Chapter 11

What on earth was Olivia Brannon doing at Cloverton Hall?

The question vexed Lucas as he settled himself in the formal dining room. All around him polite chatter and reserved laughter

echoed from the nearly twenty participants seated at the long table. Each person employed their finest manners and best behavior

for the opening dinner. Glass and porcelain clinked. Silver sparkled, and an aura of expectant anticipation hovered over all.

Lucas knew most of the guests. Many were friends of Tate and often present at his social gatherings. But never had he seen

MissBrannon among them.

Lucas took a sip of his wine and cast another glance in the young woman's direction. At one time he considered Olivia Brannon

a friend, but after their fathers dissolved their business partnership, that friendship faded rapidly. When Mr.Brannon was

still alive, Lucas would often encounter Olivia at auctions and the sort, but since his death, Lucas had seen less and less

of her.

It was no secret that Brannon had taught his eldest daughter everything he knew, and every agent and purveyor in the antiquities business knew who she was. Even now that Thomas Brannon was at the helm of Brannon Antiquities, it was generally understood that she was the driving force behind most of their transactions.

By all accounts she was intelligent. Astute. And doggedly determined.

"I am growing concerned."

The coy feminine voice to Lucas's right claimed his attention.

MissCaroline Stanley's wide-set, soft russet eyes were fixed on him, and her delicate pink lips were drawn in a distressed,

albeit flirtatious, pout.

Lucas angled his body to focus on his charming dinner partner. "We can't have that. What's troubling you?"

"You and I have been acquainted for at least a decade, have we not? In all that time I've never known you to be so solemn.

It's quite distracting, and I don't like it."

An easy smile formed. He'd always liked MissStanley and her gift for witty banter. "Am I to understand that I am the source of your concern?"

"Of course!" Her titian brows drew together, resulting in a prettily furrowed brow. "This is our first evening at the lovely

Cloverton party, and you already seem bored and distracted. We've not seen one another in months and have so much to catch

up on. One would think you did not want to be here at all."

Lucas sobered at the censure. He had to remember that he was here to save his business. That meant being friendly. Building a reputation. Every choice—every action and conversation—was a gamble that he was focusing his time and effort on the right project at the right time. "I can assure you, Miss Stanley, that nothing is further from the truth. I am merely observing."

She lowered her voice, as if taking him into her confidence. "Do you mean you are observing Mrs.Milton?"

"Mrs.Milton?" He chuckled, casting a glance at their hostess. "What makes you say that?"

"I saw you watching her. I can't say I blame you. I've never met her in person before, although I have seen her at gatherings

and balls from time to time."

Lucas shrugged. "I'm curious about her, 'tis all. She has quite the reputation."

"She is an intimidating creature, to be sure. I once saw a young woman crying because Mrs.Milton told her mother that she

thought her dress inappropriate for the weather. The weather! Her opinion has the power to either make a person the talk of

the Season or ruin them forever." MissStanley shook her head, causing the curls on either side of her face to dance. "How

different she is from the Wainbridges. Imagine what it must be like to have her as an aunt. But how fortunate that Mr.Wainbridge

was able to convince her to preside over the party as hostess. I have it on good authority that she has not personally hosted

a single event since Mr.Milton's death. I'm quite certain my mother never would have consented for me to attend otherwise.

And I was also glad to learn that you are among the guests. You were greatly missed over the summer. But Mr.Tate told me

you have been traveling?"

"I returned from Italy two weeks ago."

"A trip for pleasure, I hope?"

"Business, I'm afraid. I was finalizing some of my father's dealings there."

"Yes, I heard about your father." Her tone lowered in solidarity. "I was very sorry to hear it."

He took another drink to hide any emotion that might reveal itself in his expression. How could nine months have already elapsed

since his father's death?

"Well then," she exclaimed, her polished tone brightening, "we must do our very best to make sure you are happy and have no

reason to be melancholy while you're here. Diversion is always the best remedy when plagued with grief, I've found."

