The Surrender of Miss Fairbourne (15 page)

The letter arrived by evening post, along with several from the coast that Darius had been awaiting. He left it for last while he read the surveillance reports. Finally he broke the seal and read Miss Fairbourne’s “directions.”

He examined the penmanship afterward. The woman who had written this possessed a straightforward hand that had banished most flourishes and affectations from its lines. The letters flowed clearly, even elegantly, but they did not angle much. Rather there was a tendency for the
H
s and
T
s to stand upright, and oblige the letters around them to aim for the vertical too.

It was just the sort of penmanship he would expect of Miss Fairbourne.

How unexpectedly thoughtful of her to warn him to stay away so his interest in Fairbourne’s remained a secret. She rightly pointed out that hawking the auction house’s service to a potential consignor was not something an earl should be known as doing.

However, her concern was also odd. If she truly cared about the auction house surviving, she should be begging him to attend in the morning, no matter what an earl should be seen doing. She should want him to help Riggles cajole this collection out of the count’s factor by flaunting another lord’s patronage of the establishment.

The more he thought about it, the more he found the letter suspicious.

Perhaps someone other than a count’s factor would be visiting Fairbourne’s, someone whom it was vital that her father’s partner not meet. He would prefer not to suspect her along with her father, but if illicit goods had moved
through Fairbourne’s in the past, they might in the future too.

Nor did he care for her command that he “obey” her directions. His faithful servant, hell. Miss Fairbourne could be over bold. Unwisely so at times. That she did not know her place did not concern him too much. Her misunderstanding of
his
place needed to be corrected, however.

He had not yet decided what to do when he called for his horse in the morning. Once he mounted, he turned in the direction of Albemarle Street, however.

Partly he did so because it was in his interest to see if a count’s factor really thought to consign the collection to Fairbourne’s today. If no such appointment took place, he needed to find out what else Mr. Riggles and Miss Fairbourne were plotting that required his absence.

Mostly, however, he admitted that he went because he did not like the implications of that letter. Miss Fairbourne appeared to believe that if she wanted a certain earl to dance to her tune, she need merely command it.

T
he paintings in the great hall at Fairbourne’s had been hung differently when Darius arrived at eleven o’clock. From the sweat on the brows of the workmen, he gathered most of the changes had just been made.

The new arrangement made much out of little. Paintings did not hang so high or so low or so close to one another, and therefore filled the center of the towering walls more completely. It had been a shrewd solution, one that he might not have noticed if he had not seen the obvious holes a few days ago.

Riggles appeared dismayed when he saw Darius. “My lord, I did not expect you. Miss Fairbourne said that we should not anticipate a visit today.”

“I decided to call while on my way to elsewhere. I trust that my presence is not ill timed.”

Riggles’s frozen smile and strangled silence suggested it was.

“I can make myself scarce if I am interfering,” Darius soothed. “I will secrete myself in the office, and continue perusing the accounts.”

“I regret that the office will be needed soon, sir.”

“Then I will nose around the storage, and see if anything has come in that I want to bid upon for my own account.”

“Regrettably the storage room is too full to allow comfortable previews.”

Just then the door to the storage opened and Miss Fairbourne emerged. She wore mourning clothes today, very fine ones. Her hair, long and free in the current fashion, fell in little curls and waves down to her breasts. She froze briefly upon seeing him talking to Riggles in the great room, then joined them.

“I think all is as ready as it will ever be, Obediah,” she said.

“Except perhaps me, Miss Fairbourne.” Riggles shifted uncomfortably.

Miss Fairbourne laughed lightly. “What a modest man you continue to be, Mr. Riggles. True, this may be a most illustrious collection owned by a famous and noble man, but in the end it is the same trade as you have excelled in for years.”

Riggles flushed and nodded none too firmly. He appeared to age and shrink by the moment. Darius doubted a count’s agent would be impressed.

The auctioneer drifted off, presumably to collect his persuasive abilities. Miss Fairbourne surveyed the new arrangement of paintings on the wall.

