“The auction,” Saffron said, suddenly. “If that boat held every known genuine Ravenmore painting except one, he had to have it.”
“Why?” Simon asked, helping himself to a piece of bread on Angelica’s plate and getting his hand swatted. “What harm could one genuine painting have done? Why not simply leave and cut his losses?”
“Greed,” Angelica said. When all eyes turned to her, she shrugged. “What purer motive is there?”
“More than that,” Saffron said. “Mr. Morgan was determined to purchase that painting. He brought a purse large enough to buy a small country. Percy would have researched the prospective buyers and known that. And Mr. Morgan would nothave been content to let such a piece sit in his home. He would bring the painting to an appraiser. The appraiser would compare the painting to the known samples in museums and since the painting was genuine, it would appear aberrant, and therefore would be declared a forgery.”
“And where would Mr. Morgan go next, but Lord Briarwood, where he had purchased the piece,” Angelica said, crossing her arms over her chest. “To demand a return of his money.”
“From there, the entire plot would have unraveled,” Leo continued. “Percy’s plan depended on my remaining out of society and unaware. The moment I saw one of the forgeries in a museum, I would have known at once. Percy must have decided, because of greed or fear, that it was worth the risk.”
“We should be glad he did not simply choose to kill you and avoid the whole mess,” Simon said. “There are ways to kill a man that would seem like an accident.”
“Like a carriage accident?” Saffron asked.
The room fell silent for a moment, then Angelica put down her silverware. “I believe I have lost my appetite.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Seven Years Later
Ahigh screampierced the air, followed by gurgling laughter.
“Be careful, dear,” Saffron called without taking her eyes off her work. Her hands were deep in the earth, massaging the tender roots of a rosebush free from its neighbor. If left to grow so closely together, the lack of airflow would cause the plants to not dry properly, and the roots would rot.
Six months prior, she would not have known and would have allowed the bushes to grow and strangle each other. But soon after she’d taken up her new hobby, the groundskeeper had put his foot down. Although he did not approve of her pastime, he was smart enough to realize that without training, she would do more harm than good.
A soft brush against her leg made her turn and hold out her hand for Cinder. The slinky cat butted her head against Saffron’s elbow, then flopped onto her side and aggressively groomed her chest.
“Faster, Daddy!”
Saffron dusted the dirt from her hands and stepped carefully back onto the grass. Some distance away, Leo frolicked with their daughter, spinning her around in the air.
“Faster, faster, faster!” Daisy cried, kicking her small legs beneath her muddied pinafore.
“Don’t let her bully you,” Saffron called, eyeing her husband’s wooden leg with concern.
Years had passed since he’d lost his foot, and Leo had spent much of that time in recovery, with Saffron refusing to leave his side. She thought she would never get the smell of poultice out of her hands. It had been a long and difficult recovery, but Leo’s determination had won out in the end.
Every member of their staff was paid enough to see to their comfort. It was an incredible expense, but one she had insisted upon. She’d seen what life was like for them, and she would have no one in her employ living in squalor. They could afford the increase in wages, now that Ravenmore had been revealed to be Sabrina. The story that accompanied the paintings, and the tragic, short-lived romance she’d had with Sir Basil Summersby, baronet, had created such a demand that she had convinced Leo to sell the paintings they’d found hidden in the wall.
“Higher, higher!”
She walked over to the nearest bench, waving at Leo as she sat.
Her husband was older, of course, as was she, with more silver in his hair, and more lines on his face, but he was still the man she fell in love with. Still as caring as he had always been.
He threw Daisy in the air, and the girl raised her arms and legs, squealing with joy. At six years old, she was still light enough to hold. Saffron’s heart squeezed as Daisy ran toward her. Soon she would be too big to carry.
“My little one, you’ve made a mess of yourself,” she said, wiping a smudge of dirt from her daughter’s face. “What will your governess say when she sees you?”
Daisy shook out her skirts and made a perfect curtsey. “She will say I am becoming a young lady.”
Saffron burst into laughter. Already, their daughter was wreaking havoc upon the estate. Her cerulean-blue eyes, dimples, and raven-black hair gave her a doll-like appearance.
She pulled her daughter into her arms and squeezed her close, wishing she would stay small and innocent forever.
“May I go visit with Great-Aunt Rosemary, Mother?” Daisy whispered, patting Saffron’s hair with her small hands.
