Artful Deceptions (4 page)

“I am tempted to make you an offer myself, Miss Richards. The portrait is one of the better examples of the artist’s work and is certain to be valuable some day. But I cannot know if I am offering a fair price.”

By this time Rhys had rambled up to join them, his shirt cuffs stained with ink and an absent expression on his face. He gave a polite nod of greeting and caught the tail end of their conversation.

“I thought about your painting last night,” he intruded without preamble.

Arianne glanced to him in surprise. Melanie had mentioned that this new acquaintance had once been a soldier and was now writing for the local newssheets as well as on his own. She had not thought that he had taken any notice of her problem at all. She rather fancied that Melanie was his object of interest, as she was to most men who came into her sphere. To know that Mr. Llewellyn had given some thought to her problem was cause for surprise.

“Christie’s has been doing a brisk business lately. They’ve sold some private collections at decent prices, I understand. They might be willing to take on a single piece in a general auction.”

Arianne and Melanie stared at him in puzzlement, but Galen nodded approval. “You may have something, Llewellyn. What better way to determine a fair market price than at a general auction? They could display it for a few weeks while we mention the piece here and there and stir up interest. Perhaps even Lawrence himself will come.”

Bombarded with questions, the men explained the purpose of the auction house on Pall Mall, how an auction worked, and the increasing reputation Christie’s in particular was developing. Arianne was dubious that a place where people’s saddles and housewares could be sold to the public might also bring a good price for a piece of art, but she could offer no other alternative. She had thought in terms of a private sale such as her father so often negotiated on major works, but she had to admit that a portrait by Lawrence didn’t rank in that same area. Who would wish to purchase a portrait of someone else’s family?

Trying not to hope, Arianne surrendered her prize to the care of Lord Locke.

Chapter Three

“I don’t mean for you to grow to be an old maid looking after me and the children, Arianne. I’m quite young enough to look after myself. Now, go and join Melanie and have some fun. It’s been too long since you’ve had a chance to enjoy yourself. ‘Tis a pity Melanie’s father had to die just before she had a chance to return to London for her come-out. But now that she’s back, I’m certain she can use some of your practicality. Go along with you, now.”

Thus dismissed by her mother, Arianne gathered up her cloak and gloves. She was twenty-one to Melanie’s eighteen, but the gap in ages was as nothing to the gap in their places in society. Under the auspices of her brother’s new wife, Melanie was finally having her come-out, and her talk was filled with the excitements of the latest entertainment and the
on-dits
of the hour, subjects that could have no interest to Arianne. Even when Melanie discussed her suitors, Arianne could not show a suitable interest, for she had little or no acquaintance with the gentlemen.

Except for Mr. Llewellyn and Lord Locke. And those two gentlemen came in for much discussion. Arianne was surprised to note that her young cousin should even notice the dark-and-silent writer next to his lordship’s intoxicating golden charm, but Melanie had known her own mind from an early age. With two older brothers to flood the house with all the gallant gentlemen of London throughout her formative years, she was no stranger to the vagaries of their characters. Arianne had to smile at the aptness of some of her observations.

Arianne was the innocent when it came to men. Being the eldest, she saw her brothers as only wild creatures to be kept corralled. Her father’s work occasionally brought home elderly gentlemen, who paid her little mind. Beyond that, her only experience was with shop clerks and, upon rare occasions, Melanie’s older brothers. Since she had last met her male cousins before the war had usurped one and his grandfather’s estate claimed the other, she couldn’t even say she knew them well.

To be suddenly thrust into the company of Mr. Llewellyn and Lord Locke at every turn seemed rather hard to endure, particularly since both gentlemen appeared well-taken with Melanie. Shrugging, Arianne donned her only pair of kid gloves, straightened her bonnet with the help of a mirror, and descended the stairs just as the knocker sounded.

Mr. Llewellyn waited to aid her into the elegant landau, where Melanie and Lord Locke already sat. If Arianne felt dowdy in her unfeathered bonnet next to Melanie’s beribboned and adorned confection, she had only to turn her gaze to Mr. Llewellyn’s patched elbows and worn stock to feel at home. As if acknowledging his lack in comparison to Locke’s exquisite frock coat and elegant cravat, the writer gave her a conspiratorial grin and squeezed her hand before he let it go.

“You two needn’t look so smug,” Melanie said crossly, observing this exchange. “Galen has already told me I will look a peacock among the quail. No one told me I must wear rags to visit an auction house.”

Galen rolled his eyes heavenward rather than insert his finger any further into that pie, but Rhys wasn’t so reluctant. “Evan would turn you over his knee for that remark, young lady. Now, behave yourself, or I shall enlighten him as to the toploftiness of his sister.”