“You chose to come today, I see. Since you did, we need to decide immediately how to accommodate your interference.” There was no umbrage in her tone, but her eyes communicated some exasperation, and the word
interference
all but asked for a row. “Do you want us to introduce you as a frequent patron? Shall we pretend you just happened by this morning?”

“That might be best.”

“It will be deceptive, however. I think it would be better to let him know that you are an owner.”

“Hardly better.”

She walked over and straightened one of the paintings. “Consider it, though. If we are honest, you can be more direct.”

He joined her at the wall. “I did not come here to take your father’s place. That is Mr. Riggles’s duty, and, according to you, also his experience.”

“He almost never persuaded alone. Mr. Nightingale would aid him, both with consignors and with patrons who bid.”

“Perhaps you should replace Mr. Nightingale with another man.”

“I have tried. Remember? A Mr. Laughton was a good prospect but, alas, someone both warned him off and bought him off.”

“Laughton was a cub. He could never match wits with a count’s man.”

“You, however, surely can.” She looked over her shoulder to the entrance. A carriage was stopping in the street outside. “Please appear impressed with our expertise. This auction will be held with or without this collection he comes to discuss, so it is in your interest, and that of your investment, for Fairbourne’s to get it.”

He began to explain that he had never actually agreed that the auction would be held. She heard not a word, however, because the door opened and the count’s servant entered.

Herr Werner was neither tall nor broad, but his arrogance gave him stature. He posed inside the doorway like a man who knew his worth too well. Blond curls neatly dressed and coat embellished with braid and buttons, he sniffed the air as if taking its occupants’ measure by scent alone.

His pale blue eyes swept the premises and came to rest on Darius, whom he sized up in every way imaginable.
Riggles appeared out of nowhere, advanced on their visitor, and introduced himself.

Herr Werner’s gaze never left Darius.

Riggles brought him over. “Allow me to introduce you to one of Fairbourne’s most esteemed patrons, the Earl of Southwaite.”

E
mma tried to find distraction in the garden behind Fairbourne’s. She strolled its paths, and took note of work that needed to be done before they held the grand preview night.

She tried not to imagine the conversation taking place in her father’s office. She prayed that between Riggles playing the manager that he truly was not, and the earl playing the disinterested patron, which he definitely was not, the two of them would persuade Herr Werner to consign that collection to them.

She fretted that she should have stayed, and joined them in their discussion. Herr Werner had barely bothered to condescend to her, however. Once he met Southwaite, all attention had focused there, not on Maurice Fairbourne’s ordinary daughter, who, as a mere woman, could not begin to understand a count’s financial and artistic concerns.

The danger, as she saw it, was that Southwaite might be too honest, and point out that currently there were few consignments of sufficient prestige to buttress the count’s own in the next auction. He might even openly discourage Herr
Werner. He wanted to be done with Fairbourne’s, and would prefer if the auction could not go forward.

Her contemplations caused a good deal of agitation in her heart. The waiting seemed to go on forever.

Her self-absorption caused her to startle when she looked up from some shrubbery and saw Southwaite standing not twenty feet from her.

His back rested against a tree trunk. Arms crossed, he regarded her. His sudden appearance took her aback, but so did his expression, so much that she stayed in place even though her heart began pounding with excitement at the hopes that he brought good news.

No, that was not the only reason for the way her heart did a jig in her chest. His gaze struck her as invasive, much as it had in the storage room the other day. She was not accustomed to being watched like that by anyone, let alone a handsome man. It frightened her, but also proved very titillating.

Time pulsed by awkwardly when he did not speak. She collected herself and forced her feet to move. A flush warmed her as she drew near. She prayed that she did nothing to reveal how foolish her reactions were.

“What are you looking at? The sad state of the shrubbery, or that of the rose hedge?” She glanced over her shoulder as if to guess which neglected part of the garden concerned him.

“I am looking at you. Do not pretend you do not know it.”

“I can think of no reason why you would, so I do not know it at all.”

