Page 18 of The Viscount's Forgery
The remainder of the carriage ride remained silent as Nicholas looked out of the window and contemplated, with Lord Bothwell doing the same, though both men were thinking of entirely different young ladies. Lord Bothwell, Nicholasknew, would be thinking solely of Miss Polly Sherwood whilst his thoughts were captured by Miss Eugenia Sherwood. Lord Bothwell was looking forward to seeing the lady again, but Nicholas felt restrained. He did not much want to see Miss Eugenia Sherwood, certain he had not had enough time to think about all she had said and revealed to him. It was not only the painting she had spoken of but also the fact that she was, evidently, a bluestocking. Was that something Lord Bothwell knew? Nicholas did not dare to mention it, thinking to himself that Lord Bothwell had more than enough to consider at present. Besides, he did not want to do anything that would jeopardize an already strained connection.
“Here we are.” Lord Bothwell drummed his fingers on his knee as the carriage came to a stop. “Now, let us hope that this goes well! We are not the only ones invited, you understand.”
“I do not recall the details,” Nicholas admitted, as Lord Bothwell climbed out of the carriage. “It is a picnic, yes?”
Lord Bothwell nodded. “Yes, that is so. There have been a few people invited, and I am one of them. It was Lord Derbyshire who suggested I invite you also, for it is not a particularly formal affair.” He gestured to one of his servants who was carrying a basket, which, no doubt, was full of food. “I have enough for both of us and others also!”
“I thank you.” Nicholas, who had only broken his fast earlier that day and eaten very little since, realized that he was quite hungry. “Then I need not fear I shall have to make prolonged conversation with Lady Derbyshire, then?”
Lord Bothwell laughed, the strain seeming to drain from his expression as he did so. “No, indeed not. There will be a good many others present, I am sure – and even if they do not join the picnic, they will be walking about the park as well. Come now, it is just along this way.”
Nicholas followed after him but did not say a single word. He was not truly thinking about having to make conversation with Lady Derbyshire, but was instead, thinking only of Miss Eugenia Sherwood. He was still unsure as to whether or not he wanted to speak with her, still a little overwhelmed by all that had been revealed.
“Good afternoon, Lord Bothwell!” A young lady soon detached herself from a small gathering of gentlemen and ladies and came hurrying towards them both, though she only greeted Lord Bothwell. Recognizing her as Polly, Nicholas slowed his steps to permit them both to greet each other without his presence, though he did note that Lord Bothwell did not show as much enthusiasm as the lady. With a grimace, he looked away, hoping that his friend would not force himself to be too restrained in his manner.
“Good afternoon to you also, Lord Suffolk.”
A quiet voice made him look to his left, seeing the other Miss Sherwood approaching, her friend beside her.
“I did not know that you had been invited, though of course, you are most welcome,” she said, as she bobbed a curtsy. “It is a very pleasant day for a picnic, is it not?”
“It is.” He bowed, then looked to the other lady, trying to recall her name.
“Lady Isobella,” she reminded him with a smile, making Nicholas’ face flush. “Yes, we have been introduced already, though I quite understand how difficult it can be for a gentleman or a lady to remember the names of every person they have been introduced to!”
Nicholas cleared his throat and bowed again. “You are most generous, Lady Isobella.” His gaze pulled again to Miss Sherwood, seeing her blue eyes steady as she gazed back at him. There was a question in them, a question that Nicholas could read quite clearly, and with a sigh, he spread out his hands.
“I do not know whether we ought to speak of the painting or not, Miss Sherwood,” he said, addressing the matter directly. “It came as a great shock to me and I am still, I confess, not fully convinced.”
This wiped the smile from her face in an instant. “You do not think that I am telling the truth?”
Nicholas shook his head. “No, no, it is not that. It is only that I find the idea to be so… astonishing that I cannot quite take it in. My man of business is excellent in such matters, and I am sure he would never knowingly have purchased forgeries for me.”
“Can you trust him?” Lady Isobella asked, entering into the conversation with a clear understanding of the matter, which meant, Nicholas realized, that Miss Sherwood had told her friends everything. That struck a match of concern in his heart, and his jaw tightened.
“Yes, I do. Though, Miss Sherwood, Lady Isobella, I would prefer it if you did not speak of what you have learned to anyone else. It is not the done thing for a gentleman to have forgeries in his home, and for thetonto discover that would bring me a great deal of embarrassment.”
The two ladies exchanged a quick glance, though Miss Sherwood nodded quickly. “But of course, Lord Suffolk. It is not as though this is something that we can discuss with others either, for there are very few ladies who are interested in art and the like, not to the depths that I have chosen to pursue it.”
Nicholas nodded. “I thank you.” He did not say anything more, did not ask her about whether she was truly a bluestocking or not, recognizing that, by the glint in her eye, she was all that she claimed to be. An uncertainty filled his heart, for he had never been faced with such a creature before, and did not know how he felt about such a thing either.
“You will not ask Miss Sherwood about the painting?” Lady Isobella folded her arms and tilted her head, appearing a littleirritated by his refusal to, thus far, speak of it. “I am surprised, Lord Suffolk.”
“Why would you be surprised?”
“Because,” she answered quickly, gesturing towards Miss Sherwood, “you have here one of the most well-versed persons in all of England when it comes to such things, and you refuse to even speak with her aboutwhyshe thinks your painting is a forgery?”
The urge to scoff at this notion, to state that he did not believe that Miss Sherwood could be so learned in this subject, burned hot in his throat, sending sharp words to his lips, but with one look at Miss Sherwood, he silenced himself before he could say a word. There was something in her eyes that he recognized, a glint of determination and pride. It was not an arrogance, only a certainty that yes, what her friend had said was quite true, and Nicholas became aware that he could not speak against that – especially when he had no understanding of such things himself!
“I could also consider your other paintings,” Miss Sherwood said, taking a small step closer to him and keeping her voice low. “As I said to you last evening, I am more than a little certain that there are others. I did not manage to peruse all of them for an adequate amount of time but from what I saw, I think there are at least three others which are worth further consideration.”
That was a shock to Nicholas, who was forced to snatch in a breath as she spoke. Three others? That would mean that his hall could, potentially, be filled with forgeries! If thetondiscovered this, then he would be mocked mercilessly, he was quite sure. He had a reputation for being a very wealthy viscount indeed, with his houses filled with the very finest of things. If society were to discover that it was not so, then he would have more than just embarrassment! He would, no doubt, have to go back to his estate to hide his shame! How would he find out the truth abouthis paintings? If he dared to ask someone to come and look at each one, would that spread to society in some way?
“Lord Suffolk?”
He pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked back at Miss Sherwood. She had drawn even closer to him and, in a single moment, everything about the paintings had flown right out of his head. Instead, he found himself gazing down into her blue eyes, her face framed by dark curls and her lips gently parted. What felt like lightning zipped through his veins, making his breath curl up and disappear from him entirely, his chest growing tight. He did not know what was happening, seeming unable to pull his eyes from hers and yet, at the very same time, wanting desperately to break the connection so he could bring himself back.
“I want to be able to help you,” she said, ever so quietly, though whether that was for her benefit or his, Nicholas did not know. “I do know a good deal about paintings and the like. I have learned about the artists of the past and of the present, the ones who are beginning to find favor amongst society, and those who are fading away. If I can use that to be of assistance to you – to even help you find out how this has happened – then I should be very glad to do so.”
