Artful Deceptions (2 page)

Melanie wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Enough! I have never thought of London that way, but if Aunt Anne’s lungs are delicate, then I suppose you are right. We should remove her from the city at once. But why must you sell your musty old painting to do so? I’m certain Evan wouldn’t mind if she stayed at his place in Devon.”

Arianne had been afraid that would be the approach Melanie would take, and she stiffened her resolve. “If I remember rightly, the estate actually belongs to the earl, and he and my father have never been on the best of terms. It is better this way, without argument or damaged pride.”

The slightest trace of a frown briefly marred Melanie’s cheerful features, and she tapped her fingers on the carriage side as it turned into the park drive. “I really cannot believe that Grandfather would care one way or another. It is your father who will not accept his help. They are both quite perverse in their pride, but I suppose you’re right. There would only come an argument of it. I don’t think Grandfather ever forgave my father for marrying into your family. Old people are quite silly sometimes.”

“The fact that my family has no particular title and certainly no amount of wealth could have something to do with your grandfather’s opinion,” Arianne replied wryly. “But that is neither here nor there. We would never suit in society, so we are happy as we are, were it not for Mama’s health. But I think the painting is some solution.”

Melanie remained dubious. “If it was hidden behind another canvas, how could it be very valuable? Someone thought little enough of it to hide it like that.”

Arianne clenched her fingers together. “The painting it was hidden behind was that terrible portrait of Mama, one of Lawrence’s very early works. I am almost certain it is another Lawrence, an even earlier one. No one could hope to duplicate his style, and just the fact that it is nailed behind one of his ...”

Melanie’s eyes grew wide. “I heard his portraits cost a hundred guineas now. How much would one of his early portraits be worth?”

“I do not know. The style is not so polished as his current works. It is very lovely, though. It shows a woman and a little boy, and they look so incredibly happy. She has lovely dark hair, her coloring is darker than most, but she is extremely handsome just the same. The landscape behind them is rather rugged, so I know it must be nearer Bristol than London. I would think it ought to bring a good price, but there is the problem. How would I go about getting the best price, and where? I daren’t take it to anyone who knows my father.”

Glancing out the window, Melanie gave a sudden start; then, bouncing merrily again, she pounded on the box and ordered the driver to pull over.

Arianne followed her cousin’s glance and discovered to her surprise that they were already caught up in the fashionable crowds of Hyde Park. Quickly donning her bonnet, she wondered what her cousin could be up to now. Elegant landaus and old-fashioned barouches vied for a place among the dashing thoroughbreds with their silk-hatted riders. Beside them strolled pedestrians showing off their fashionable walking attire, the ladies in their delicate gowns on the arms of gentlemen in padded coats and knee-high boots. Arianne had no desire whatsoever to descend into that public arena, where the only purpose of existence was to see and be seen.

But Melanie had no such reservation. Tugging Arianne’s arm, she indicated the footman opening the door, waiting for them to descend. “Hurry, or they will be gone. I should have brought an open carriage. Out!”

Bewildered, Arianne descended to the grass. People turned in curiosity, but finding nothing of interest in a tall woman in dowdy brown broadcloth and unadorned bonnet, they moved on. Melanie’s appearance stirred interest, but she seemed to take no notice of it as she brashly caught Arianne’s arm and brought her around the vehicle into view of the road.

Garbed in a rich yellow silk topped by a white eyelet spencer and wearing a matching bonnet trimmed in roses, Melanie rivaled the rarest bird in this aviary of peacocks. Her wave at two gentlemen setting a reckless pace in a shining new high-perch phaeton could scarcely be ignored. Arianne gasped at her cousin’s forward behavior, but the phaeton instantly slowed, and its occupants looked more than pleased at being thus signaled.

As the driver of the other vehicle expertly steered his horses from the road, Arianne tried not to stare, but she was very much reminded of the god Apollo steering his chariot across the skies. Tall and golden-haired, he had a smile remarkably similar to Melanie’s, but she knew he was not one of her cousins. The resemblance failed to go beyond the smile and hair coloring. Whereas Melanie was petite and small-boned, this gentleman towered well over six feet and his large frame made languid elegance an impossibility, although the excellent cut of his coat showed off his broad shoulders to perfection. The smiling eyes were clear gray and direct, taking in not only Melanie but also her angular and awkward cousin.

