Chapter 28

Was he... jealous?

Lucas tore his focus away from Romano. The painter was sitting quite close to MissBrannon, and he must have said something

entertaining, for a soft smile curved her lips.

It was not his business, of course. And he refused to be the sort of fellow who would even harbor envious thoughts, but if

MissBrannon were to smile at him the way she was smiling now, it would be the pinnacle of his day.

"Why did you leave the cribbage table so abruptly? I thought we might play another round."

Lucas resisted the urge to cringe at the familiar feminine voice and looked up. MissStanley, Wainbridge, and Tate had gathered

near him. Lucas bolstered his attitude, for if there was one truth about a house party, it was that one was never alone.

Tate clapped Lucas's shoulder as he passed him to drop into a nearby chair. "Never mind Avery, MissStanley. He's upset he

lost, 'tis all. Avery can't stand a loss."

Lucas smirked. "You've found me out."

"No, it isn't that," Miss Stanley stated thoughtfully as she sat next to Lucas on the sofa, quite close. Her downcast lips formed a pretty, coquettish pout, convincing enough that he could almost believe she was concerned. "You look positively sour."

"Yes, did you have too much fun last night, Avery?" Wainbridge quipped, sitting in the remaining chair.

Lucas chided himself for not being more on guard and forced a good-hearted chuckle. "Hardly. I'm just trying to figure out

how on earth Tate managed to best me at billiards this morning."

Wainbridge snorted at the joke.

Tate shook his head. "You may be a great deal smarter than I am on many fronts, Avery, but beat me at billiards? Never."

"A rematch, then," suggested Lucas.

"I'd take that bet," added Wainbridge.

Tate guffawed. "Challenge accepted."

MissStanley shifted next to him, making a great display of adjusting the folds of her pale pink skirt. She never was one

who liked to be left out of a conversation, and talk of billiards did just that. As the men's laughter subsided, she redirected

the conversation.

"What a thrill that you included Mr.Romano as a guest, Mr.Wainbridge." MissStanley straightened her posture as she perched

pristinely on the edge of the sofa's cushion. "I wrote to my mother just this morning and told her what an exciting addition

he was to the party. I cannot wait to share my portrait with her."

Wainbridge beamed proudly, unfazed at the conversation's new direction. "I'm glad his presence has made your time at Cloverton

that much more enjoyable."

"Oh, it has! And the profiles last night. Just wonderful." She turned her attention to Mr. Romano and, by association, Miss Brannon. "How lovely Miss Brannon looks in that shade of blue. I have no doubt the portrait will be stunning."

Lucas followed her direction. MissBrannon did look lovely, but it was unlike MissStanley to draw attention to another woman's

charms. There had to be a motive, and he could only guess it was an effort to keep the focus from her own crumbing financial

situation.

"What an interesting creature she is," Tate mused. "And such a mystery! Who is she really, Wainbridge? I think you know and

are keeping it a secret from us."

Wainbridge held his hands out as if to declare his innocence. "Honestly, I wish I knew, but I know nothing more than you do.

Actually, the oddest thing just happened. Not even half an hour ago, I encountered MissBrannon. She was alone in the gallery,

just staring at one of Uncle's giant vases. She had an ottoman, and I can't be sure, but I think she was going to climb on

it. Surely I was mistaken, but it was strange. Very strange indeed."

Lucas stifled a chuckle. Of course Olivia Brannon would attempt to climb on an ottoman to get a better view of the Cavesee

Vase.

MissStanley frowned. "That is odd. But if she is a friend of the Miltons, perhaps she is fond of all those old things just

as they were."

Wainbridge shrugged. "Whatever the reason, it's beyond me."

Tate leaned back contemplatively in his chair. "I can't help but wonder if she is merely a companion. If she were wealthy or related to someone of importance, someone here would certainly know."

"I think you might be right." MissStanley's plummy tone was almost mellifluous. "After all, Mrs.Milton is the sort of woman

who could pluck a person out of obscurity and make her a celebrity overnight. Consider that MissBrannon is not musical, nor

does she paint. Why, she does not even sew!"

"Ah. The hallmarks of every truly worthy woman," teased Tate. "Perhaps she does not like those things. They all sound dreadfully

dull."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr.Tate. It isn't about enjoying them. It is about succeeding at them. And you—you're awfully quiet on the topic, Mr.Avery." MissStanley sounded accusatory as she pivoted toward Lucas.

"She seems to like you. I've seen the two of you talking frequently. I know you must have an opinion."

Lucas drew a sharp breath. Now they were getting to the heart of it. MissStanley did view MissBrannon as competition.

"To answer your question, I do have an opinion." Lucas forced a casual tone to his voice. "It matters not to me if she's a

companion or an heiress or anything else. I enjoy her company. Shouldn't that be the benchmark for whether she's worthy to

be part of our group?"

MissStanley rolled her eyes. "I'm not surprised to hear you, a man, say as much."

"And if she was from lower means," Lucas continued, "what would we do? Throw her from the premises? Refuse to speak with her?"

"Well said." A twinkle sparkled in Tate's light blue eyes. "And I'm certain those large hazel eyes and bright smile have nothing

to do with such an opinion."

