Mrs. Morgan preened. “We shall have guests as soon as we install it. I am certain there are many who would love to see it.”
Saffron flicked open her fan and waved it in front of her face to hide her grin. Lady Allen was a master manipulator, guiding the couple from topic to topic and heaping praise upon the older woman when she attempted to turn the conversation to Saffron. As vain as the woman was, it worked flawlessly.
Then Lady Allen leaned in close, lowering her fan and letting her hair droop over her décolletage. Said action capturedMr. Morgan’s attention immediately. “Have you heard?” she whispered. “A thief broke into the estate. Seeking the Ravenmore, I would imagine.”
Saffron froze. What was Lady Allen doing?
What did she know?
Mr. Morgan’s glower at her husband’s wandering eyes transformed into an open-mouthed gasp. “They did not take off with it, did they?” She pursed her lips. “We should insist that our host reveal the painting.” She straightened, searched the room, then grabbed her husband’s elbow and dragged him in her wake.
“What was that about?” Saffron asked with an awkward laugh.
“It was not hard to figure out, darling.” She winked. “I am more observant than you might think. I heard the servants gossiping, and I’ve seen how you’ve lurked around. You are trying to figure out who broke in that night. I thought I might help.”
“Oh.” Saffron didn’t know what to say. The speed at which Lady Allen had figured out their plan both impressed and disturbed her. There didn’t seem to be any reason to lie, so she shrugged. “You are correct. Leo—I mean, Lord Briarwood and I are investigating. We suspect the thief might strike again before the auction.”
Lady Allen giggled behind her fan, then snapped it shut and linked her arm with Saffron once again. “Well, I suspect you can remove at least one name from your list. Mrs. Morgan does not have the talent to fake such a reaction. I wondered if steam would billow from her nostrils, she was so worked up.”
Saffron chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. “That sound she made as she rushed off did rather sound like a teakettle, did it not?”
Lady Allen burst into peals of laughter, eliciting a good number of shocked and scandalized glances from nearby guests.It was a nice change, to have censure directed at someone other than herself. Saffron had already realized that by standing at the side of the vivacious beauty, no one paid her any mind. The lack of scrutiny relieved some butterflies fluttering in her stomach. It was still a struggle, of course, and more than once, she had to fight back the urge to flee for the terrace, but it was manageable.
They stopped in the refreshment room for a biscuit and a cup of tea, then returned to circulate.
“Ah, this is wonderful,” Lady Allen said. “To be young again, and full of such excitement. It has been too long.” She skipped a step, then winked at Saffron. “Come, we’ve many more people to talk to, and the night is young. Stay sharp.”
They joined a group that contained the Duke of Hawthorne and Simon Mayweather. The former was engaged in a lively political discussion, and the latter was obviously distracted, gazing above the heads of the others and occasionally tugging on his cravat.
Saffron didn’t need to turn around to know what—or, more accurately, whom—Mr. Mayweather was looking at.
Better him than Canterbury.
The man did not have substantial wealth, so he could not use the purse strings as a lead to keep his wife in line.
Assuming Angelica can change Mr. Mayweather’s view on marriage.
Given the passionate interludes she had enjoyed with Leo, it was equally likely that Simon’s only interest in Angelica lay along those lines. Goosebumps spread up her arms, and she resolved to keep a closer eye on her sister. She didn’t need Simon breaking her sister’s heart.
“How are you enjoying the music, Your Grace?” Lady Allen asked, sliding closer to the duke, who wore a gray coat; gray, striped trousers; and a necktie, rather than a cravat. “I have a thought to speak to Lord Briarwood about the violin player. Thatscreech made me cover my hair, as I thought an owl had flown in through the terrace doors.”
The duke rubbed his bushy, black mustache. “Indeed, my lady. You would be doing all of us a favor. If the same musicians play during the auction, I might break the instrument over the man’s head myself.”
Lady Allen laughed prettily. “Oh, certainly not, Your Grace. That would be quite a feat.”
The duke grumbled something beneath his breath about having to wait so long.
“I am not a collector myself,” Lady Allen said. “But I’ve heard there are many who would give a fortune to have a Ravenmore. It’s quite remarkable that one has finally surfaced at auction. I dare say many collectors are eager for a chance to buy it.”
The duke perked up. “You would be correct. I’m hoping to take that one home myself.”
“It’s a pity we do not know the painter,” Saffron said. “I would love to learn whence he gets his inspiration.”
“I agree,” Lady Allen replied. “The London Timesonce printed a full page, speculating his identity. I remember it because it was very amusing. I simply cannot imagine the Duchess of Killian has the time to create such masterpieces. And that it might be a common laborer was laughable. Did you read it, Your Grace?”
“Don’t readThe Timesif I can avoid it,” the duke said, sniffing. “Hardly better than a scandal rag. If the painter prefers to remain anonymous, the better for collectors.”
“Are there any other paintings you are interested in, Your Grace?” Saffron asked.