“I don’t suppose I may do anything so dashing as rescue a lady in distress, may I?” The golden-haired driver dropped to the ground beside them.

The man with him did not remove from the carriage with the same physical swiftness, but at a leisurely pace that belied the sturdy stockiness of his frame. When he came across the grass, Arianne could see that he limped, but the quiet darkness of his eyes and the wide intelligence of his brow endeared him to her without a word being exchanged. Here was a man who could defy society, everything about him said. His clothes were not of the first fashion, and he wore them with a casualness that said he did not care. Closer, he could be seen to have worn spots on his cuffs, but his linen was as immaculate as his companion’s. His gaze, however, fell only on Melanie.

“Yes, you most certainly may, but not in the manner in which you are thinking,” Melanie laughed in reply to the driver’s question.

The large gentleman slipped Melanie’s hand through his arm with an insouciance that contained as much amusement as pleasure, then turned questioningly to Arianne. “My lady, will you join us also? It’s a lovely day for a stroll, and I can see Melanie means to bend our ears for a while.”

Melanie’s laughter pealed beside him. “Galen, don’t you remember Arianne? Honestly, we have been in and out of each other’s houses forever. Surely you have come upon each other before.”

Surprised gray eyes swept upward from Melanie’s pert face to the solemn young woman in a spinster’s rags. Eyes of a deeper blue than her cousin’s met his gaze gravely, and Galen fought a twitch of his lips as he remembered just exactly where he had seen those eyes last.

“Let us pretend to ignore her, Miss Richards,” he replied, slipping Arianne’s hand through his other arm. “Melanie is spoiled beyond redemption and fails to remember that she has not deemed London worthy of her presence for these last two years or more. And even then, if I remember rightly, she was but a schoolroom miss not worthy of my attention. But you, Miss Richards, I do remember. You had a decided propensity for showing up in your cousin’s library at the most awkward of times.”

Arianne was not accustomed to blushing, but she felt a warmth in her cheeks now as she finally remembered the identity of this imposing man. It had been years, when she and Melanie were but girls hiding from Melanie’s governess, since she had last encountered him, and he had been little more than a gangly Oxford student. The heat in her cheeks increased as she remembered what he had been doing then.

“I trust the maidservants have learned to stand out of your way since then, my lord,” she managed to retort, before removing her hand and turning to the unknown gentleman watching this tableau unsmilingly.

Melanie gave her tormentor a triumphant smile and made the introductions. “Arianne, may I introduce you to Rhys Llewellyn, a dear friend of my brothers. Mr. Llewellyn, this is my cousin Arianne Richards. You and she will have much in common, and cutting Galen will be the least of it.”

Mr. Llewellyn made a perfunctory bow, but a twinkle could be discerned beneath his indecently long lashes as he noted his friend’s rather astonished expression. “A pleasure to meet someone who is not overpowered and tongue-tied by Galen’s imposing visage, Miss Richards. Have you been saving that retort for him ever since his juvenile infraction?”

“He all but boxed my ears when I informed him the maid would almost certainly be put off if he continued what he was doing.” Arianne dared a brief glance to the man who had grown from the irate youngster, and noting he only grinned at this recitation of the tale, she managed a smile. “And since he and Melanie are so very much alike, I cannot be terribly impressed. I know Melanie’s foibles too well to expect Lord Locke to be of any better character.”

“Unfair!” the maligned lord complained. “To be tarred with the same brush as Melanie is patently ridiculous. You must give me time to redeem my character, Miss Richards.”

Melanie tugged the crook of his elbow and steered him farther from the road. “We do not have eternity, dear Galen. You may salvage what you may by giving us some aid with your expertise.” She threw a swift look to her cousin to be certain she and Rhys were following. “Arianne, despite appearances, Galen is an expert in the field of art. He apparently means to rival the collection of the Duke of Devonshire in his old age.”

