Page 77 of Unraveled By the Duke
“What a surprise to see the two of you here.”
“I am quite the devotee of art, as I believe I have mentioned,” Celia said.
“Indeed, I had quite forgotten. Have you visited before?”
“I have not, and I now regret the omission. Oh my, is that the Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba?” she exclaimed, seeing a painting on the other side of the hallway.
“By Lorrain. Yes, it is,” Violet confirmed.
“And The Woman Taken in Adultery!” Celia exclaimed, spotting another painting.
To Alexander, the second seemed dark and dreary, but his stepmother’s face lit up.
“You have a refined taste, indeed. I had no idea. Come. I have visited before—allow me to be your guide.”
She took Celia’s arm and steered her towards the first of the paintings that had elicited such a reaction.
Alexander followed slowly, mulling over the pictures and trying to find the passion that both Celia and his stepmother seemed to share.
“Your Grace, I did not deem you a patron of the arts.” Wainwright emerged from the crowd at Alexander’s elbow, speaking softly.
“I am not. My wife is,” Alexander replied. “Do you have news? If so, this is hardly the time or place. It is rather crowded.”
That was an understatement. The room was becoming increasingly hot due to the number of people filing in. The footfall of those on the stairs, moving in both directions, slowed almost to a halt.
Alexander found that despite this, he was enjoying watching Celia and Violet talk animatedly about the paintings.
Why, I cannot explain it, but I do enjoy seeing her happy. Perhaps because there has been so much friction between us. Neither of us deserves misery.
“Then shall we retire to somewhere more private. The gardens are well maintained and considerably quieter, Your Grace.”
Alexander nodded sharply. It would pass the time, and he hoped to hear good news.
Wainwright led the way through the throng, out of a door, and along a passageway. The crowds thinned, and eventually they were able to step through a door marked private and into a section of the house that was not being used for the gallery.
“Are you here by coincidence?” Alexander asked.
“Not entirely. I find the best way to keep my finger on the pulse of the ton is to frequent the places they do. Talk and be talked to. Listen, most of all. It is fortunate that I chose to come here today, and you are here as well.”
They walked through what had clearly once been the servants’ quarters and into a paved yard. Beyond was a brick arch that led out to a neat lawn with a riot of colorful bushes at the far end. A path disappeared into those bushes.
“Very well, Wainwright. What do I need to know?”
They continued walking across the lawn, leaving the babble leaking out of the gallery's windows behind them.
“Initial success with the seeds that I have been planting. I have heard my own tales repeated back to me as gospel truth. That the Duke of Cheverton had married, either for love or as a result of negotiations with the Earl of Scovell, and found happiness in the union.”
“Exactly what we wanted. So, why am I reading scurrilous rumors about my wife in scandal sheets?” Alexander demanded.
“I have seen the same gossip and heard it repeated in salons and coffee houses. I have tried to track the source of the gossip and failed, but I recognize the signs.”
Alexander stopped, glaring at the American, who looked back stolidly.
“What signs?”
“The signs of my work. I think there is another, employed by someone who means you ill, doing the same job. The same but opposite. As I quell the rumors, he or she starts them.”
Alexander snarled in frustration, clenching his fists. “She?”
