Chapter 32

Dawn's colors were breaking blue and purple by the time Lucas, Wainbridge, and Tate returned to Cloverton Hall from Whitmore

House. The imposing structure slumbered in the pre-morning hours, and Lucas had to admit he was glad to have returned—but

he was not tired.

Oh no—his mind was too alive for sleep. Never had he thought of himself as a romantic. The idea of marriage and a family had

been one he'd held very loosely—like a distant dream that might or might not materialize.

But now, the entire picture of his future slammed fully into focus, and at the heart was MissBrannon.

Olivia.

How, in such a short time, had everything he thought he knew about himself changed? Had she really that much power over him?

And yet, instead of fighting it, he found it intoxicating. Never would he have thought such a clever woman, an intelligent

woman, a beautiful woman existed. His experience with the fairer sex had been with silly, pretentious girls battling for the

most advantageous position. Nothing about it had been real.

Then he encountered Olivia, and an entirely new world—a new way of thinking—opened to him. What was more, she seemed to return the high regard. The manner in which her hand lingered on his arm. Her nearness while dancing.

No, no. There would be no sleep for him for quite some time.

Lucas, Tate, and Wainbridge exited the carriage and entered Cloverton Hall to find the butler waiting for them at the door.

His rheumy eyes were wide, his graying hair disheveled. "There is something you need to see in the gallery, Mr.Wainbridge."

"Whatever it is, Gaines, it can wait until morning." Wainbridge extended his black beaver hat toward the butler.

Gaines accepted the hat. "Sir, I really must insist."

Tate, who had overindulged, stumbled toward the attic chamber, but after sensing the urgency in the butler's tone, Lucas remained

with Wainbridge and accompanied him up the great staircase. Candlelight glowed from the open gallery doors as they approached,

but the sight that met Lucas as he turned the corner chilled his blood.

The Cavesee Vase, the beautiful, large, and extremely valuable piece of chinoiserie, was on the floor in pieces.

Wainbridge erupted in a slew of curses. "What happened?"

Lucas's own steps slowed as he took in the sight before him. He could barely tear his gaze away as Wainbridge peppered Gaines

with questions, demanding an explanation.

But the pale-faced butler shook his head. "I've no idea how it happened. One of the footmen noticed it when escorting Mr.Fielding

and Captain Whitaker to their chambers and notified me. I am terribly sorry, sir. I have no answers."

Wainbridge, still intoxicated from the evening's events, raged. "Someone heard something. Someone knows something. No one sleeps, no one rests until I have answers, do you understand?" Wainbridge grabbed at a footman, who had

been accompanying the butler, and snatched him by his coat. "You. You go find every single servant who was present while we

were gone."

Wainbridge whirled his attention to Lucas. "How much was this worth?"

Lucas stammered, "Without evaluating I-I don't—"

"You have an idea," Wainbridge thundered. "How much?"

"We'd need to consult the original paperwork, but I—"

Without another word Wainbridge flew from the gallery toward the staircase, shouting orders to a footman as he did. Lucas

needed to follow him, but before he did, he stooped to pick up one of the pieces at his feet. He rubbed his thumb over the

smooth surface. He held it up to the light. He hoped that just maybe this piece was counterfeit and the authentic one was

safe.

But his stomach sank.

This was the authentic Cavesee Vase.

It was real... and now it was shattered into hundreds of pieces.

Lucas hurried to follow after Wainbridge, his ears still ringing with the shock. He found him in the study, tearing through

the stacks of paperwork Lucas had organized.

"Hold on, hold on." Lucas took the files from Wainbridge's hands. He quickly organized the stacks of papers into smaller piles

and handed one to Wainbridge. "Search through these and look for the word Cavesee in the paperwork. It might be included on a document with other pieces, so look carefully."

Lucas was not sure how much time had passed, but it felt like hours. He'd never seen Wainbridge in such a state, but then

again, the man had just lost the most expensive piece that would presumably secure his future. As Wainbridge continued to

tear through the papers, a sickening sense of dread trickled through Lucas. There was no way this could end well. It only

remained to be seen exactly how extensive the devastating reverberations would be.

At length Lucas picked up a document, and there was the name: Cavesee Vase. The bill of sale. Dated a decade prior. At the

bottom was the name of the broker and witness of the sale.

Edward Brannon.

There was no way to keep this information from Wainbridge. Nor should he. But with each second that ticked by, the possible

repercussions built.

Wainbridge would see the name.

He'd make the connection to Olivia.

And then what?

Lucas cleared his throat and handed the document to Wainbridge.

Wainbridge snatched it from him, angled it toward the light, and read it hungrily. Frantically. "Yes! This is it." He pointed

to the substantial number—an amount that could make or break any man. "This was the purchase price, right?"

"Yes."

