Chapter 24

How could the other ladies find this enjoyable?

Olivia groaned and jerked her paintbrush away. Each time she pressed the bristles to the canvas, the watercolor bled and spread.

How was one to get the paint to stay in one place?

Olivia clamped her teeth over her lower lip, tapped her paintbrush against the paint once more, and hovered it over the canvas

for several seconds before pressing it against it. Patience had never really been her strength, but this was maddening.

MissKline was seated to her left, and Olivia cast a sideways glance over toward the lady's canvas. Olivia could clearly decipher

her subject matter: the swans on the pond. She looked back to her own canvas. Mr.Romano had instructed her to imitate the

magenta roses in front of her.

Her painting looked nothing like flowers.

Laura had always possessed a talent for such things—she was always drawing or sketching—but she'd also always obeyed her governess

and done her lessons. Laura also knew how to embroider, play the pianoforte, and perform all the tasks that the other ladies

engaged in.

Determined not to fail, Olivia wiped her hair away from her brow with her bare forearm and tipped her brush in the paint once more.

She could do this. She would do this.

Approaching footsteps broke her concentration, and Mr.Avery appeared at her side.

And her mortification was complete.

She resisted the urge to turn the easel and hide her dismal failure. But she straightened her shoulders. She'd show no embarrassment.

Her pride would not allow it.

"MissBrannon." Mr.Avery drew near and put his hands on his hips, squinting at her canvas. "What are you painting?"

She pivoted in her seat to face him more fully. "Can you not tell?"

He lifted his gaze to the garden bed beyond her easel. "The roses?"

She smiled, noting how the breeze lifted his hair. "Did the color give it away?"

"Absolutely."

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she lowered her brush. He'd seen her painting. And it hadn't been as embarrassing as she'd

anticipated. She hated the thought of being seen as incompetent in anything by the other guests, but Mr.Avery was different.

Perhaps it was because she, in some way, knew him, and he was not such a mystery. Perhaps it was because he knew the truth

about her—her family and where she came from.

There was freedom in not needing to hide such things.

But there was another element—something about his manner that made her comfortable. She liked the way he talked to her—as an equal.

He came closer, and the breeze caught an alluring scent of sandalwood and smoke. Yes, he made her comfortable, but there was

also an aspect to him that made her heart trip within her chest and her breath feel light.

"I've come across something that might interest you."

The idea that he had been thinking of her shot a bolt of excitement through her, like a streak of lightning across the sky.

"It is nothing untoward, I assure you, but it does require discretion," he continued. "Would you meet me privately in the

library after we are done here? I would understand if you do not wish to, but there is a particular item on which I should

like to get your opinion."

She hesitated, for it did seem untoward... an unmarried lady should not be alone with an unmarried man. Was that not the

reason for all the chaperones?

Her heart responded before her head. "I should be happy to. I'll meet you there before we all gather in the drawing room,

if Mrs.Milton can spare me."

"Good." He reestablished a greater distance between them. "I'd best go and compliment the other ladies on their artwork."

She liked the hint of laughter and amusement in his tone. "By all means, Mr. Avery. I would not deny that for the world."

***

Olivia knew better than to do what she was doing. It did not matter who she was or which social class she belonged to. She

should not be meeting Mr.Avery secretly.

But she couldn't resist the invitation.

Upon returning from the picnic, Mrs.Milton had decided to rest before dressing for dinner. The other ladies were also making

dinner preparations, and the men had embarked on a ride to the nearby village. It would be at least an hour before they returned.

Olivia took advantage of the quietude, slipped out from her chamber, and made her way to meet Mr.Avery.

Once at the library she opened the door to what had to be one of the largest rooms in Cloverton Hall. The thick damask curtains

were drawn over tall windows, but daylight seeped in around the edges of the fabric, illuminating dust motes hovering in the

air. Shelves of books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filling the space with their unmistakable scent. A large corner

shelf covered with pottery and ceramics summoned her to explore. In the center of it all stood a full-size marble statue of

a feminine figure, like a sentinel keeping watch over the treasures.

"You're here."

Mr.Avery was standing next to another door with a stack of crates piled next to him. He wore no coat, and his white shirtsleeves

were rolled to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms. His navy checked waistcoat hugged his athletic torso.

Each time she encountered him, his effect on her intensified. The reality that she was meeting him—alone—raced through her

mind.

She feigned composure. "This room is impressive. It's even larger than our storeroom." She drew closer to the statue in the room's center. The worn, smooth marble called to her. She reached out and touched the hand. "It is a statue of Venus?"

He joined her next to the piece. "I'd say."

She marveled at the detail of the fingernails. The intricate carved draping of the fabric. The locks of hair. "Normally I

only see items like this in my uncle's warehouse. I rarely see them in a home. Like this."

"Well, I've seen a lot of parlors, libraries, and studies stuffed to the brim, and I can say with certainty this is a rare

collection indeed."

