Chapter 4

Olivia didn't need to actually see the expression of utter indignation on her sixteen-year-old sister's face to feel the full

brunt of her contentious frustration.

Laura Brannon sank onto the bed in their shared chamber with a huff, lifted the new ivory silk gauze gown that Mrs.Milton's

modiste had fashioned for Olivia, and dropped it on her lap. "It's not fair. Why should you get to go while I have to stay

here in this prison?"

Olivia shook out a linen nightdress and draped it over her arm. "A prison ? That's a bit dramatic, don't you think? Besides, I'll be working while I am there. You despise all things old and dusty. Remember?"

Laura rolled her amber eyes and fell back against the bed. "If learning to love porcelain was what such an adventure would

require, then I'd devote my life to it. You'll meet new people. See new places. I only ever experience Kingsby Street. There

is so much beyond this dreary bit of London, and I'll never get to see it!"

Olivia understood her sister's desire to see more, but whereas Laura's main concern was expanding her social life, Olivia wanted to expand everything. She wanted to see China. One day she hoped to visit Rome and see the Nile, just as their mother had traveled with their father before she died. No, Cloverton Hall was not India, but as a step out of London, it was better than nothing.

In a flounce of satin ribbons and pale mauve jaconet, Laura flipped over to her side and propped her head up with her hand.

"If you're smart, you'll take advantage of this situation and set your sights on the other opportunities. Perhaps you'll meet a wealthy man, someone who can take you—and me—away from this place."

Olivia stiffened, unsure of what to do with her sister's intense desire to leave their home. Ever since their bachelor uncle

became their guardian, Laura's sights had been fixed on leaving London entirely. Whereas Olivia had been able to find solace,

even comfort, in certain aspects of life remaining the same, Laura had not. The relationship between her uncle and her sister

was unarguably tense. He refused to allow Laura the freedom a young woman required to blossom. She needed to be out among

society, but their uncle's mismanagement of their father's business and its effect on their financial situation had crippled

both their prospects.

Olivia took the gown from Laura, gently folded it, and added the garment to the pile before returning her gaze to her rosy-cheeked,

chestnut-haired sister. The two of them could not vary more in tastes and personality, but at times, looking at Laura was

like looking into a mirror—same straight nose, same arched eyebrows, and the same dimple in her left cheek.

It would be a lie to say Olivia was not interested in the idea of meeting new people. To Laura's point, Olivia's life did not fluctuate—every day ushered in the same tasks, people, and routines. The only aspect that varied was the antiquities that passed through their warehouse.

Olivia desired what every woman desired—security. And she ardently wanted to believe that she could find security in a manner

other than marriage. As much as she prided herself on her knowledge and expertise, she had to be practical. One day she'd

probably marry, but it wouldn't happen today. In the meantime she was determined to establish herself as a legitimate antiquarian,

and performing this task for Mrs.Milton was an excellent first step.

Olivia forced a smile. "I think you may be getting ahead of yourself, dearest. It's one journey—it is a rather lofty expectation

to assume that I'll meet my future husband there."

Laura lifted a loose bit of discarded pale pink ribbon and absently wound it around her fingers. "Maybe not on this excursion,

but it's only a matter of time. You will marry. Then what will become of me? I'll be left behind here with Uncle Thomas."

Olivia placed a reassuring hand on Laura's thin shoulder. "It's two weeks, love. And then I'll be home, and everything will

return to normal."

Heavy footsteps sounded on the corridor's creaky wooden floor just outside their room, and her uncle's bulky frame stepped

through the chamber door. His candle's light wavered on the hard angles of his face and his graying side-whiskers and emphasized

careless wrinkles on his sloppily tied linen neckcloth.

Thomas motioned to Laura. "I need to speak with your sister. Privately."

A flash of indignation darkened Laura's chagrined expression. She cut her eyes in Olivia's direction, huffed, stood, and tromped from the chamber. When all was again quiet, their uncle crossed farther into the room and stood next to the dark hearth.

Olivia's nerves tightened as she waited for him to address her. The week since Mrs.Milton's visit had been fraught with curt

exchanges and aggravating silences, but despite his obvious displeasure, he'd stopped short of forbidding her from going.