***

The next day was Olivia's fifth day at Cloverton Hall—and the day of the Whitmore ball. Each day had provided deeper insight

into a collection that was proving more extensive than she'd ever have anticipated. The fact that so many of the pieces were

together and Mrs.Milton had such complete documentation only added to the fact.

Her opportunity to complete the evaluation would be over before she knew it, and the task was taking longer than she had initially

calculated. With each new piece of the collection, she had to match it to any existing paperwork, write both a description

of the piece and an assessment of its condition, categorize it, assign it a preliminary monetary value, and then record it

all in a ledger. It was a slow, tedious process, and one that had been made slower by the demands of the party.

Even so, Olivia was confident in her ability to be seen as an antiquities purveyor in her own right—each step forward moved

her that much closer to her goal. Perhaps she could even travel to make her own purchases. It was a lofty dream, and many

obstacles stood in the way. But maybe, just maybe, if she could prove herself here, doors might start to open for her.

"Merciful heavens!" cried Tabitha. "Would ye listen t' that wind?"

Olivia lifted her head from her work and looked to the China closet's windows. Rain streaked down the panes, and the impenetrable

clouds darkened the entire landscape by several shades. She frowned. "I hope the weather will cooperate for the ball tonight.

I fear for the roads."

"La, Whitmore House is not a mile from here." Tabitha returned the silver bowl she'd been polishing to the completed pile and picked up another piece. "Mrs. Milton used t' walk it t' take tea with Mrs. Davies, t' former mistress o' Whitmore, nearly every afternoon—it's that close! T' weather shouldn't interfere."

Olivia tried to imagine what Mrs.Milton was like before her husband died. Had she always been cantankerous and defensive?

Surely at some point she must have been happy here at Cloverton. Why else would she be so determined to continue her husband's

legacy?

Tabitha continued, "T' Miltons and t' Davies were quite thick in those days. But t' Davies are gone now. Moved to London years

ago. I imagine this'll be difficult for Mrs.Milton. T' Whitmore House she knew is no more."

Olivia was always surprised at how much Tabitha knew about Mrs.Milton, and yet never once did a criticism of any kind cross

her lips. In the last few days Olivia had spent a great deal of time with the maid. A friendship was forming, but so many

questions remained.

"May I ask what happened to your mother? You mentioned that Mrs.Milton was good to her."

Tabitha tucked a frizzy lock of hair behind her ear. At first Olivia thought she wasn't going to respond, but at last she

spoke. "She was taken advantage of while in service t' Mrs.Milton, an' she became with child. Me. But instead of throwin' her out, as she'd 'ave every right t' do, Mrs. Milton kept me mother on an' saw I was taken care of. She even made sure I learned to read 'n' write. Everyone 'ere knew t' truth o' me mother's situation, but Mrs. Milton threatened t' dismiss anyone who breathed a word o' it. Then, after me mother died, she made me 'er personal chambermaid, and 'ere I've been e'er since."

"Goodness," Olivia exclaimed. "That's quite a tale."

"Isn't it? Can ye even imagine what would've 'appened to me if she'd dismissed me mother?"

Olivia was quickly learning that loyalty was an important trait to Mrs.Milton. "Do you think that Mrs.Milton will ever be

able to coexist with the Wainbridges?"

Tabitha stood from her seat, retrieved another box of combs, and returned to the small table. "I don't think so. But times

change, don't they? She'll miss Cloverton, but she'll be 'appier on 'er own."

"Will you go with her when she leaves? You and Teague?"

"I'll stay wit' her 'til one o' us is put in t' earth, I reckon."

Olivia stiffened. "I'm not sure I have ever heard such a statement of loyalty before. I don't even know if anyone would say

that about me, with the exception of my sister."

A knock on a distant door sounded. Tabitha left to go answer it and returned a moment later. "This is for you."

Olivia looked at the note. "For me?"

"Aye. T' maid brought it up. Aren't ye goin' t' open it?" Tabitha laughed as she held it out toward Olivia.

Surprised, Olivia accepted the missive. There was no post marking on it, nor address. It had to have come from someone inside

the house.

"Who's it from?" A teasing glint sparkled in Tabitha's eyes. "A gentleman?"

Olivia waved her hand playfully to dismiss Tabitha's suggestion, but almost immediately her mind raced. Was it from Mr. Fielding? Or Mr. Avery? After excusing herself from the China closet and returning to the privacy of the Blue Room, she slid her finger beneath the seal, popped it open, and sought out the signature.

Lucas Avery.

A thrill shot through her.

She lifted the note to the light filtering through the window.

I've gathered a few more pieces I should like you to take a look at. If you are interested, meet me in the library. I'll be

there all afternoon.

Olivia didn't know what to make of the giddy, girlish feelings that enveloped her. He wanted to meet with her! It was exhilarating,

mystifying, new, confusing.

Surely it was a mistake to feel this way. In mere days she'd return home to Kingsby Street—back to her uncle and her sister.

Mr.Avery would return to his home as well. Their normal lives and routines would resume. Memories of their time at Cloverton

Hall would fade.

If she was not careful, she'd be setting herself up for many painful moments.

After shrugging her work apron from her shoulders, she retrieved her pocket watch and clicked its latch. Time was of the essence

if she wanted adequate time to prepare for the ball. She smoothed her hair into place and drew a fortifying breath. Perhaps

she was setting herself up for trouble by meeting him, but if she didn't, she might always regret it.