Chapter 20

"Except for perhaps Mr.Avery. He is, after all, in trade."

Olivia could not shake Isabella's assessment of Lucas Avery. It was too amusing. Now, she spotted him instantly as she entered

the drawing room to wait to be called for dinner.

Regardless of the difficult history that had occurred between their families, Olivia was again struck by his appearance. How

different it was from the gangly youth she remembered. His dark hair, much darker now than it had been in his youth, curled

away from his face, and side whiskers framed high cheekbones. His eyes reminded her of the color of sea glass, and the fact

that they were fringed with dark lashes made them all the more striking. His smile, not to mention his manner, was genuine

and affable, and he appeared completely at ease with the elite company. MissWainbridge might have begrudged the fact that

he was in trade, but he spoke as equals with the gentlemen who most likely did not have to earn a wage.

Even so, she had been avoiding him, and probably would have continued to do so were it not for Mrs. Milton's impossible request. As indicated, Olivia was seated next to Mr. Avery at dinner. They exchanged cordial initial greetings as the guests were taking their seats, but he immediately engaged in conversation with Miss Kline, who was seated on his other side. The dinner, like the others, was service à la fran?aise , and for the first course the servants brought a variety of soups and fish and placed them around the table.

As was customary, the guests served themselves and each other whatever dishes were close, and it was at this point that Mr.Avery

turned his attention to her. "Would you care for the artichoke soup?"

She accepted, and he lifted the silver ladle and filled her soup bowl before filling his own.

As she took her first bite of the creamy soup, she was aware that she had his attention, and she attempted to formulate a

way to broach the topic of the Cloverton collection.

But he spoke first. "MissKline tells me that the ladies are quite pleased with the arrival of our guest."

Olivia followed his gaze toward Mr.Romano, who was seated next to MissHaven at the table's end. He said something she could

not quite make out, but MissHaven, MissStanley, and a chaperone tittered in response.

Mr.Avery shook his head. "He definitely seems to charm the ladies. The gentlemen, perhaps not so much. But you know men.

We do not care much for competition, and I'm sure not many can compete with a man so adept at capturing the female spirit

on canvas."

"Oh, I don't know." She lowered her spoon and reached for her glass of water. "There are other ways to charm a lady, to be

sure."

He laughed, took a drink of the brandy in front of him, and returned his glass to the table. "You're right, of course, but therein lies the quandary. Most men have no clue of what those other ways are."

Normally, Olivia would have surmised that his tone bordered on flirtation, but she knew better, for she knew men like him—men

whose livelihoods depended upon making people feel comfortable and important. Her own father and uncle excelled at it. It

was a hallmark of their profession. Mr.Avery was skilled in the art as well, for she'd observed his interactions with the

other ladies. She didn't believe for a moment that he didn't know how to use his masculine appeal.

Olivia adjusted the napkin on her lap, and as she did so, she spied Mrs.Milton from the corner of her eye. The sooner she

had this behind her, the better she would feel. She pivoted to face Mr.Avery more fully. "I am glad we have been seated next

to each other, for I've been hoping to speak with you."

"What about?"

"Well, your business."

"Shh!" He lowered his voice and leaned closer, a playful twinkle glinting in his expression. "It's incredibly vulgar to work

for a living."

Olivia could not help but release a little laugh. "I'm aware. MissWainbridge reminded me of that just today."

"Did she?" He leaned back in his chair. "Does she know of your family's legacy?"

Olivia shook her head. "No. No one does, except for you and Mrs.Milton. And I must thank you for keeping your knowledge of

my family to yourself. Mrs.Milton is adamant that no one should know of it."

He winced. "Why on earth would she make such a request?"

"As you said, being in trade is nothing short of vulgar."

He indulged in a long laugh. "Is this your first time visiting Cloverton Hall?"

"Yes, it is. Why?"

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening and then spoke to her in a low tone. "If I'm not mistaken,

your father enjoyed a long and fruitful relationship with Mr.Milton. I thought perhaps you'd been here before, with him."

"My father did visit here, a couple of times actually, but that was many years ago."

"I wonder that you did not join him. If I recall accurately, you were always at your father's side."

"At the time I would have been far too young to be of significant help."

"Don't be so modest, MissBrannon. I've heard that you're integral to the business."

Uncomfortable with the praise, she lowered her spoon.

"Oh, come now. Do not seem so shocked! I'd hardly be a man of my business if I didn't know such things about my competition."

She stiffened. Did he really think of her as competition?

His posture slackened and his voice lowered even further. "Russell Crane told me you had quite an eye for such things. He

said that you have a hand in most of the transactions that go through your warehouse."

She frowned. "You know Mr.Crane?"

"Of course I do. I've seen him at the docks often meeting the ships as they come in."

There was no reason why Russell should have confided to her that he had spoken with Mr. Avery, but it still made her feel as if she was on the outside of things.

She had to regain control of this conversation. If she was going to say what needed to be said, she needed to do it now. "I

have a confession, Mr.Avery."

***

Something had changed in MissBrannon's countenance.

Was it something he'd said?

Lucas had done his best to maintain a congenial conversation, given the terse history between their families, and until this

moment, her actions had exuded confidence: her eye contact, her posture, the steady, unaffected tone of her voice.

He repeated her intriguing word. "A confession?"

Her somber demeanor remained steadfast. "Mrs.Milton knows of your profession."

"That's not much of a confession, MissBrannon," he teased, attempting to ease her concern. "Anyone may know it."

"There's more." Her voice lowered until it was barely audible over the humming conversations and clinking silver. "She's convinced

you're here to exploit her husband's collection."

