Chapter 10

Olivia's father had told her the story behind the Vinci necklaces dozens of times. Andrea Vinci was one of the most sought-after

jewelry makers in all of Italy at the turn of the previous century. At the height of his fame he became greedy. He employed

his artistic skill and created jewelry out of glass and metal. The pieces appeared luxurious and his reputation was sterling,

so no one questioned him when he sold them for the same price as his authentic pieces. His clients paid whatever price he

asked because they believed them to be valuable—not because they were.

She secured the Vinci necklace around her neck and pivoted. The fire's light caught the expertly cut glass stone and refracted

glimmering slivers of light against the papered wall. She smoothed her fingers across the piece and rested her fingertips

on the sleek pendant.

What would her father think of this scenario?

She returned to the mirror to assess her reflection, uncomfortably aware that she was assuming a role she'd never played before.

Donned in this gown she now looked the part, but would she act the part?

She straightened the necklace and patted a curl into place. She had no choice but to fight those feelings of nervousness and inadequacy as they rushed her.

Because that was all they were— feelings .

They were not a reflection of reality. She was at Cloverton Hall by invitation, after all. She possessed a unique skill—a

skill she was proud of. She could not—would not—allow herself to feel any less than the other women simply because of money.

When Mrs.Milton was ready to join the others for dinner, they made their way through the long first-floor corridor, which

was shadowed with the evening's gathering darkness. Candles wavered in their sconces on the paneled walls, casting flickering

amber light on every manner of painting and bauble that lined the broad walkway. As they approached the great staircase, Olivia

decided to use this time to her advantage. "You mentioned you are the hostess for the gathering. Does that mean you know all

the guests?"

Mrs.Milton took Olivia's arm and leaned heavily on her for support as they descended the stairs. "I'm familiar with some

of the ladies and their families, but the men are from George's set. I'm sure these gentlemen and ladies will be agreeable,

but every person is here for a purpose. Ladies seeking an advantageous match. Gentlemen on the prowl for their own self-indulgent

pursuits. Consider yourself warned, my dear, not only against the men but the women as well."

"The women?"

"They know nothing of you. Therefore, you are competition for attention from the men. Marriage, my dear. I daresay marriage

is on the mind of many in attendance."

Olivia stiffened at the suggestion. There was far too much she hoped to accomplish before she would succumb to that fate. Eager to put her client's mind at ease, she placed her hand atop Mrs. Milton's. "My business here at Cloverton Hall is purely professional."

"Is it?" Mrs.Milton raised a sparse sable brow. "I've yet to meet a woman who'd overlook an opportunity to further her station.

No doubt someone will endeavor to tempt you, but keep your business to yourself. Should anyone inquire as to the nature of

our relationship, all you need tell them is that you are a friend. Reveal nothing of significance of yourself, not only for

the sake of our little project but for yourself. No one is ever as they seem."

Mrs.Milton fell silent, and with each step down the great staircase, the volume of the voices emanating from the drawing

room increased. At the stair's foot they turned into the drawing room, and the magnificence that met Olivia stole her very

breath.

Thick painted oak panels covering the tall walls were broken by four separate windows and two veranda doors on the chamber's

far side, all of which were open to allow the breeze in from the south garden. Small clusters of chairs and sofas were spread

throughout the space. Portraits in heavily gilded frames depicting various generations of Milton family members adorned nearly

every spare bit of wall, and heavy wine-hued tapestry curtains hung from the ceiling to the floor.

No fire lit the broad marble grate, but dozens of beeswax candles flickered around the room, adding a warmth and glow that infused magic into every detail. Happy chatter and spirited laughter from genteel women in smart gowns and from sporting men in high-collared wool tailcoats echoed from every surface.

Olivia did not have time to consider where she would stand or whom she would speak with, for MissWainbridge was at her side.

"Aunt! MissBrannon. You've joined us at last."

"Isabella." Mrs.Milton sniffed her greeting. "It is a wonder we made it at all, being in such a rush."

"Well, you're here now, the both of you, and I'm glad for it. It would have been such a shame for you to miss the first gathering."