She wasn't exactly sure of the true root of his opposition. He might be concerned for her safety as he'd indicated, but Olivia

surmised it had more to do with his wounded pride than her reputation. Perhaps he begrudged the fact that Olivia was consulted

and he was not.

"I leave tomorrow at dawn for Devon," he blurted as an awkward start to their conversation.

She blinked at the bluntness. "Devon? Why?"

"To visit Walter Sutherland at Cottetham Park. He has Delft he wishes to part with. Bowls and plates and the sort."

She stiffened at the reference to the valuable Dutch pottery. He didn't know nearly enough about the style of art to accurately

assess them, let alone to suggest or make a purchase. "Is Russell to accompany you?"

"No. Russell will stay behind and tend to things here."

Something akin to guilt crept over her. If she were to stay at home, then Russell would likely go with him and advise. The thought of her uncle making imprudent purchases was unsettling. He might be the owner of Brannon Antiquities, but with the decisions he'd been making as of late, they would not be able to stay in business long.

"You're certain you'll be all right without me here?" she asked.

"As I've told you numerous times, you're not an agent here." His words were flat, almost to the point of coldness. "Crane

and I will manage quite well."

She nodded but said nothing. The suggestion that her contributions were not valued stung. At present she would have to be

satisfied with the truth—her absence would be felt whether he acknowledged it or not.

He shifted, and the planks beneath him groaned once again. "I'll see you when you return. Keep on your guard. Remember the

people at this gathering are not like you. They're different—their motives. Their designs."

It would be easy to take offense to his tepid words. She might not be as worldly as some, but she wasn't naive. The memory

of the two years she had spent at a girls' school following her mother's death flared. The experience was over a decade ago,

but how vividly she recalled the cruel whispers and harsh stares of the girls from more elevated stations.

He motioned toward the gowns. "If nothing else, it appears you will be dressed the part."

She tensed at his sarcastic lilt. "Fine gowns or not, I'm attending to assess the collection. These gowns are to please Mrs.Milton.

Nothing more." Unable to resist a last retort, she lifted her chin. "But before I forget, I do intend to take Father's Vinci

jewelry with me. Unless you object, of course."

Confusion flashed, and a grim frown quickly followed. "No, no. Get Russell to fetch them for you."

The satisfaction of knowing that he hadn't a clue what she was referring to sizzled through her. She'd always admired the

Italian necklaces. They were constructed of naught but pinchbeck and glass, not of gold and gemstones as they appeared, but

they glittered with all the beauty of the finest jewelry.

Night's darkness had completely fallen by the time Olivia finished her packing, and as the clock marked the hours, her anticipation

intensified. By this time tomorrow, she'd likely be stopped at a travel inn for the night. She'd never stayed at a travel

inn before. The idea excited her.

Across their bedchamber, Laura was curled in a chair in her wool dressing gown with a book, her wavy hair woven into a single

thick plait, her body angled toward an oil lamp for light.

"I'm going to the storeroom to gather some supplies."

Laura nodded her acknowledgment, and Olivia lifted a chamberstick and made her way from her upstairs bedchamber, down the

narrow back stairs, to the storeroom.

After her father's death, their comfortable family home had been sold, and she and Laura moved to live with their uncle in

the modest living quarters above the warehouse. This residence was much smaller and far less fine than what they'd been accustomed

to. Even after four years, the low-ceilinged rooms and dark, narrow halls still did not feel like home. The entire space had

a transient feel, as if any day they'd abandon it and return to something more suitable.

Once she entered the storeroom, Russell, who was seated in his usual spot behind his desk, glanced up and removed his wire-rimmed spectacles. "I don't usually see you down here at this late hour."

"I don't mean to disturb you." She stepped around a small table and headed toward the armoire. "I just need to gather a few

supplies."

He closed his ledger. "Need help?"

She placed her candle on the table next to the cabinet. "Yes, if you don't mind. Will you fetch the Vinci pieces for me?"

"The Vinci?" He frowned. "I haven't heard those mentioned in a while. Why?"

"I'm taking them with me. I thought I might use them instead of their just sitting in a box gathering dust."

