Chapter 27

Was it possible for a person to change the core of who they were in just a few days' time?

The question rattled around Olivia's mind when she awoke the next morning, challenging the sound of autumnal thunder and pelting

rain just outside the Blue Room's windows.

The events of the last few days—not to mention her conversation with Mr.Avery the previous night—were conjuring doubts about

things she'd always accepted as truths. They'd challenged her perception of right and wrong and her view of herself and her

abilities. In such a short time she'd witnessed coldness and selfishness, but she'd also encountered benevolence.

How odd was it that an Avery had been one to show kindness—who offered support without taking advantage? He had nothing to

gain by being kind to her. But other people, like Mr.Fielding and Mrs.Milton, behaved as if Olivia owed them something,

merely because she was here.

With her thoughts as her companion, Olivia spent that morning with Tabitha, Mrs. Milton, and Louis in the China closet, keeping a close and careful eye on the paperwork and matching it up to the items as she evaluated them. Because of the incessant morning rain, the ladies' afternoon activity of archery had been canceled, so Mr. Romano requested to paint Olivia's miniature during that time. A headache, brought on by the change in the weather, confined Mrs. Milton to bed during the afternoon hours, leaving Olivia to make her way down the corridor to meet Mr. Romano alone.

On her way to the formal parlor on Cloverton Hall's first floor, Olivia passed the gallery. She'd not been by the space since

the night of the concert, and through the open doors she spied the Cavesee Vase.

She slowed her steps.

Mr.Avery had shown her counterfeit porcelain—pieces she would have expected to be authentic. Everything within her resisted

the idea that there might be something amiss with the Cavesee Vase. After all, she had personally witnessed it being unpacked

from its crate, but a great deal could have happened in the years since she saw it last.

Interest flaring, Olivia glanced to her right and then to her left. All was quiet and still. Not a soul was in sight. She'd

been told that the men had gone to the village for the day and the women would be in the parlor, so she took advantage of

the solitude to enter the gallery undetected. Her footsteps were light on the polished wooden floor, and she made her way

to the far wall and looked up at the shadowed space.

The vase was a few feet above her and out of reach. If she could only tap it with her fingernail and hear the resulting sound,

she'd be able to gauge its authenticity.

A small ottoman was in front of a chair by the window, so she dragged it near the piece. As she prepared to step up on it, a noise cracked.

She jerked toward the door.

Mr.Wainbridge stood in the threshold, staring at her. Surprise, or perhaps confusion, tweaked his features.

"M-Mr.Wainbridge," she stammered. "I thought the men were to go to the village today."

"Change of plans. We decided it would be much more pleasant to stay indoors." He cleared his throat. "Is there something I

can help you with?"

A nervous laugh escaped. "No, no. I was just admiring this vase."

He clasped his hands behind his back and looked up. "That is the Cavesee Vase. It's nearly two hundred years old, or so I've

been told."

At least four hundred, to be more exact.

She thought it best not to correct him.

Grateful for the dreary shadows to hide the flush she knew was tinging her cheeks, she knitted her fingers before her. "It

really is spectacular."

"You witnessed my conversation with my aunt, so you know my uncle dedicated his life to these things." He picked up a small

carved jade Pixiu beast from another shelf on the wall.

She bit her lip.

He was lifting it by the tail.

She resisted the urge to take it from him and return it to the safety of the ledge. "And do you share Mr.Milton's passion

for such things?"

"Egad, no. Not at all."

He returned the statue to the shelf, and she exhaled in relief. Sensing the opportunity to help bridge the gap between the

relatives, she nudged the ottoman back into place. "Your aunt is quite fond of it all, you know. I think it brings her comfort."

"I'm well aware."

She ignored the flatness of his tone. "I don't believe she intends to be so cross. Memories of loved ones are powerful, and

all of these remind her of her husband."

He narrowed his gaze at her and smiled strangely, as if awed. "You are quite a sentimental creature, aren't you?"

"I suppose." She moved toward the door. "Again, I apologize for intruding where I should not have been. I am due in the parlor.

Mr.Romano is to paint my portrait."

