Chapter 36

A plain muslin day gown. Heavy, scuffed boots on her feet. A cloth tied over her hair. Olivia smoothed over the front of her

linen apron. Her attire could not be any further from the finery she wore while at Cloverton. And while she had enjoyed Cloverton's

refinement, such attire was not suited to her usual daily tasks.

It would be easy to relive the events of the past few weeks in her mind—to dissect every interaction and reaction—but she'd

much rather be up and useful instead of in bed feeling sorry for herself.

After seeing Tabitha safely on the carriage bound for Cloverton Hall the next morning, Olivia found Russell at his desk with

ledger and quill in hand. He looked up as she entered and removed the spectacles on his nose. "There you are! Didn't think

it would be too long before you were back down here, poking around as you do."

Olivia picked up a stack of unopened letters from the desk and flipped through them. "You know me. I can't abide being idle."

"Yes, I'm aware." He stood, wiped his hands together, and came around the desk. "I don't mind saying that it was not the same

without you here every day, nosing in my business. I actually kind of missed it."

"Did you now?" she quipped. "Well, I'm back now, and I fear you will not be rid of me anytime soon." She propped her hands on her hips and looked around the tidy office. "Now, what have I missed? Anything new?"

He motioned toward a shelf on the far wall. "Those are three crates there, just came in on the ships. Haven't gotten around

to opening them."

"Are they the ones from Italy?"

"I believe so. The paintings we bought from the Sealborn estate arrived. They are along the back wall. Oh, and we sold the

Spanish silver to a gentleman in Austria. It will be going out on the ship next month."

"Very nice." Olivia deeply breathed in the familiar scent of wooden crates, packing straw, and dust. Eager to see the Sealborn

portraits, she returned the letters to the desk and headed to the back of the storeroom.

But something she saw on the way slowed her steps.

In a crate on a low shelf, she spied a piece of chinoiserie. She reached down to get a better look.

The strangest sensation crept over her as she lifted the moon flask vase. After the discoveries Mr.Avery had made at Cloverton,

she felt unusually sensitive to the feel of Chinese porcelain. Olivia took the piece to the window to examine it more closely.

Her stomach tightened as she ran her finger over the cobalt scene depicting a pagoda and cranes and the two dolphin-shaped

handles. She was almost certain that she had seen this exact piece at Cloverton Hall, but the one she saw was not authentic.

Could this be the original?

Certain she was surely mistaken but curious nonetheless, she carried it over to the desk and set it down.

Russell looked up from his ledger. "What's that?"

She'd not told Russell or her uncle about what had happened regarding the Cavesee Vase or the counterfeit pieces. It hadn't

felt right. But now, would it be best to divulge what happened?

She tapped her fingers atop the piece. "When I was at Cloverton Hall, a handful of chinoiserie pieces were discovered to be

counterfeit. I could almost swear to the fact that I saw one of the replicas there and here is the original."

"Really?" Russell frowned and took the piece from her.

Olivia moved to the files, looked up the number on the tag with the piece, pulled out the papers associated with it, and laid

them before her.

"That's odd." She flipped one of the papers over, then returned it to the desk. "There is no bill of ownership, just a transaction

history."

Russell moved to read over her shoulder. "You know your uncle. He's not nearly as scrupulous as your father was."

And Russell was right. How many times had her uncle made decisions that should have been passed on or failed to secure the

necessary paperwork?

"And the seller, J. Wakes? I've never heard of him before."

Russell scratched his fingers through his curly hair. "Your uncle has taken to going to those auctions at the docks. Might

that be it?"

"It hardly seems like a responsible way to do business." She clicked her tongue.

"I don't disagree." Russell replaced his spectacles. "But what's to be done?"

She hid her annoyance. Russell had an irritating habit of agreeing with her, regardless of her stance. She needed a real conversation,

not to be told what she wanted to hear.

"I suggest you take the matter up with your uncle," Russell said. "You never said much about your time at Cloverton Hall.

How did it go?"

Olivia had tried not to spend a lot of time dwelling on her experiences there. If anything, her visit had opened her eyes

to how other people lived. She had felt awe at the beauty surrounding her, she'd received the flirtatious attention of aristocratic

gentlemen, and she'd had her likeness painted. But she had also experienced a different side of the higher social strata—one

that was harsh and ugly, hurtful and unforgiving.

