The final Ravenmore.
As far as the art society is concerned, anyway.
He expected a pang of loss, but there was none. Seeing how his staff had suffered without his oversight had made him realize he’d been stuck in his own selfish guilt, obsessed with furthering his sister’s legacy. He would still paint, of course, but in his own time. The needs of his people had to come first.
It was Saffron who had opened his eyes. Without her caustic tongue and no-nonsense manner, he would have remained mired in darkness.
It’s time.
A trusted footman carried the sheet-covered Ravenmore up the stairs and placed it on an easel. Leo waited for the crowd to settle down before pulling the sheet off the painting.
There was a collection of “ooh”s and “aah”s.
It was an oil painting, like all his sister’s other works, with rich colors and bold brushstrokes. In the distance, a woman collected plants from a garden, a straw hat on her head. She was in the upper right of the painting, looking away from the viewer. Looking at it gave Leo a sense of homesickness, as if the woman were waiting for him. That was what made Sabrina’s paintingsso popular—not the technique, or the setting, but the emotion her artwork elicited.
Leo tore his gaze away from the canvas and watched the faces of his guests, but he could discern nothing from them, other than generalized excitement.
The auction attendant cleared his throat and took his place behind a podium. “The next piece in tonight’s auction is the last piece by the celebrated, anonymous painter Ravenmore. An oil painting on canvas. A pastoral landscape scene in vivid hues. Let us begin the auction at a hundred pounds.”
The bids started slowly, which was not at all surprising. The early participants were Simon, to Leo’s surprise, and Mr. Morgan. The bidding increased until almost everyone present had bid, aside from Leo, Saffron, and Saffron’s sister and aunt.
Eventually, tensions escalated to the point even the auctioneer could not keep the peace. Mr. Morgan struggled in his wife’s grip. His face reddened as he screamed bids at the top of his lungs.
“Enough!” Leo glared at Mr. Morgan. “If you do not act like a gentleman, I will have you removed.”
Mrs. Morgan clutched at her husband’s arm, and the man coughed into his handkerchief.
The bidding then continued until the only remaining bidders were Lady Allen, whom Leo suspected only wanted to tweak the other participant, and Mr. Morgan. The flush on the man’s face brightened with each increase in price. Lady Allen giggled behind her fan. But eventually, she stopped bidding and laid back in her chair with a defeated sigh.
“Are there any other bids?” the auction attendant asked. When no hands were raised, he continued. “In that case, our winner is Mr. Morgan, at fifteen hundred pounds.”
The crowd mumbled appreciatively. Even Leo was pleased.
With the auction over, he congratulated each of the winners, starting with Mr. Morgan. The man patted his face with a napkin, sweating profusely. “That wretched woman almost bid me out of house and home.” He glared at Lady Allen, who was giggling.
“Had I not expected this, she might have won,” Mr. Morgan said.
“What do you mean?” Leo asked.
The man gave a smug grin. “I had my solicitor, Mr. Percy, sell several antiques to ensure I had sufficient funds.”
So that was why Saffron had seen the two men outside.
“What will you do with it?” Leo asked.
The man puffed out his chest. “Show it off, of course. Now I can say that I own a piece of art from the famous Ravenmore.”
Leo sighed.
I should have guessed.
He no longer suspected Mr. Morgan. If the man were his thief, it would not make sense to keep the painting.
At least the auction had brought Saffron into his life. She was already busy coordinating the activities for the next day, and he thought he could hear her asking about the breakfast buffet.
“Rashers of bacon, and poached eggs for breakfast,” she said. “With the cool weather, the guests will need to warm themselves up before departing.”
The words sent a chill through Leo’s heart. She was going to leave. A few days earlier, the thought of having his studio back would have filled him with joy, but all he felt was emptiness. She had returned his estate to what it had once been before time and tragedy had worn away the joy that had once penetrated every stone of the walls.
