Page 4 of Choosing Her Earl at Last
Michael’s brows rose in question. “Art thefts?”
“Indeed.” Everrett nodded in confirmation. “Some of the most notable pieces in all of England have gone missing from the landed gentry to the most noble houses in the land.” Everett’s gaze fell on Michael’s face. “Say, have you inventoried your own collection of late?”
Michael shook his head. “I have not.”
“I would if I were you, Ravenshollow. Your collection is one of the best I have seen. Such a collection would be a true temptation for a greedy art thief.”
Michael nodded in agreement, concern for his own precious pieces filling his mind, momentarily replacing his previous ire. “I thank you for the warning. I will indeed inventory my collection.”
Everett nodded. “If you discover that anything is missing, the magistrate at Bow Street is mounting an investigation with the aid of his Runners. I recommend that you report anything amiss to him.”
“I will,” Michael agreed. “What more can you tell me of the thefts? Does the magistrate have any notion as to who the thief or thieves might be?”
Everett shook his head. “He believes that the thief is hiding somewhere in London, given that the bulk of the thefts have occurred there, but he is not dismissing other possibilities, as there have been thefts elsewhere throughout the country as well.” The men discussed the matter for a few moments more, then Everett changed the subject to other bits and pieces of news that he had been made privy to around London.
“Have you heard that the Marquess of Worthington’s widow has returned for the Season? She has not been seen in societysince their wedding, remaining secluded in Scotland for all these years since. She may be more of a recluse than you yourself, Ravenshollow,” Everett chuckled in amusement at his own jest. “It has created quite the stir about town.”
Michael had just been about to take another drink of his brandy when he stopped midway. He went stone still, his heart hammering in his chest. “Widow?”
“Had you not heard?” Everett asked him, surprised. “Norman Livingston, the Marquess of Worthington, perished in a fire while traveling abroad about six months ago. His younger brother, Harry, has inherited the title and estate as the couple had not yet produced an heir. Once it was evident that the marchioness was not with child, she was returned to the care of her family. She has only just arrived in London from what I was able to gather.”
Michael exchanged a look with Colin. Colin tried to be silently reassuring, but Michael’s heart felt as if it might explode from his chest, it beat with such ferocity. The woman who had spurned his love was now unwed and back in London. Anger and pain warred with the tiniest glimmer of hope, a hope that he swiftly snuffed out.She chose money and position over love.
She is not the woman that I once believed her to be. I will not allow anyone an opportunity to cause me such pain ever again.It mattered not to him that most of society married for wealth and position. He had held her to a different standard, and she had shattered his heart. There would be no rekindlingof romance as far as he was concerned.Never again,his mind whispered in self-preservation.
Chapter 3
The day after Emmeline’s arrival, Rebecca had already dragged her out of the house and out into the city’s most fashionable district.
“You need new things if you are to properly attend the Season’s events with me,” Rebecca had argued, and Emmeline had reluctantly agreed.
The sisters had spent the late morning going from shop to shop, placing orders to be delivered to their townhouse. Turning down another street, the girls saw a familiar sign up ahead. “I heard that there was to be a new collection of art being sold today,” Rebecca informed her sister, her eyes begged Emmeline to attend with her.
The girls had spent many an hour in just such places with their father, Horace Frampton, a noted antiquarian and businessman of good reputation.
Emmeline smiled; Rebecca’s excitement was contagious. Taking her sister’s smile as an affirmation of attendance, she grabbed her arm, and the girls hurried excitedly toward the auction house’s front entrance. T
hey entered to find a sizable crowd of people, the air humming with the low drone of a myriad conversations and palpable excitement. Emmeline’s body thrilled with the nostalgia of it all.“I have missed this,” she murmured, squeezing her sister’s hand in a moment of familial memory.
Rebecca squeezed Emmeline’s hand in return, giving her a soft smile of understanding. “I am glad that you have returned home where you belong.”
Emmeline returned Rebecca’s smile. In truth, she did not know where she belonged anymore, but in this moment, that did not matter. In this moment, she was with her much-beloved sister, doing something that they loved. “Let us find a seat before the auction begins.”
The sisters weaved their way through the crowd until they found a couple of empty chairs toward the back of the room. They were fortunate to find seating at all, given the size of the crowd that had already taken their places in anticipation of what was to be on offer.
When the auctioneer took his place at the podium, he hammered his gavel to call the room to order, and the drone of conversations faded to an anticipatory silence. The first handful of items were interesting but did not cry out to Emmeline to be taken home with her.
About midway through the auction, a cloth-covered rectangle was carried to the front of the room. The auctioneer smiled at someone toward the front of the crowd, then addressed the room at large.
The cloth was removed, and Emmeline’s heart skipped a beat. Beneath the cloth was the sketch of a most beautiful feminine portrait.
A woman was portrayed in soft, sweeping lines against an aged parchment. “Here we have a rare opportunity indeed,” the auctioneer announced. “This unfinished portrait is believed to be none other than one of Leonardo da Vinci’s beautifully mysterious ladies.” A renewed hush fell over the crowd.
Emmeline could not tear her eyes away from the subtle beauty of the woman. The yellowed aging of the parchment did nothing to detract from its beauty but added to the mysterious air of the woman portrayed.
“I must have it,” she breathed.
The woman’s expression was a mix of nostalgic sorrow and secret strength. It spoke to her heart as nothing before ever had. When the auctioneer called for the first bid, her hand flew almost by instinct alone up into the air.