Russell did as bid, and Olivia opened the armoire door and gathered a blank ledger, a box of pencils, quills and ink, soft

cloths, a magnifying glass, and brushes. Russell returned with the jewelry case, and Olivia packed all the items in a small

crate. Once finished, she propped the crate on her hip and turned to leave, but then paused. "When did Uncle decide to go

to Devon?"

"Hmm?"

"He told me he was departing for Devon first thing in the morning."

"Oh, that. As far as I know he just decided today."

She frowned. "That's odd. Delft is hardly his area of expertise."

Russell grinned lopsidedly. "You know your uncle. What he doesn't really know he makes up."

"I don't know why you're smiling about it," she scolded. "It's really quite serious."

"I'm only teasing, Olivia."

She glared at him for several moments. Her uncle's incompetence had always been a source of amusement between them when her

father was alive, but when her father's death put Thomas at the helm, it suddenly wasn't as comical—not when all their livelihoods

depended on him.

"Besides," she continued, "if Delft is the item in question, why aren't you going to Cottetham Park? Aren't you always telling

me you know more about Delft pottery than anyone else in London?"

"I would, but the shipment for Mr.Beckam is due to arrive at the end of the week. Someone needs to be here to receive it,

and your uncle is above such menial tasks."

"Oh." She adjusted the crate in her arms, refusing to feel any sort of remorse for her impending travel. She quickly changed

the subject. "I'll see you when I'm back in London, then."

She headed toward the door, but his words stopped her. "It will be odd without you here."

"Gracious." She pivoted to face him, smiling to keep the conversation light. "Everyone acts as if I'll be gone for a year.

I'll be home by Michaelmas."

"Will you?" His unusually somber tone caught her off guard.

She blinked. "Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugged his narrow shoulders and folded his arms over his chest. "There'll be a great many distractions at Cloverton Hall.

New people and the lot. You might decide you prefer their company to ours. To mine."

Olivia inhaled a sharp breath. "I'm going to help Mrs.Milton. Nothing more."

The hard-set lines of his long face were unmoving. "I hope you know what you're doing, 'tis all."

"No one seems to believe it, but I am a grown woman, completely capable, Russell."

"I know you are." He relaxed his stance and gripped the back of the chair in front of him. "Forgive me. I suppose I've grown

used to the way things are. The way we are."

The words, and the meaning behind them, froze her.

He offered a half smile. "You could always refuse to go. Or tell Mrs.Milton you've changed your mind."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because part of me hopes that you would see that you have everything you need here. Your uncle and I were talking about your

future earlier today. He said that he thought it folly that you would seek out a new situation when you have an opportunity

already in front of you."

Heat suffused her face, and she was grateful for the low light, for surely a blush was coloring her cheeks.

It must seem like a natural progression for Russell to marry his superior's ward and secure his place in the business. After

all, she had no other suitors, and as far as she knew, he'd never courted a woman. And yet in all the years Olivia had known

Russell, he'd never said anything that would suggest he considered her in a romantic way. Perhaps it would have been easier

if he had, or even if he'd acted flirtatiously. Then she'd have a reason to dislike him or, at the very least, to discourage

him.

But regardless of all, the truth remained: this might be the life he wanted, but it was not the life she wanted.

This storeroom, and the relics in it, would not be her life.

She would journey to faraway places. Eat exotic food. Inhale the scent of sandalwood incense in an Indian temple or spy a gibbon in

China's woodlands.

If she died tomorrow, what had she really done? What had she accomplished?

He must have interpreted her silence as a refusal to discuss the topic further. A nervous chuckle rumbled from his throat,

and he whirled back around to his desk. "After you return from Cloverton, I'll be eager to hear your thoughts on the Cavesee

Vase. It really is quite remarkable."

In that moment she almost felt sorry for Russell. She did not doubt his sincerity. He'd always been very cordial to her—helping

her, teaching her—and she supposed that given her circumstance, he'd be a good match for her. But if she accepted him or indulged

his attentions, then she'd be accepting that this way of life would be her future.

The options for her future would soon be exhausted, and this offer from Mrs.Milton was a miracle—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity

to step out of her world and into one more affluent, where she'd be treated differently. Have a new routine. Interact with

elegant people.

Maybe when she returned she would see things from a fresh perspective.

But then again, maybe she would not.