"Ah, I see." He clasped his hands before him. "Then by all means, do not let me keep you."

Olivia could feel the weight of his attention as she swept by him and into the corridor. Eager to put the awkward encounter

behind her, she rushed to the parlor. She expected to see the ladies gathered but was shocked to see the men present as well.

Mr.Avery, Mr.Tate, and Mr.Fielding were interspersed with the ladies, and tables had been set up for games of cribbage

and chess.

"MissBrannon!" Mr.Romano's exclamation captured her attention. His customarily bright expression eased her, and he extended

his long arms in her direction. "I am so glad you could join me on such short notice. I know many thought the rain was a damper

to our day, but I consider it fortuitous, for look at the time it has afforded us. I've been waiting for you. Please, sit."

Olivia did as she was bid, cognizant that the other guests' focus was drifting to her.

"As I told you in the garden, I've been most eager to paint you from the moment I laid eyes on you." He motioned for her to

move at certain angles and tipped her chin up slightly before retreating to his spot by his easel.

She glimpsed motion from the corner of her eye, and she cut her gaze to her left while keeping her chin still. Dread trickled

through her when she saw MissHaven sauntering toward her.

"My dear, how lovely you look. Oh, to have such a natural beauty, such a natural presence!"

The chintz fabric of MissHaven's gown rustled as she moved closer. "I spoke with Mr.Fielding earlier this morning. The poor

man was beside himself. I blame myself entirely, of course."

Olivia feared that any response she might offer would lead to some sort of trap, yet MissHaven's ensuing silence demanded

she speak. "What do you mean?"

"When you and I spoke the other night, I offered to find you a match and happily took to the challenge. But I fear I've been

misguided. Mr.Fielding was so captivated by you, and based on our conversation I believed you to feel the same. Imagine my

surprise when he told me that you were quite cool to him last night in the drawing room after dinner! He said that he tried

to approach you, but you turned and fled out the door. Surely he must've been mistaken."

Olivia's defenses flared, but she determined to remain in control. "I'm not here to find a husband, MissHaven. I do apologize

if I made you believe otherwise. When I do find a match, it will be entirely of my own making."

Miss Haven straightened in obvious annoyance. "Does that extend to Mr. Avery?" Her pointed question smacked of an accusation, and she narrowed her vibrant eyes toward Olivia. "Mr. Fielding said you seemed to be quite friendly with him on the veranda. We must be very careful, mustn't we, Miss Brannon? How quickly one's reputation can be blemished by careless actions and words."

The statement—and the insinuation behind it—struck.

Never before had anyone accused her of loose behavior.

How was one to respond?

Without another word MissHaven flounced away.

Heat rose from Olivia's bodice to her neck, her cheeks. She was not prone to tears, yet the searing sting of tears gathering

in her eyes pricked.

She sniffed and reminded herself that her goal here was not to make friends.

She was not here to impress others.

She was here to prove herself—prove her abilities.

But the cruel nature of MissHaven's words still hurt.

After several minutes, Mr.Romano adjusted his easel so he was seated closer to Olivia. His accented voice was barely above

a whisper. "You have a secret, MissBrannon."

She eyed him.

"I find you interesting. And not just because you are a pleasant muse for my paintbrush. You see, I firmly believe that confidence,

knowing one's worth, is the most beautiful trait a woman can possess." A hint of amusement curved his lips, and his dark eyes

did not leave his work. "Does this surprise you?"

She considered his actions since his arrival—his praise of beauty, his flirting. She lifted her face in response. "Perhaps."

"Ah, ah, ah! Leave your chin just like that." He dipped his brush in fresh paint and his dark eyes never left his canvas.

"I see many people. Many women. Very few hold true to a conviction, for it is easiest to do what is expected and easy. But

you, I think, are different. You have a secret, and because of that you refuse to sacrifice the most essential parts of your

soul."

She warmed at the vote of confidence. This was a difficult game to play—to be an impostor in such a world. Perhaps he knew

it too.

"That is perhaps one of the loveliest compliments I have ever received, Mr.Romano. I fear I will revisit those words very

often. Thank you."

He grinned. "It is my honor, MissBrannon."