Page 52 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

Juliana, too, had paused in lifting a spoonful of cherry ice to her lips. “What is it?” she whispered before turning her head toward the door.

“If you will both excuse me.” Victor placed his serviette next to his dish of elderberry ice and strode toward his mother and Lydia.

Lydia’s eyes widened.

His mother stumbled back. “Victor, what are you doing here?”

“Countering the vicious gossip, Mother, while Miss Merrick, Lady Gryffin and I enjoy some ices. The question is, what are you doing here with Miss Whyte?”

His mother straightened, her flashing eyes defiant. “Don’t take that tone with me, Victor. After that dreadful report andyour insistence to offer for Miss Merrick, Lydia is heartbroken. I’m merely providing support and consolation.”

Lydia quickly looked away when Victor turned his attention toward her, her attempt to appear demure and play the victim almost laughable. “Heartbroken indeed. However, I would like a word with Miss Whyte in private, if I may.”

His mother stepped in front of Lydia. “Haven’t you caused enough scandal with one woman?”

“Very well, stay with her, but may we at least step away from prying eyes?” Victor motioned for the ladies to precede him out the door.

Outside the shop, Victor took Lydia’s arm, perhaps a little too roughly, but his normally even-tempered disposition had worn thinner than a poor man’s coat. “Wait here, Mother. Miss Whyte and I will remain well in sight as to avoid any semblance of impropriety.”

Aside, even out of earshot of his mother, Victor lowered his voice. “I won’t mince words, Lydia. Did you look at the sketches that were on my desk?”

Lydia’s eyes blinked rapidly, but not in the manner she employed when flirting. “I—I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“When you accompanied my mother to my studio a few days ago, you were in the room alone for several minutes. Don’t lie to me, Lydia, you don’t do it well. Did you see the sketches and, more importantly, did you tell anyone?”

Her cheeks flushed red, and once again, she averted her gaze. Yet she remained silent.

“Lydia, I’m not accusing you of anything, but for your information, those sketches werenotof Miss Merrick. If you had anything to do with spreading that rumor, don’t you owe it to her to set it to rights?”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Who was it if not Miss Merrick?”

Barely containing his anger, Victor pulled in a calming breath. “As to who was the subject, that is none of your concern. Artists often draw from imagination.” Deliberately softening his tone, he said, “Who did you tell?”

Tears pooled in her eyes, and one trickled down her cheek, but Victor had no desire to wipe it away as he had for Juliana. Lydiashouldbe ashamed. “It was only because...I worried Miss Merrick was seducing you. I only told her because I thought she could talk some sense into you.”

“Who?” The question slipped through gritted teeth.

“Your mother.”

Although he expected Lydia’s answer, his heart refused to believe his mother would stoop so low as to disgrace her own son. “Who else?” Blindly, he grasped Lydia’s arms. “Think, Lydia. Did you say anything, even in passing? Where someone could have overheard? Perhaps a servant who gossips?”

Lydia shook her head, the tears falling freely. “I don’t know. You’re hurting me.”

“Victor!” At his mother’s sharp voice, Victor dropped his hands to his side.

Incensed and focused on discovering the truth, he didn’t realize both his mother and Lady Gryffin had approached.

“Mr. Pratt, calm yourself,” the countess said, her tone much more motherly than that of the woman who had birthed him. “I’m sure Miss Whyte promises to tell you if she recalls anything. Won’t you, Miss Whyte?” An almost imperceptible hardness coated the countess’s gentle tone when she addressed Lydia. In her state, Victor doubted she’d even noticed it.

“I promise.”

The countess took his arm. “Now, come back inside. Your betrothed awaits. And Lady Cartwright, I would suggest you and Miss Whyte collude in another location.”

Questions swirled in Victor’s mind like a tornado, many of them as destructive. But like the twisting storm, his mind would have to settle before he could parse them out.

“She knows something,” he muttered.

The countess nodded. “Hmm. But you won’t get it out of her by force.” A curious gleam arose in her eyes, and she patted his arm. “Leave that to me.”

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