"That's what I've lost, then." Wainbridge swore under his breath, sank down into a chair, and leaned his head back.

Lucas shifted, uncomfortable not only with this situation but with the fact that some of the other pieces in the collection were as worthless as the shards of porcelain on the gallery floor.

Wainbridge wrenched his attention back to the paper in his hand, read it further. After several seconds, he jerked his head

up. "Who is Edward Brannon?"

Lucas swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He had to answer. He would not lie. "Edward Brannon was an antiquities broker

out of London. He is deceased now."

"Connected to MissBrannon, my aunt's guest, I assume?"

Lucas drew a deep breath. "She's his daughter."

"And you did not think to tell me?" he demanded, his dark eyes wild.

"I didn't think it pertinent."

"Not pertinent?" Wainbridge grabbed another stack of papers and began flipping through them. "Most of these have his name

on them! How is it not pertinent?"

"MissBrannon is not here to evaluate your collection, Mr. Wainbridge."

"And I suppose this has nothing to do with the fact that I saw her trying to climb up to it in the gallery a few days ago?"

"Stay calm. She's here as a guest, and—"

"I will not remain calm! My aunt is a deceiving, conniving woman. Have you not figured that out by this point?"

Wainbridge slammed the papers down on the desk and barged toward the door.

Lucas set down his stack and began to follow.

"Do not follow me!"

Lucas did as bid, and once silence again descended upon the study, he turned to the papers. As he gathered them back into

a pile, he reviewed the events of the past several days.

He'd come here with the express purpose of brokering these pieces.

He was not expecting to encounter Olivia.

He'd also not expected to encounter counterfeit pieces.

He certainly wasn't expecting to find the Cavesee Vase in shards on the floor. It seemed with each hour a level of complexity

was added to his stay at Cloverton Hall that challenged everything he thought he knew to be true.

***

Staccato pounding jarred Olivia from sleep.

"Open this door!"

The pounding was not at her door but just outside it. And it did not stop.

Each thud sharpened her senses further, and she jumped from bed. In the purple light of very early dawn, she found her wrapper,

flung it about her shoulders, and hurried to pull open her door.

Mr.Wainbridge, wild and frantic, stood in the corridor, hammering his fist against Mrs.Milton's bedchamber door.

"Mr.Wainbridge." She clutched her wrapper around her. "Is everything all right?"

He whirled to face her, red-faced. "You! I—"

Mrs. Milton's door swung open, and he spun back around.

"George!" Outrage colored Mrs.Milton's shocked expression. "What on earth are you doing? Are you aware of the hour?"

"The Cavesee Vase. It's destroyed!"

Mrs.Milton's complexion blanched. "What?"

Mr.Wainbridge spun to face Olivia. "I know who you are. I know who your father was. And I know you're connected with this.

How dare you step foot in this house without disclosing the truth!"

Olivia winced. "Sir, I'm not—"

Mrs.Milton pushed past Mr.Wainbridge and rushed down the first floor's long corridor to the gallery entrance. Her hands

flew to her mouth. She screamed.

Olivia followed and stopped short and gasped at the horrific sight.

Sobs burst from Mrs.Milton.

Guests, no doubt awoken by the shouts and cries, were gathering in the corridor, still dressed in their nightclothes.

Olivia hurried over and wrapped her arm around Mrs.Milton's shoulder. "Come away, Mrs.Milton, this—"

"And you!" Mr.Wainbridge's attention suddenly shifted to her.

Olivia straightened.

"I know you're involved with this."

The accusation stung. She shook her head. "I wasn't."

Mr.Wainbridge stepped dangerously close. "You will leave Cloverton Hall."

"George," protested Mrs.Milton. "She is my guest, and I absolutely forbid—"

"Enough!" He turned the full brunt of his ire on the older woman. "You're no longer the person to decide who is and who is not welcome on this property. I am. And I want her gone."

Mrs.Milton's expression shifted as if she'd been slapped. For the first time she did not have a response. She looked fragile.

Broken.

Mr.Wainbridge stomped down the corridor before any other words could be spoken.

The stares from the guests bored into her: Mr.Fielding. MissStanley. MissHaven.

She would not appear a victim. Nor would she beg, grovel, or explain. She straightened her posture and returned her arm around

Mrs.Milton's seemingly delicate shoulders. "Come, Mrs.Milton. Come away."

After that, no one spoke. For what could be said?

Once Mrs.Milton stood in the threshold to her room, Olivia turned to the Blue Room. Tears blinding her vision, she entered

the chamber, but not before she heard the voices from the other end of the corridor explode in harsh whispers. But she heard

none of what was said. For she knew the truth—she had gambled that this opportunity would pan out and blossom into an even

bigger opportunity. But she had been wrong. And now it was over, and it was time for her to return home.