Chapter 31

Tate approached Lucas with two drinks in his hand and extended one toward him. "Where have you been? I've been looking for

you all evening."

Lucas took the offered drink but did not drink it.

"What's wrong with you?" Tate nudged Lucas with his elbow. "You look miserable."

Lucas checked his words before speaking. He'd spent the better part of the last two hours attempting to speak with MissBrannon

and simultaneously avoiding MissStanley. "I fear MissStanley has me in her sights tonight. She told me that people are beginning

to talk about us."

"And you believe her?" Tate huffed. "The best way to deal with such things is to ignore it. And I don't know what you're complaining

about. Look around. The room is full of lovely ladies, and I'm not dancing with a single one. Instead, I'm here talking to

the likes of you."

"You could ask MissStanley," Lucas quipped.

"Bah." Tate shook his head. "She's far too clever for me. Knowing my luck I'd end up engaged by the time the evening is over

and have no idea how it happened."

Lucas chuckled and shook his head. "I've no wish to be cruel, but this is getting out of hand."

"It will blow over."

"Comforting words indeed."

"Isn't that what you come to me for? Comfort and advice?"

And then she caught his eye.

Lucas had caught glimpses of MissBrannon throughout the evening. Dancing with this man. Talking with that one. It was all

innocent, he knew—introductory interactions arranged by Mrs.Milton.

But now he saw her walking without Mrs.Milton toward the veranda.

"I'll find you later." Lucas pushed past Tate.

"Where are you going?"

Lucas did not stop.

"Avery!" Tate called. "Where are you going?"

Lucas waved him off and headed toward the veranda. He would not let this opportunity pass.

He quickened his pace until he was outside in the damp night. Other guests had also meandered out into the night's fresh air—an

escape from the room's stifling humidity and crowded spaces.

MissBrannon was standing alone, her back to him, looking out over the black landscape. Her pale gown emphasized her slender

form, and the candlelight from the nearby torches highlighted her peerless profile.

His chest felt full, his head light. When had he become like this? How had this woman, in such a short time, affected the

inner workings of his heart and mind?

Lucas approached her without entirely knowing what he would say. He cleared his throat and said her name as he drew near.

And she turned.

***

"MissBrannon."

Olivia did not need to turn around to identify the speaker. Indeed, she'd been hoping, nay, praying, to hear that voice. A

smile quirked her lips, and she turned.

Lucas Avery stood just feet from her. The evening wind was catching his hair, and his affable expression was vibrant in the

low light. How handsome he looked in his formal broadcloth tailcoat of corbeau green, which emphasized his eyes' verdant hue.

He bowed in greeting, clasped his hands behind his back, and glanced over his shoulder. "Is Mrs.Milton not with you?"

"Mrs.Milton would like to return to Cloverton Hall, so she asked me to find MissWainbridge since she came in our carriage.

I've been looking for her, but I needed a bit of air." Olivia smiled and pressed her finger to her lips in a silent request

for him to keep her secret.

"Your secret is safe with me." He stepped closer. "I couldn't help but notice you arrived quite late. I was worried you encountered

trouble on the roads."

"Mrs.Milton did not want to travel in the rain, so we were delayed."

"I see. And has Mrs.Milton been introducing you to Yorkshire's finest?"

She laughed at the reference to some of the men she'd been partnered with over the previous hours. How good it felt to laugh. "Mrs. Milton and her friends have introduced me to several interesting people—none of whom compare to the company at Cloverton Hall, of course."

His manner easy, his tone light, he motioned back to the structure behind him. "And what is your opinion of Whitmore House?"

"It's impressive, isn't it?" She looked past him and up to the house's stone facade. "It's not nearly as interesting as Cloverton,

at least to me, but lovely nonetheless."

"No dragon statues staring at you?" he teased.

"No, no. Nothing of the sort."

"Just ogling gentlemen and judgmental ladies?" he offered, his gaze unnervingly direct.

So he has been watching.

He leaned next to her against the stone railing. "I've been so preoccupied with the Cloverton collection that I've failed

to ask you how the assessment of Mrs.Milton's collection is going. How are you finding it?"