Lucas wished he could see the world so simply—to merely demand a distraction and find respite from a wound he doubted would

ever really heal. But to him, relief would come through working hard and securing a future for his business.

"Now, tell me..." She leaned over and glanced around the table, a sparkle twinkling in her eyes. "You always seem to know

the most unique details. Do you know anything about the young lady sitting next to Mrs.Milton?"

He looked toward MissBrannon. She was bound to be a topic of conversation sooner or later.

MissStanley continued, "No one seems to know anything about her—where she lives or who her people are. Not even the Wainbridges.

MissWainbridge told me she was a particular friend of Mrs.Milton, and that Mrs.Milton insisted MissKline actually be moved

from her bedchamber so that this new guest might stay there. MissKline was quite put out. Isn't that curious?"

He leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. "Well, whatever her story, I'm sure we'll all know it soon enough. No one can keep a secret for long."

MissStanley giggled. "How right you are, Mr.Avery."

The soft hum of polite conversation floated around him in hushed tones and restrained laughter. He knew how these parties

would go... he would speak with MissBrannon yet tonight. There would be no way around it.

He studied her more closely, as discreetly as he was able. The gentle—and attractive—slope of her nose. The fullness of her

florid lips. It was coloring that tied her to the Edward Brannon he recalled—chestnut hair, hazel eyes that were more gold

than green, a clear, fair complexion. She was not dressed as a plain shopgirl, as she had been in most of their other encounters.

She was elegant, refined. Always before he'd seen her as Mr.Brannon's impetuous daughter. Now she seemed every bit a lady

in her own right.

The relaxed state he'd just enjoyed was beginning to dissipate as the possible motives for her attendance continued to develop

in his mind.

Lucas had assumed that the business relationship between the Brannons and Cloverton Hall died with Francis Milton. Furthermore,

George Wainbridge had definite plans for how to handle the collection moving forward.

And yet, she was here. And she seemed so friendly with the Wainbridge siblings.

It was too coincidental. Wasn't it?

Lucas endeavored to pay attention to the ebullient Miss Stanley's recounting of her sister's recent nuptials and the list of those in attendance. Yet his thoughts raced.

At one point MissBrannon glanced his way across the broad dining table. In the midst of lively chatter and laughter, the

spark of recognition flared between them.

Then the guest to her left said something to her, and the thread that connected them for that brief, magnetizing second snapped.

In that singular moment his entire purpose for being at the house party intensified.

She was competition.

There could be no way around it.

***

Every aspect of the first dinner at the Cloverton house party competed for Olivia's attention. The matching pewter octagonal

bowls on either side of the carved marble fireplace—decidedly Persian. The ancient painted Chinese screen depicting cranes

and exotic fish adorning the opposite wall. The very table she was sitting at, with its teak inlay and intricate carvings

along the edges. The elegant women clad in shimmering gossamer and Brussels lace, with jewels strung about their necks, strands

of gold thread sewn into the very fabric of their gowns, and fresh flowers tucked into their hair.

Never had her senses experienced such an onslaught of so many new and interesting things. And yet she was equally aware of the inquisitive glances toward her. Miss Wainbridge had been right; Olivia's very presence was a novelty to this group—a newcomer who may or may not have the power to disrupt the social balance.

Olivia straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, assessing the other guests with a fresh eye. Every single one of them

possessed a self-assuredness and confidence that both struck her and reminded her of visiting clients with her father.

Now, although it was a mere charade, she was on the other side of the interaction.

New rules. New etiquette. New everything. She would do the only thing she really could do at the moment, and that was to appear

completely in control and entirely at ease. Wasn't that what offering opinions and advice in a man's business had taught her?

For her whole life people had made assumptions about her and her abilities, and each time it made her want to prove herself

even more.

Yet one thing was preventing her from giving in to her new role completely.

Lucas Avery.

She'd noticed him watching her.