Galen turned in time to catch the look of interest in the eyes of the prim-and-proper Miss Richards. He remembered her as a beanpole of a girl with a thick braid and a frown of disapproval upon her face, but circumstances might have influenced his memory. From what he could see beneath her long-brimmed bonnet, she wasn’t frowning now, and the long braid had become an abundance of rich chestnut. Beside Melanie, she was awkwardly tall, and the unadorned brown round gown she wore did little to enhance this impression, but he knew the difficulties of height himself, and he disregarded society’s opinion in the matter. She certainly wasn’t a beanpole any longer, and his eyes crinkled in a sudden smile at the thought.

“Undoubtedly that old age is just around the corner in Melanie’s eyes. Will you lend me your shoulders for support, Miss Richards, so I might dodder over to yonder bench?”

Melanie beat his arm with her fist, but with much laughter and teasing they managed to acquire the bench. Melanie promptly appropriated the seat and placed her cousin beside her so that the gentlemen must stand and admire them while they spoke.

“Do be serious for a minute, Galen. We have very important business to discuss. Arianne has a painting she wishes to sell. How does one go about selling paintings? And how can she be certain to receive the best price?”

“Pretty ladies have no business worrying over such things. I’m certain Miss Richards’ brothers or father will be able to take care of it. I will be happy to give them what little advice I might have at my disposal. But in the meantime, you must tell me if you mean to attend the Rawdons’ soiree tomorrow. For you I will attend, but otherwise I would rather dine at White’s than be subject to those minuscule inedible objects that pass for food on Rawdon’s table.”

Both men had a glimpse of flashing eyes before Miss Richards rose stiffly from her seat. “Melanie, I must be on my way. Mother will need me. Gentlemen, if you will excuse me ...” She made a brief sketch of a curtsy and turned to leave.

“Arianne, don’t be a goose!” Melanie called after her. “Galen can be made to be sensible when he wants. Come back here right now. You aren’t going to walk home from here. Rhys, stop her, will you? She has a terrible temper sometimes, but I must say, she’s justified this time.” She turned a scathing look to the indolent lord lounging before her. “Galen, when will you grow up? Arianne’s brothers are barely out of knee breeches and her father must never learn that she means to sell one of his precious paintings. You know my Uncle Ross. He is a positive miser when it comes to his collection. He would give away his last penny, but he could not be parted from those wicked pieces of canvas for love or money.”

Lord Locke leaned against a nearby tree and crossed his legs lazily as he watched Rhys catch up with the wayward miss and talk her back to reason. Rhys had a way with words, mostly written, but he could make use of his tongue when required
.

 Arianne turned with interest to listen as the Welshman spoke about some subject that obviously fascinated them both.

Locke tapped his shining black boots with his stick. “I had forgotten Mr. Richards. Forgive me, my dear. She definitely has a problem if she means to pry one of those oils from his hands. How does she suggest to do it?”

By this time the other pair had returned. Arianne gave Locke a cold nod, then seated herself beside her cousin. Melanie squeezed her fingers and explained the situation as hastily as she could, before Arianne and Galen could freeze each other to death. It was too late now to remember that Galen and Uncle Ross had had words over the authenticity of one of Galen’s artworks. She only prayed that Galen was too much the gentleman to allow an old argument to influence his reaction to a lady’s need for help.

She held her breath when she was done, waiting while Galen frowned at his boots. When he finally looked up again, the smile was back on his face, and he held out his hand to help Melanie up.

“Where can we see this fine painting?”

Chapter Two

Arianne fretted at her gloves, wondering how it had come about that she be the one to sit beside Lord Locke in his fashionable phaeton while Melanie and Rhys tooled in the carriage back to Griffin House. She knew Melanie had asked Lord Locke to look at her painting, but it didn’t have to be done this minute, while Melanie was running late for some appointment requiring her to go in one direction while Arianne went in another. It could have waited. But no, nothing was to be done but send his lordship haring across town with Arianne in tow to see her infamous painting.

She tried to look calm and accepting as she directed the golden gentleman to the narrow house on the narrow street in the less-than-fashionable section just off St. James’s, but her heart thudded with a nervous beat every time he whipped the reins and set the horses to their paces. She had no place in this expensive and ludicrous vehicle beside a man who possessed not only a title but also the demeanor to go with it. Galen Locke was at home in the houses of dukes and earls, not the middle classes of men who must work for a living.