Chapter 6

"Don't dawdle in doorways, boy. It's impertinent. What's more, a man must never exhibit indecisiveness; otherwise others will never take him seriously."

Lucas could hear his father's voice as he hesitated at the door to the room that had been Timothy Avery's private office.

He paused, allowing his hand to hover over the worn brass doorknob. Would he ever be able to pass through this door without

thinking about the man who'd raised him? Each time he approached the threshold, a different emotion accosted him. Grief. Anger.

Numbness. Determination. His father's death nine months prior, and the shock of it, had affected every aspect of Lucas's life.

He gripped the doorknob and pushed the door open. Inside, memories of an enterprising life lived in every crook and cranny.

For years this cluttered chamber had been his father's domain, yet Lucas had spent nearly as much time here as he had in their

house. He'd long since memorized the number of steps it took to reach his father's desk from the door, which floorboards squeaked,

and at what hour the afternoon sun would slice through the window.

But most importantly, he'd learned all about the business—the buying and selling of antiquities and valuable rarities.

It had not been hard to get swept up into his father's view of the future. His contagious passion and enthusiasm influenced

many. As a boy Lucas had hung on his father's every word. Relished the trips to Persia. Egypt. The Orient. All in pursuit

of the unique. Lucas was passionate because his father had been passionate.

But now, everything felt different.

Everything was different, because not only was Father gone, but the scandal before his death cast a negative light on a legacy that should

have been respectable. His father had always been a polarizing character, but the public accusation that he'd cheated multiple

clients had cloaked his family in an unavoidable shadow that the business had not been able to shake.

Lucas didn't want to think that his father would be capable of deceptive actions, but sometimes the mere suggestion of dishonesty

was enough to make it so. As things stood now, Avery in her current state she was predisposed to find fault in any

suggestion.

Silence once again fell on the opulent parlor, and he turned his attention to the familiar setting. Beyond the portraits,

the feel of the chamber was so uniquely his family's. Blue-and-white Chinese vases flanked the three bay windows overlooking

the street. A painted Indian screen stood in the corner, depicting life in Delhi. A collection of wooden and ivory carvings

adorned the mantelpiece. It was the visual manifestation of the work his parents had so ardently adored.

His mother used to share his father's love of the exotic, but now she never inquired about the business. In the weeks following

her husband's death, the mere reference to it would fling her into a state of despondency. Consequently, Lucas mentioned it

only when absolutely necessary. And now it was absolutely necessary.

"I will be traveling to Yorkshire tomorrow."

"Yorkshire?" she cried with as much annoyance as he expected. "Whatever for?"

"Business dealings—hopefully—at Cloverton Hall. The new master has requested assistance in evaluating Mr. Milton's collection."

"What a shame for Mrs.Milton," she responded flatly before looking out over the street. "Life goes on for the living, does

it not? What does he want to do with the collection?"

"He wants to sell."

She huffed. "It's truly a shame how quickly people wish to part with keepsakes of those no longer with us."

Lucas passed the next hour in his mother's melancholy company, endeavoring to lift her spirits and divert her attentions.

But try as he might, his efforts were again in vain. He missed the mother who not even a year ago had welcomed him with smiles,

comforted him with her positivity, and encouraged him with her optimism. He refused to believe those parts of her had vanished

forever, but after a visit like today's, he felt heavy, as if he was carrying the weight of his father's loss all over again.