Olivia glanced to her left at Mrs.Milton. This situation would perhaps be easier if the woman acting as her chaperone would

at least communicate with her or show some form of solidarity, but the older woman had said very little since being seated

in the dining room. Olivia had assumed, even hoped, that Mrs.Milton would warm to her once they'd arrived at Cloverton Hall,

but the opposite seemed to be true.

Olivia recalled how her father's disposition had changed after her mother had died. His once jovial demeanor morphed into a much more somber, more cynical one, and with each year that followed, his pessimism intensified.

It couldn't be easy for Mrs.Milton, coming into a home that had once belonged to her and seeing that changes were being made.

Olivia had to remember that Mrs.Milton did not invite her on a holiday. She'd asked her to perform a task with very specific

parameters. It was up to Olivia to manage her own emotions and fulfill the expectations that had been set before her.

As Olivia pushed the roasted partridge around her plate with her fork, she sensed the uncomfortable weight of someone's attention

on her. She glanced to her right to see Mr.Fielding's red-rimmed eyes fixed on her. A smirk curved his thin lips into an

expression that made her shift uncomfortably in her chair.

He had an uncommonly narrow face, a pointed nose, and a small mouth that seemed very much like a weasel's. She'd been introduced

to him only minutes before they entered the dining room, and now she'd have to endure the entire dinner by his side.

"Lost in thought, are you, MissBrannon?"

"No, no." She smiled, masking her reaction to the strong scent of wine lacing his breath. "Just admiring the decor."

"Ah yes, it is interesting, is it not?" He did little to hide his assessment as he looked around the dining room. "A bit eccentric

for my taste, but I'm told the former master was quite extreme in his passions."

Olivia stiffened at the words, refusing to look in Mrs.Milton's direction and hoping she'd not overheard the comment. "Are

you from London, Mr.Fielding?"

"No, heavens, no. I'm from Derbyshire, but I do spend a great deal of time in London. Did I not hear Wainbridge say that is where you call home?"

"It is."

"I adore London," he exclaimed before indulging in a noisy swig of claret. "I was there not three weeks ago. A fabulous outing.

I don't recall seeing you at any events, though. I'm sure I'd have remembered."

The unmasked flirtation in his tone unsettled her. She lowered her fork and tapped her napkin against her lip, attempting

to ignore the tone behind the words. "No, indeed you would not have seen me. I may live in London but fear I'm not in society

much."

He emphatically clicked his tongue. "A true pity. At least for the next couple of days, however, we shall have to make up

for lost time."

Heat crept up her neck as the innuendo hit home. Russell's words came to her. "They are not like us. They operate under a different set of rules. Nothing will be as you know it."

She glanced toward Mr.Avery, who was looking in her direction.

For a moment, they locked eyes.

Did he know and understand these rules? Or was he like her—playing a role?

She snapped her attention back to Mr.Fielding. Determined to take control of the conversation, she asked, "Have you visited

Cloverton Hall before?"

Mr. Fielding shook his head, disheveling his thinning, auburn-tinged hair even further. "Never, although I must say that it far exceeds my expectations. I've heard Wainbridge speak of it often over the last several months, and in nearly each instance I accused him of exaggeration. But now that I'm here, I must say his descriptions of it hardly did it justice. And you? Have you ever been here?"

"No."

"I only wondered because Wainbridge said you are closely acquainted with Mrs.Milton, who, if I am not mistaken, is the widow

of Cloverton Hall's former master." He lowered his voice to a rough whisper and leaned uncomfortably close to her ear. "I

know her reputation as a leader in society, but I hear she's quite a beastly woman to be around."

Olivia retracted from his nearness and scooted her chair back as discreetly as she could manage, unsure of how to respond

to his blunt statement. She knew one thing for certain: she would not be drawn in. Goodness, she didn't even know Mrs.Milton;

she would not engage in a conversation about her, especially a negative one. She tossed her head, giving an attempt at an

air of confidence, and shrugged one shoulder. "I'm afraid I don't understand your meaning, sir."