Lucas held her gaze, longer than he probably should, before responding. "I see."

"And I was not supposed to be seated next to you tonight, but Mrs. Milton rearranged the entire dinner so that I might talk with you and learn which items you're interested in. Even now she is staring at me, no doubt wondering what details I am getting from you."

He cast a glance toward Mrs.Milton. Sure enough, the older woman's watchful eyes were cut in his dinner companion's direction.

MissBrannon continued, "I do apologize if this makes things difficult or uncomfortable for you."

He resisted a smile. When every other woman here was determined to pull at his heartstrings and toy with his emotions, her

forthright deportment was refreshing.

He shifted in the seat. He still didn't know exactly why she was here at Cloverton Hall, but he surmised that regardless of

the reason, she had her own difficulties to contend with. The other guests believed her to be Mrs.Milton's friend, but MissBrannon's

words implied otherwise.

"Well then, I have a confession of my own," he countered. "Mr.Milton's library is connected to Mr.Wainbridge's study. I

was in there this afternoon and heard everything Mrs.Milton said."

MissBrannon jerked. "And you didn't make yourself known? Is that not unethical?"

"Unethical? Come now, MissBrannon. We are in the same business. It's our responsibility to broker sales and to ensure the

legality of such transactions. It's not our place to question what is sold, when, or why. I'd be more than happy to entertain any questions Mrs.Milton might have,

but at the day's end, Mr.Wainbridge is the rightful owner of the estate, and as such, he's who I must answer to."

"I don't disagree. And I told Mrs.Milton as much."

"You know as well as I do that there is no place for emotion in these dealings."

"On that point I must differ." A sudden flush colored her high cheekbones, and an impassioned sharpness flashed over her delicate

features. "Emotion is the entire reason we do what we do, be it love, pride, affection, fear, or any number of motivations

for why people amass things. What are any of us without emotion? Mrs.Milton is grieving, and her husband's collection is

her last link to him. Once those items are gone, he will be lost to her all over again."

He sobered. "She told you this?"

"Not verbatim. But I can only assume."

When her words fell silent, he offered a smile to alleviate the topic's gravity. "I hope this does not sound presumptuous,

but I must say I find your friendship with Mrs.Milton quite unusual. It does not seem as if you two would have much in common."

"Friendships come in many forms, Mr.Avery," she refuted. "She's known my family a very long time. And you? Are you friends

with Mr.Wainbridge?"

Her masterful ability to turn the tide of a conversation impressed him. "Come now, MissBrannon. There's no need for pretense.

You may know I'm here on business, but no one else needs to know that. It would ruin the fun."

Her chest rose with a sigh, and her ardent aspect softened. "Well, if you'll not divulge what specific pieces you are considering, I cannot force it from you. But I can say that I envy you. You're spending time with the famed Cloverton collection—one of the greatest collections in all of England."

Lucas decided in that moment that he liked MissOlivia Brannon. He liked her passion and her directness. He supposed he always

had on some level. When she was a child, he'd been amused at her determination. As a young adult, he'd admired her perseverance.

Even though she did little to hide her distaste of his family, he found her transparency refreshing. No, she was not as polished

and cultured as the other women in attendance, but he suspected there was a depth to her—a sincerity—that intrigued him all

the more.

The more he talked with her, the more he wanted to know about her. But he had to be careful. Just as with anything else, he

would have to build trust before she'd let her guard down around him.

And he wanted her to trust him.

He supposed it would be easier for him to overlook the precarious past of their families than it would be for her. After all,

it had been his father who wronged hers—not the other way around.

Under normal circumstances he would never presume to speak to a woman about his business. For not only would she not be interested,

but it would be considered impolite. But Miss Brannon was different. "Have you seen the Cavesee Vase yet?"

"The Cavesee Vase." A soft smile curved her full lips, as if a memory had just been recalled. "I wondered if that might be

one of the pieces you're eyeing. But to answer your question, no, I've not. Have you?"

"No, but I think it's in the gallery, in the room directly above us, where tonight's concert is to be held. Speaking of the Cavesee Vase, do you recall that day at the auction house, all those years ago?"

"How could I not? My father was so proud that day."

"And I seem to recall you being quite enthused at the prospect of seeing a tiger."

Her heart-shaped face flushed crimson. "I was a child."

"What were you? Fourteen? Fifteen? Ah, doesn't matter," he bantered. "And did you ever see your tiger?"

"I did not, but I did see the Cavesee Vase, which was the true spectacle. And no one could question Mr.Milton's tastes. Just

looking around this chamber, I see a dozen pieces I'd love to examine."

"When I first saw you here, I assumed you were here to evaluate the Cloverton collection on your uncle's behalf," he admitted.

"No, no. You're quite mistaken." A small, playful grin tugged at her lips as she volleyed back a quip of her own. "Antiquities

is a man's realm, as I've been told time and time again. Far too indelicate for a lady."

He laughed heartily at the subtle sarcasm in her tone. He could only imagine the sort of prejudice she'd encountered. "Well

stated, MissBrannon."

"In all seriousness, though, I'll put your mind at ease. I will not be evaluating Mr.Wainbridge's property. I'm a guest of

Mrs.Milton, that's all."

A sparkle, which had been absent when they'd first sat down, now resided in Miss Brannon's eyes, and she reached for her wine with her long, slender fingers and took a sip.

He followed suit and lifted his glass, but he found looking away from her difficult. Like it or not, he was inexplicably drawn

to her understated yet confident tenacity and the manner in which she challenged societal perceptions.

And he admired her for it.