She shook off her awe and refocused. As much as she would like to stay and get lost in the pieces here, she needed to be mindful.

"You said you wanted to speak with me?"

"I do." He crossed the broad space and picked up a small chinoiserie urn adorned in blue-and-white vines. "What do you think

of this?"

She accepted the piece from him. Immediately something felt off.

It was far too light.

She carried it to the window, pulled the curtain away, and held it up to the light. The piece should be somewhat translucent,

but the amount of light coming through was off. She angled it so the light hit it directly. The blue pattern had a slightly

greenish hue. The shade of white was too warm.

She flicked her eyes back to Mr. Avery. "This was in Mr. Milton's collection?"

He nodded.

Her chest grew tight as the reality rushed her.

This was not an authentic piece.

Surely Mr.Milton was enough of an expert to be able to spot the difference. What was more, her father was the one who worked

with him to build his collection. He most definitely would have known the difference.

She looked back to Mr.Avery and his expectant expression.

She was confident in what she was doing. Why should she feel shy? "There's something amiss with this."

His forehead furrowed. "You see it too?"

Relieved that his assessment matched hers, she turned it over in her hands. "It is a very good likeness, but it is not Chinese.

Or Japanese, for that matter. I think it's bone China."

"Exactly what I thought. Made somewhere here in England. And fairly recently." He took it back from her and placed it on the

table next to him. Then he reached up and took two more off the stair-stepped shelves and handed one to her. The piece in

question was almost identical in weight and material to the first. Her stomach clenched within her as her mind raced to map

the implication. "Are they all like this?"

He shook his head. "Not all, but several are."

"That doesn't make any sense." She frowned. "Mr.Milton was an experienced collector. He surely would have known."

"The way I see it, either Mr.Milton bought counterfeit pieces, which I highly doubt, or somewhere along the way the original

pieces were exchanged with these to make it appear as if the collection was intact."

She was glad to hear that he did not suspect that Mr. Milton acquired the pieces from her father in this condition, but the alternative he offered was grim indeed. And she could not argue with his logic.

"Does Mr.Wainbridge know yet?" She returned the piece to him.

"No. I intend to get a better handle on what it is we're dealing with before I do. In fact, you're the first person I've told."

Again, that strange sense of kinship flared within her. He took her seriously—and that fact alone drew her to him even more.

"Do you suspect foul play by Mr.Milton?"

"It's hard to tell, but regardless, someone who understands these pieces is attempting to deceive another." Mr.Avery lowered

the piece he was holding to the table. "I need to tell him soon, though. I know he was counting on this, but I can't sell

these. Not as Chinese porcelain." His tone sobered. "There's one other thing I'd like to show you."

"Goodness," she exclaimed, "this is quite a bit of information as it is."

He pulled a letter from his pocket and extended it to her. "Go ahead. Read it."

She accepted and unfolded it, then angled the letter toward the light to read it.

Olivia thought she would be sick.

In a single moment, everything she was attempting to do discreetly came crashing down around her.

"So you are here on business," he said, more a statement than a question.

She was not a liar. And she'd not start now. "Yes. I am, but not in the way you suspect."

He said nothing, leaving a wide, empty moment of silence.

"Mrs.Milton stopped by our shop a couple of weeks ago and said she had a collection of her own that she wanted to sell, but

she did not want to draw attention to it. She thought that if I masqueraded as a guest I could evaluate and catalog it, and

then my uncle would broker the deals. She feared that if her nephew found out about the collection, he'd attempt to claim

the pieces as his own."

"And do the pieces belong to her?"

"Yes. Most of the paperwork is in order, and for items without a bill of sale, she has dowry papers to support it."

His questions came quickly. "What's in the collection?"

The more she talked, the easier it was to confide in him. "Jewels. Stones and shells from India and the Orient. Bronze sculptures.

Porcelain."

He lifted the porcelain once more. "Was there anything like this in there?"

"Not that I've seen."

She extended the letter back to him and waited for his reaction. She had, after all, deceived him, in a manner of speaking.

He tucked the letter back in his pocket. "Perhaps we should keep this information between us until we understand a bit more.

I'll try to find out the extent of the counterfeit items, and then we can figure out what to do."

"We?"

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "The way I see it, I need your help—help from someone who understands this business. And maybe you'll need mine."

Since first arriving in the library, she managed a genuine smile. She liked the idea of working with him. She liked the idea

of being taken seriously as an antiquarian. But above all, if any deception was transpiring, she wanted to expose it, not

let it continue.

Footsteps sounded outside, and muffled voices followed.

"I should return," she said.

"You certainly don't want to get caught alone in the library with a rogue like me. What would the others say?"

She could not help but laugh at his poke of the overly rigid rules of the gathering. "I can only imagine. Good evening, Mr.Avery."

He bowed in parting. "I'll see you at dinner."