He settled against that tree more comfortably. “There are several reasons why, and I think you know that too. However, mostly this time I was deciding if you are really as sly as I suspect.”

“No one has ever called me sly, so your suspicions are unfounded.”

“Are they?” He pushed away from the tree and advanced to where she stood. He peered down at her, somewhat amused but not entirely so. “I think that you sent that letter
advising me not to come here this morning because you calculated it was the best way to get me here in fact.”

“I am flattered that you think I am that clever.”

“Oh, you are very clever, Miss Fairbourne. That has been clear for some time.”

“Clever enough to know that your actions would be deliberately contrary to my advice? I barely know you, Lord Southwaite, so I could hardly predict such a thing.”

“Perhaps you know me well enough to guess, or know men well enough to suppose your direction would not be well received.”

She looked at the building. “I trust that my worst fears did not come to pass, and that you were able to keep your investment discreet?”

“Herr Werner only wanted my honest appraisal of Fairbourne’s from a collector’s view, and believes that is what he received.” He moved to her side and they strolled through the garden. “Just as well that I came, whatever your true intentions. Riggles performed so poorly that I wonder whether he ever attended such a meeting before.”

His suspicion hung there, waiting for a response. Emma decided to ignore it. “Is the collection as prized as rumored?”

“Very fine. A large Titian. Rubens, Poussin, Veronese—if they are of as high quality as reputed, it will be a notable sale.”

“A Raphael?”

“No.”

That was unfortunate. Raphael was very popular among collectors.

“He did not miss that the paintings now on your wall are not of the caliber that he has,” Southwaite said. “He opened negotiations with Riggles on a lower commission. He guesses that you need him far more than he needs you.”

She performed some quick calculations of the likely income if Herr Werner paid less, and she also then had to pay Cassandra ten percent of their commission. Fairbourne’s share would not be what she had hoped then.

“Did you tell him that more paintings were coming?” she asked.

“Are more coming?”

“Yes.” She made a decision that she had been avoiding. “Among others, a Raphael is coming. A very fine one, with excellent provenance.”

“Riggles did not mention a Raphael. How curious.”

A slight pressure on her arm caught her attention. She looked down at the fine masculine fingers touching her, stopping her stroll. Her gaze moved up to the dark eyes watching her most closely.

“There will need to be authentication of the collection if he consigns it,” Southwaite said. “Someone who knows a true Titian from a fake will have to examine each lot. I will not be party to a fraud.”

“That goes without saying. Obediah will carefully—”

“Obediah will not, because he cannot.” He released her, but blocked any further progress on the path with his body. “I admire that you are clever, but I warn you not to be too clever with me now.”

Not feeling at all clever at the moment, she held her tongue.

His head dipped closer to hers. “Answer me clearly, Miss Fairbourne. Is there anyone associated with the auction house now who has the expertise to replace your father?”

He stood inappropriately close to her. That thought slid through her mind while her nose quivered as it absorbed his scent. Masculine and individual and clean, with undercurrents of leather and horse and wool, it surrounded her like a manifestation of his presence, invading her sense.

“Yes.” The affirmation slipped out without much thought. His thorough attention left no room for lies. She no longer thought clearly enough to deceive effectively anyway.

His head dipped closer yet, and his dark scrutiny penetrated deeper. “But not Mr. Riggles, I assume.”

“No, not Mr. Riggles.”

“You, then.” It wasn’t even a question.

She barely found the ability to nod. Speaking was now beyond her. The oddest thickness filled her chest and throat, and lively tingles teased her cheeks.

“I do not like being lied to.” He did not sound angry. Rather, his quiet statement breathed over her as if carried on a gentle, warm breeze.

“I—That is, it was not really a—”

His finger came to rest on her lips, silencing her. “You have been found out. Do not attempt to cover one deception with another.”

His gaze did not reflect much interest in whatever she would have claimed or attempted. His finger stayed on her mouth, warm and firm, making her lips tremble. Then it moved, in a tiny caress of her lips.