"Don't you?" He dragged his napkin over his thin lips. "Well then. You must be privy to knowing something about Mrs.Milton

that the rest of us do not."

She hesitated and stared down at her plate.

"There now, I caught you!" he exclaimed heartily. "Very well, you can keep your secret, for I'll find it out by the end of

the party. In the meantime, I'm endeavoring to stay in her good graces."

Olivia decided in that moment that she did not care for Mr. Fielding. There was no need to be quiet or shy with her response. After all, he would never see her again after this. She could, for the night, be his equal until such a point that she was not. "Endeavoring? Am I to take it, then, that your normal behavior would inherently cause her to think ill of you?"

His exuberant laughter rose above the other conversations, and he wagged a finger at her. "You are quite a perceptive little

bird. Quite perceptive indeed. But you're attempting to change the subject, and that I simply will not allow."

His voice was barely above a whisper now. "Wainbridge told me everything. How the old woman despises him—indeed, how she despises

the entire group gathered—but she has no other choice but to play hostess because she has nowhere else to live."

Olivia couldn't hold back the rise of her brows.

"See? That did get a reaction."

"Of course it did. I think it very uncouth of you to say such cruel things."

"I am only repeating what was said to me." Mr.Fielding raised his hands to proclaim innocence. "But you're right. It was

uncouth , as you put it. Forgive me. Besides, we should be grateful, shouldn't we? She is, after all, our hostess. If not for her,

so many anxious mamas and overbearing guardians might not have consented to allow their daughters to join in the party. And

then where would the fun be? And at the end of the day, we're all rogues. But at least I am not the worst."

When Olivia did not immediately respond, Mr.Fielding pushed back in his chair and heaved a dramatic sigh. "Oh dear. I've

offended."

Olivia met his gaze. "You've not offended me, Mr.Fielding, but I'd caution you to remember that people are not always what

they appear to be."

"Isn't that the beauty of it?" His gray eyes twinkled. "I'd dare anyone here to really show their true selves."

A sharp rebuttal simmered on the tip of her tongue—but she did not allow it to pass. It was no use—the man was intoxicated.

As if suddenly bored with her, Mr.Fielding turned and began speaking to the lady on his other side.

Grateful for the reprieve, Olivia took a sip of the claret in front of her. I am not really a part of this. These people are not my friends.

She cast a glance over to Mrs.Milton, who was no longer speaking to the gentleman on the other side of her. She was, instead,

staring at a painting on the far wall. Silently. Solemnly. The nearby candlelight flickered and cast light on her withered,

wan cheek, emphasizing the lines and the wrinkles there.

In that moment Olivia's empathy ached for Mrs.Milton. The dynamic between the older and younger generations was tense, and

Mrs.Milton was facing it alone.

In a welcome distraction Mr.Wainbridge stood from his chair at the table's end and lifted his hands, and the group fell silent.

All eyes turned to their affable host, whose genuine enthusiasm and unmistakable charisma lit the space.

"My dear friends, let me take this opportunity to welcome you to Cloverton Hall. I know it's not always easy to travel all this way and be away from your lives for so long, but I have been so eager to share Cloverton with you. While you are here, please enjoy yourselves. Tomorrow the gentlemen will take to the outdoors, and my sister and aunt have been busy planning activities for the ladies. A special guest will be arriving tomorrow, and we'll all attend the Whitmores' ball later this week. Before our first dinner together comes to an end, I also want to thank my aunt, Mrs. Milton, for agreeing to act as our hostess for the week. Her knowledge and reputation are beyond compare."

Olivia shifted and looked to the older woman, whose expression remained dour. At length, she stood. "Now, ladies, let us take

that as our cue to withdraw and leave the gentlemen to their port. MissBrannon, take my arm."

Olivia, surprised by the invitation, rose to her feet, and Mrs.Milton placed her hand on Olivia's arm. It was odd after being

ignored that Mrs.Milton would point her out, but in truth, Olivia was grateful to feel as if there was a place for her.