learning the prices each piece had fetched. He was only interested in the star piece.

The final Ravenmore.

As far as the art society is concerned, anyway.

He expected a pang of loss, but there was none. Seeing how his staff had suffered without his oversight had made him realize he'd been stuck in his own selfish guilt, obsessed with furthering his sister's legacy. He would still paint, of course, but in his own time. The needs of his people had to come first.

It was Saffron who had opened his eyes. Without her caustic tongue and no-nonsense manner, he would have remained mired in darkness.

It's time.

A trusted footman carried the sheet-covered Ravenmore up the stairs and placed it on an easel. Leo waited for the crowd to settle down before pulling the sheet off the painting.

There was a collection of " ooh "s and " aah "s.

It was an oil painting, like all his sister's other works, with rich colors and bold brushstrokes. In the distance, a woman collected plants from a garden, a straw hat on her head. She was in the upper right of the painting, looking away from the viewer. Looking at it gave Leo a sense of homesickness, as if the woman were waiting for him. That was what made Sabrina's paintings so popular—not the technique, or the setting, but the emotion her artwork elicited.

Leo tore his gaze away from the canvas and watched the faces of his guests, but he could discern nothing from them, other than generalized excitement.

The auction attendant cleared his throat and took his place behind a podium. "The next piece in tonight's auction is the last piece by the celebrated, anonymous painter Ravenmore. An oil painting on canvas. A pastoral landscape scene in vivid hues. Let us begin the auction at a hundred pounds."

The bids started slowly, which was not at all surprising. The early participants were Simon, to Leo's surprise, and Mr. Morgan. The bidding increased until almost everyone present had bid, aside from Leo, Saffron, and Saffron's sister and aunt.

Eventually, tensions escalated to the point even the auctioneer could not keep the peace. Mr. Morgan struggled in his wife's grip. His face reddened as he screamed bids at the top of his lungs.

"Enough!" Leo glared at Mr. Morgan. "If you do not act like a gentleman, I will have you removed."

Mrs. Morgan clutched at her husband's arm, and the man coughed into his handkerchief.

The bidding then continued until the only remaining bidders were Lady Allen, whom Leo suspected only wanted to tweak the other participant, and Mr. Morgan. The flush on the man's face brightened with each increase in price. Lady Allen giggled behind her fan. But eventually, she stopped bidding and laid back in her chair with a defeated sigh.

"Are there any other bids?" the auction attendant asked. When no hands were raised, he continued. "In that case, our winner is Mr. Morgan, at fifteen hundred pounds."

The crowd mumbled appreciatively. Even Leo was pleased.

With the auction over, he congratulated each of the winners, starting with Mr. Morgan. The man patted his face with a napkin, sweating profusely. "That wretched woman almost bid me out of house and home." He glared at Lady Allen, who was giggling.

"Had I not expected this, she might have won," Mr. Morgan said.

"What do you mean?" Leo asked.

The man gave a smug grin. "I had my solicitor, Mr. Percy, sell several antiques to ensure I had sufficient funds."

So that was why Saffron had seen the two men outside.

"What will you do with it?" Leo asked.

The man puffed out his chest. "Show it off, of course. Now I can say that I own a piece of art from the famous Ravenmore."

Leo sighed.

I should have guessed.

He no longer suspected Mr. Morgan. If the man were his thief, it would not make sense to keep the painting.

At least the auction had brought Saffron into his life. She was already busy coordinating the activities for the next day, and he thought he could hear her asking about the breakfast buffet.

"Rashers of bacon, and poached eggs for breakfast," she said. "With the cool weather, the guests will need to warm themselves up before departing."

The words sent a chill through Leo's heart. She was going to leave. A few days earlier, the thought of having his studio back would have filled him with joy, but all he felt was emptiness. She had returned his estate to what it had once been before time and tragedy had worn away the joy that had once penetrated every stone of the walls.

She was still talking, but Leo didn't hear a word. All he could think was he was out of time.