At least Maddie was happy for Verity.
He held her hand in his parlour. “Listen, a man like Quentin must have secrets we can use against him. It’s a matter of time. We’ll find something to force him to forget about Verity and leave this house. We might talk to Dr. Smith. Perhaps he’ll share some of Quentin’s secrets. Or what if he really stoleThe Lady of the Lake?”
“He seems too clever to be exposed easily. But I guess you’re right. We can dig into his life and find some secrets we can use...oh, look at us. Plotting to blackmail someone.” She rubbed her forehead. “Good heaven. I’m like Mother.”
“Quentin pushed us to a corner to start with, and I’ll take full responsibility for whatever action we’re going to take.” He kissed her cheek. “Let me fetch you a glass of water.”
He had to do something to keep his hands busy because, despite his brave words, he didn’t know how to help Verity. His hand trembled so much that when he lifted the pitcher, it slipped out of his finger. The noise of the glass shattering shocked him out of his stupor.
Water soaked the carpet and the dark wooden floor. For a split second, he glanced at the door, worrying about what his mother would say. Sadness crushed his chest again as he crouched to collect the pieces of glass.
“Let me help.” Maddie knelt next to him.
He blocked her wandering hand. “No. I’ll do it. We already had an incident involving sharp glass shards, and it didn’t end well.”
She flashed a tired smile and straightened. “Will you ever forgive yourself? Because I forgave you a long time ago.” She leant next to the ugly painting.
“I will, when you’ve realised your dream and become an artist.”
She shrugged. “Certainly, I won’t paint anything as ugly as—” She fell silent, staring at the painting as if seeing it for the first time.
“What is it?” He set the shard aside and mopped the water with his handkerchief and the napkins.
She pointed a finger at a corner of the painting. “Look. The artist, and I use the term loosely, added the date and the title of the painting.”
“As if anyone would want to remember the day that atrocity was produced.” He gave up soaking the water.
“No, it’s that there’s a blotch on number one.” She inched closer to the painting and narrowed her gaze.
“And?”
“It might be a code, like the one in Verity’s letters.”
He frowned. “What code? What letters?”
“If I read only the first word...no, that’s not correct. Too few words. But if I read only the first letter of the words, I get...un...der. That’s it. The solution to the riddle is ‘under,’” Maddie scratched at a corner of the painting.
She looked adorable, all focused and flushed, but he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
“I know the painting is revolting,” he said, “but if you want to ruin it, I can think of a few better and faster options.”
She beamed so widely that her green eyes shone from within after she lifted an inch of the canvas. “Your Grace, we must summon your cousin. We have something to tell him.”
* * *
Maddie’s heartthumped heavily when Lord Quentin entered the parlour. Hector had been ready to renounce his family’s legacy to help her family. Buying time was a good idea, but she didn’t believe it’d help. Ernest was right. Hector had to be the duke to help the workers. There wasn’t any other solution. But she could save Verity too because underneath the ugly painting wasThe Lady of the Lake. Or at least she hoped so. If the blotch on the number one was the key to solve the riddle, then if she took only the first letter of the place, name of the artist, and title of the painting formed the word under, which might be a coincidence or not. Why would Lord Quentin leave a clue about whereThe Lady of the Lake was? Well, that was a question she’d have to ask him.
The problem was that she couldn’t simply rip the ugly painting off to see what was underneath. She might ruinThe Lady of the Lakeif she’d guessed right. The procedure to reveal Mrs. Blanchet’s work would be a delicate one, and she didn’t want to rush it. She’d lifted a corner of the canvas, revealing something else underneath, but it could be anything. Many artists, who struggled to make ends meet, recycled used canvas by painting something else on them or adding a cheap layer on top of an old painting. And judging by how poorly talented the painter of the ugly painting was, she could easily believe the artist had financial troubles. Besides, if she damaged the painting beyond recognition, she couldn’t prove Lord Quentin had stolen it. But she could provoke him into confessing.
“Have you decided what to do?” Lord Quentin gestured at the chairs in front of him. He slouched on the sofa and spread his arms over the backrest, looking like a king about to pardon a criminal.
Hector didn’t sit down. “We have. Despite your despicable behaviour.”
Lord Quentin chuckled. “This is only a business transaction. Nothing personal. I don’t care about what Miss Verity Debenham does with her time. But, alas, society has other standards.” He caressed his chin. “In fact, I’d be interested in knowing Verity more intimately. Those pictures—” He never ended the sentence.
“You bastard.” Hector lunged, jumping across the room with one swift move.
Maddie shot up to her feet as well. “Hector. Leave him.”