"It's really quite fascinating. I've never seen one quite like it. The number of shells and rocks she has from the Orient

is truly incredible. Several I've never seen before, so I'll need to do some more research when I return to London. But in

the end, I hope that I'm able to help her. The most difficult part will be getting Mrs.Milton to actually part with them.

It can be so hard to assign a monetary value to an item someone holds dear."

"Unfortunately for us, we cannot take emotions into account, can we? The value of these pieces is solely in what they are worth to others, not how much they meant to the owner."

"Very true. Mrs.Milton misses her old way of life. The things just remind her of it."

"It's the same with my mother."

Olivia jerked at the reference to Margaret Avery. How vividly she recalled how his mother and hers had been great friends

before their fathers parted ways.

"She hated how Father would clutter the house with things he would bring back from his travels. Now she will not part with

a single item."

"And you? Are you a collector?"

His answer came quickly. "No."

She raised her brow, a bit surprised. "No?"

"I'm not a collector, and I never shall be, but I'm admittedly a student of the art of collecting. I personally resist the idea of being tied to objects. I suppose it's because I've seen how so much upheaval

can be caused when one places all their energy in the amassing of things. Eventually those things become a weight. A burden.

Consider Mrs.Milton. Consider Wainbridge. Think of all the turmoil that ultimately could have been avoided."

His words sobered her, and yet the familiarity in them soothed her. She found herself, for the first time the entire day,

feeling comfortable, relaxed. Like the charade she'd been endeavoring to play could, for the moment, cease and her true identity

could be released.

Over his broad shoulder Olivia spied Miss Stanley through the open doors. The beauty appeared to be searching for someone.

No doubt she was searching for Mr.Avery.

It could not be ignored. "I believe someone might be looking for you."

"Hmm?" He raised a dark brow and turned to follow her gaze, peering over his shoulder. He sighed and raked his fingers through

his dark hair.

Olivia waited to speak until the woman was no longer visible through the door. "I feel for her."

"You do?"

"Of course. How awful it would be to think your entire future rested on your ability to marry a certain man." As soon as the

words were out of her mouth, she wished she could retract them. "I probably shouldn't have said that."

"You should say whatever you like, MissBrannon," he encouraged. "And if you'll indulge me, what abilities do you think a

woman should rest her future on?"

She blinked at him. Never had she been asked to share her thoughts on such a personal matter. "It depends on the woman, I

suppose."

"And you? What do you plan for the future?"

Heat crept up her neck. Their conversation had taken a decidedly personal turn, but she would not shy away from it. How lovely

it felt to have real discussions on topics that mattered. "I'm well aware that I'm more fortunate than many women. I have

a skill. But whether or not I can make a living with it remains to be seen."

"Then we are in the exact same situation. We are both counting on our skills."

She laughed at the ridiculous comparison.

"But I am curious," he continued. "You spoke of making a living. Don't you think it would be easier if you could share the

burden with someone?"

"I've yet to find someone I could trust," she answered matter-of-factly.

He stepped closer, and his scent of sandalwood melded with the honeysuckle and fresh rain, intoxicating and exciting. "Don't

forget, MissBrannon. You accepted my apology. Doesn't that mean you trust me?"

A grin toyed with her lips. "I'm not sure. Does it?"

"I can tell you that I am trustworthy, but what matters is whether or not I can prove it."

Suddenly, they were no longer talking about collections or their business. She looked up into his eyes, their gazes locked,

and she was unable to look away.

Could he be trusted as he said?

Could he be trusted... with her thoughts? Her confidence? Her heart?

He moved even closer. He was now within arm's reach.

The gathering faded into the background—the voices, the music. It seemed they were the only two people present.

Was he drawn to her in the same manner?

The nearby torchlight flashed on his features that were so attractive to her—his fine, straight nose. His strong jaw. His

light green eyes.

He lowered his voice, his tone undeniably intimate. "Another confession."

"My, my." She smiled. "We really must do something about you and your confessions."

"I came out here specifically to find you, hoping you would consent to dance. With me." He offered her his arm. "Will you?"

How strong and confident his arm felt under her gloved hand. She felt safe and secure in a way she had never expected. What

would it be like to go through life with this feeling?

As he took her to the floor, all thoughts of Mrs.Milton fled. She felt completely protected. Completely at ease. As if for

a moment she could relax into the safety and trust.