Mrs.Milton's imperious expression remained stoic. "I must speak with Mrs.Dareton on the seating arrangements. I trust I

can rely on you with the task of introducing MissBrannon to your guests?"

Without waiting for the young woman's response, Mrs.Milton disappeared.

MissWainbridge's eyes narrowed as she watched her aunt's retreating form. "She's been here just above an hour and already

she is displeased."

Olivia tried to read the meaning behind the words. Was it judgment? Annoyance? Insecurity? "Who is Mrs.Dareton?"

MissWainbridge refocused her attention on Olivia. "Mrs.Dareton is the housekeeper. I can only imagine what tasks she is

going to send that poor woman on." MissWainbridge looped her arm through Olivia's as familiarly as sisters. "But on a more

pleasant note, I'm quite elated to be the one who gets to introduce the newcomer to the guests. Everyone is curious to learn

the identity of Mrs.Milton's mystery guest."

Olivia tensed at the thought of being the topic of conversation. "There's no mystery, I assure you."

"Do not underestimate the intrigue you bring to our little party!" MissWainbridge cast a coy glance at two of the men in

the far corner, one of whom wore a crimson soldier's coat and was staring in their direction. "The men are already taking

notice. Who could blame them? You've captured their fancy."

"I think that assessment may be a bit excessive."

MissWainbridge tittered charmingly. "Are you really as modest as you seem? My uncle might be dead, and the fortune might

have passed to my brother, but Agnes Milton is still as influential as ever. Her tastes and opinions once set the tone for

the entire ton, and such esteem does not vanish overnight."

The paradox was too unbelievable. Just last week Olivia was wearing an apron, covered in the dirt of decades-old, discarded

items. But she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin to look out over the guests again. Tonight, however, she was

a mystery .

"Oh look, there's George at last!" MissWainbridge exclaimed, and Olivia turned to see the gentleman entering from a door

on the far wall.

MissWainbridge motioned to her brother, and he lifted his head in response.

Olivia had noticed that Mr. Wainbridge was a striking man upon first arrival, but now that she was calmer and rested, she took fresh notice of his appearance. His uncommonly dark eyes were wide and alert, framed by strong brows, dark lashes, and high cheekbones, and his height commanded attention. His cleft chin, while far more pronounced than his sister's, left no question that these two were related. His manner was so easy, his smile so effortless, that it was impossible not to feel at ease, not to mention welcomed, in his presence.

He wove his way through the guests until he was within speaking distance.

"George, see who has managed to join us." MissWainbridge angled her body to include Olivia in the conversation.

His white smile flashed and he bowed. "MissBrannon! I'm glad to speak with you again, for I was uncomfortable with our earlier

greeting. I do hope you were not made uneasy by it."

"Not at all. And I must thank you for your hospitality, Mr.Wainbridge. I know I was not on your original list of invites.

It must have been quite inconvenient to have a last-minute addition."

"Quite the contrary. My aunt and I do not see eye to eye on many things, but I think we both agree that you are a pleasant

addition. But I fear I'm at a disadvantage."

Mr.Wainbridge inclined his head toward Olivia and lowered his voice. "You see, you know more about me than I know about you.

My aunt does not care for me. It's not much of a secret, yet I fear it is necessary for me to plead my case to you. She does

not know me or Isabella, not really. I can only hope her predisposition does not cast a shadow on your impression of us."

Olivia noted his hopeful expression. His ingenuous eyes. He looked at her in a way that made her feel like he really saw her—in

a way most people did not. It was... nice.

Mrs.Milton's warning of not revealing too much flared, yet Olivia was still mistress of her own mind and actions. "I may

be your aunt's guest, Mr.Wainbridge, but I possess my own opinions."

"Well then, such a relationship speaks to your credit. My aunt finds fault with most people. The fact that she found such goodness in you is quite a feat."

How simple it would be to warm to the siblings and their inviting temperaments and to immediately count them as friends. Their

cordial welcome had certainly stood in stark contrast to Mrs.Milton's cooler, more distanced treatment, but ultimately Olivia

had to remember why she was here. Her top priority, above all else, was to assess a collection she had yet to see.