"It was nice to meet new people, but like I said, I am glad to be home, where things are familiar."

But as she returned the piece to the crate she found it in, a strange twinge pulled at her heart. She had been honest—most

of the people were nice to meet, but it was just as easy to forget them. But one stuck with her in the most uncomfortable

manner—and she feared it would take her heart quite a while to forget him.

***

Lucas flipped open his watch—the hour was growing late.

He'd arrived back in London just that afternoon, and already he'd called on his mother. This time she'd refused to leave her bed, and Mrs. Smith had shared that she'd spent nearly every hour of the last week in her chamber. Even so, he spent an hour with her and told her all the details of Cloverton Hall, but he stopped short of telling her about Miss Brannon. He was unsure how she would react to that particular link to the past.

He was not nearly as selective about what he shared with Night when he went to the shop.

Lucas filled his agent in on every relevant detail of the event, from the counterfeit pieces to MissBrannon's presence, to

the haphazard paperwork, to the fate of the Cavesee Vase. Wainbridge had permitted him to bring one of the counterfeit pieces—a

small bowl—back to London to show his agents with the hope that one of them recognized it.

"This is impressive, isn't it?" Night exclaimed as he lifted the piece to examine it more closely.

"I'm ashamed to say that I didn't even realize it wasn't authentic until I held it," Lucas admitted. "Cloverton was full of

them."

"I'll share it with the others and see what they can find out." Night tucked it under his arm.

Once he was satisfied that his men had the information they needed to continue with their work, Lucas had one more thing to

attend to. He patted his pocket and felt the miniature portrait that Romano had given him.

The walk from his shop to the Brannon shop was a short one. He had no qualms with Russell Crane, but he'd never interacted

with Thomas Brannon and had no idea how the man would receive him. He also had no idea if Olivia had told them about encountering

him.

Memories flared as he approached the modest door. This was the building his father had shared with Edward Brannon all those years before their partnership dissolved. Lucas and Olivia had spent hours in the warehouse with their fathers, learning and playing. They'd been very young, of course, but he still remembered. Olivia was a few years younger than he. Were her memories as vivid as his were?

When Lucas opened the shop door and entered the receiving parlor, a bell chimed at his arrival. A few seconds later, Russell

Crane, with his curly blond hair and heavy leather apron, stepped through a connecting door.

"Mr.Avery!" he exclaimed, his light blue eyes widening with surprise. "My word. This is unexpected."

"Good day, Crane. How are you?"

"Fine, fine. A bit surprised to see you here, though." He propped his hands akimbo. "What can I help you with?"

"I'm here to speak with MissBrannon."

"Olivia?" Crane's brows drew together in confusion.

"Yes."

"Of course. Wait here."

Lucas paced the small, plain receiving room until at last a distant door opened and footsteps approached. His heart leapt

in his chest at the sound, and he turned toward the corridor.

But instead of Olivia, Thomas Brannon entered.

Lucas was struck at the sight. It had been months, if not years, since Lucas had spoken with the man. He bowed.

No friendliness or warmth marked Brannon's expression as he wiped his hands on a rag. "I was not aware you were on such friendly

terms with my niece."

"I had the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with Miss Brannon while at Cloverton Hall. I was there to assess the Cloverton collection, and she was there with Mrs. Milton."

"She failed to mention it."

Normally, Lucas had no problem conversing with anyone, but something about Thomas Brannon sat ill with him. Furthermore, he

wasn't sure how to interpret the fact that Olivia had not mentioned their meeting to either her uncle or Mr.Crane. Had it

not been significant enough to her to mention? Or did she think her family would oppose such an interaction?

He pushed his thoughts aside. "I've been asked to deliver something to her that was left behind at Cloverton Hall."

But he did not need to say any more, for just as the last words were out of his mouth, he heard the rustling of fabric just

beyond the door, and Olivia appeared.

His chest tightened at the sight of her.

Beautiful.

She was not attired as she had been at Cloverton, in silks and lace, with her hair dressed in curls and pins. A simple gown

of sage gingham, protected by a khaki linen apron, adorned her frame, and her chestnut tresses were secured at the base of

her neck in a simple plaited chignon.

He'd clearly interrupted her work. The sleeves of her gown were rolled up to her elbows, and she rolled them down as she stepped

through the threshold. And yet a genuine smile dimpled her cheek. "Mr.Avery! I was not expecting to see you. What a pleasant

surprise."