Page 24 of The Work of Art

“My aunt has told you that?” Elizabeth looked skeptical.

“Of course she has,” Philly continued blithely. “I’ve already heard so much from the duke himself that these things are hardly secrets anymore.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “Oh, yes. Quite.”

Philly met her cousin’s eyes. “They’re calling me The Work of Art, you know. Rather strange, is it not?”

“I think it’s ever so flattering, Phyllida,” Abigail said in a rush. “I suppose they mean to say you’re like a beautiful painting or a sculpture.”

“Nonsense.” Elizabeth could be mute no longer. “They’ve simply named her that because the duke is called the Collector and everyone assumes he’ll want to have her. It’s meant to be clever, but I think it utterly stupid.”

“The Collector?” A current of cold fear trickled through Philly’s veins. She remembered what Mrs. Vale had told her the previous day. “Because of his appreciation for things that are out of the ordinary?”

“Out of the ordinary?” Elizabeth scoffed. “Is that what you call the things he collects? Why, Lady Eustace told me that the duke’s art collection rivals that at Carlton House. Everyone knows that if there’s anything rare or valuable, he must have it. Why else would he be interested in you?”

Philly held Fox tightly in her arms as she recalled how the duke had stared so fixedly at her face from the first moment he’d met her. “My eyes.”

“Don’t be offended, Phyllida. If you were ugly it wouldn’t matter how rare your eyes were. But because you’re so beautiful—”

“Obviously,” Elizabeth said. “But if her eyes weren’t so rare it wouldn’t matter how beautiful she was, either.”

Philly looked between the two of them. “I’m not beautiful.”

“No,” Elizabeth agreed. “Not in the common way. Which suits His Grace very well.”

Abigail nodded. “He only wants things that are one of a kind.”

Philly had difficulty finding her voice. “Was his last wife very unique?”

“Not like you are,” Abigail said. “But she was a renowned beauty. Delicate as a little bird, with raven hair and skin like cream—”

“She was a ninny.” Elizabeth interrupted her sister again. “Just out of the schoolroom. I don’t know how she tricked the duke into marrying her, but as far as I saw, Molly Cartwright was nothing but a—”

“You mustn’t speak ill of the dead. Besides, I think she was quite amiable. She was always laughing, and said the most brilliant things.”

“She can’t have been so brilliant,” Elizabeth retorted, “to have drowned in a fountain.”

Philly’s pulse quickened. “Drowned in a fountain?”

Elizabeth cast her a suspicious look.

“I didn’t realize,” Philly said quickly. “I thought she drowned in a…in a pond.”

“Indeed not; it was the great fountain at Moreland Park. She fell in, and her clothes pulled her under the water.” Abigail bowed her head. “May she rest in peace.”

Elizabeth gave her sister’s arm a hard pinch. “You hardly knew her. There’s no need to pretend that you did.”

“You wretch!” Abigail rubbed her arm. “You knew I was going to wear my gown with the short sleeves. Now I’ll have a horrid bruise.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I hate you, Lizzie!”

As the argument escalated, Philly continued walking, contemplating what she’d learned. If the duke did have a penchant for collecting rare things, it would explain a great deal about why he’d shown any interest in her.

But she was no painting. She was a human being.

Did the duke collect people, as well as artwork? If so, whom had he collected before? And what of his last wife’s death? A tragic accident, surely. Had he been married another time before that? At his age, he must have been. And what had happened to that wife? Was she dead, as well?

Philly thought of his beautiful dogs. He’d said they were the only two of their kind in England. But though they were rare and possibly very valuable, it hadn’t stopped him from treating them with cruelty.

It was all too disturbing, and Philly trembled to think of it, but she counseled herself to be reasonable. Nothing about the duke made any matter now. She’d made it clear that she disliked him. Indeed, Moreland had barely looked at her when he bid her goodbye yesterday afternoon.