Melanie’s already ruffled feathers bristled further as she glared at the man in the opposite corner as the carriage pulled away from the curb. “You have no right to speak to me like that, Rhys Llewellyn. You’re not my brother, much as you like to pretend you are. I think you dress as you do out of spite. You know full well both Evan and Gordon would employ you in a far better fashion than your filthy newssheets.”

Galen coughed politely and interrupted before the irate reply obviously burning Llewellyn’s tongue could be loosed into the fray. “That is an enchanting hat you are wearing, Miss Richards. How is it that we have not seen it before?”

Arianne touched her hand to the bonnet from which she had viciously severed the long-billed brim before lining it with a bit of rose muslin left over from the gown she had made and wore now. It was obvious to her that the hat had been mutilated from the old one, but she was becoming accustomed to Lord Locke’s mockery. He used it on himself as well as everyone and everything that he encountered.

“You have not only seen it before, but will see it again in one of its many transformations should you advance our acquaintance, my lord. I had a mind for pink today. Tomorrow it might be blue. Do you approve?”

He studied the shorter hat frame and the angular face beneath before replying. “I approve. Just do not transform it back into that long-beaked thing again. Perhaps in its next reincarnation you could make it invisible.”

Rhys removed his battered hat and polished the crown against his sleeve before holding it out to Arianne. “Can you transform this into something that might meet my lady’s approval? I’d rather not have pink, if you don’t mind.”

Even Melanie came out of her sulk as Arianne resorted to a brief flashing smile at this acceptance of her limited wardrobe. The foursome laughed and chattered and turned heads all along the way as the carriage maneuvered around the square and into Pall Mall. If any were to wonder why two peacocks of fashion such as Lady Melanie Griffin and Lord Locke were accompanied by two such plain wrens, there was none to mention it when they climbed down from the carriage before the residence housing Christie’s auction house.

“Gainsborough used to live there.” Galen nodded to the house next door. “Does that not foretell good fortune for any artwork passing this close?”

“For Gainsborough, mayhap, unless he possessed some fairy dust that fills the air in his vicinity, even years later. Did they truly hang my painting in here?” Arianne attempted the same dispassionate temperament as Lord Locke always displayed, but she could scarcely contain her excitement. If the painting sold for even twenty-five guineas ... It wouldn’t be much, but it might persuade her mother to consider a short journey to the country.

“Where all can see it. I talked to the manager this morning. He says there has been considerable interest in it already. He’s framed it quite ably, as you will see.” Locke took Melanie’s arm and guided her through the doorway, leaving Arianne and Rhys to bring up the rear.

He led them directly to the room where the painting was housed, and Arianne gazed in satisfaction at her artwork’s position in the center of the wall. So immersed was she in her contemplation that it was some minutes before she noted her companion’s stunned reaction to this first sight of her discovery.

Rhys’s hand clenched her elbow with a ferocity that bruised, while a curse of astonishment whispered across his lips. Startled, Arianne felt him release her arm, but before she could question, he was already limping forward, his gaze fixed intently on the woman serenely smiling down from the wall. Melanie and Galen were more interested in an assortment of jewelry displayed in a glass case and took little notice of Rhys’s reaction.

Arianne hastened to his side, anxious that she had done something to disturb him in such a manner. “What is it? Do you know the lady?”

Rhys reached to touch the golden ring on the woman’s finger, an action that would have sent Arianne’s father into fits and lectures on the proper care of oils. But his touch was so reverent that Arianne could neither reprimand nor correct the motion.

Instead of replying, Rhys turned abruptly away from the painting and took Arianne’s arm. “Let us get out of here. I find it suddenly stifling. Would you object to my company if I walk you home?”

“No, of course not.” But she certainly should. She had scarcely known Rhys Llewellyn for a week. Although he was not of the same imposing stature as Lord Locke, he was still her better by half a head, and the strength in his broad arms was not to be denied as he pulled her to where the others were laughing and playing.

“Miss Richards and I mean to walk back and perhaps take an ice along the way. Would you mind if we excused ourselves now?”

Melanie looked startled at this defection and Galen’s smiling features turned thoughtful, but there was no denying Rhys’s demand. Arianne found herself hurrying to keep up as he headed for the door. For a lame man, he moved swiftly.

“I apologize for my abruptness,” he said as they stepped into the sunshine, but there was no apology in his voice. He fell silent for several paces as they started down the street.

“The painting has disturbed you. I wish you would tell me why.” Despite her commonsensical reservations about being shepherded down the street by a near-stranger, Arianne felt no real fear of Mr. Llewellyn. He had always behaved as a gentleman despite his rough appearance, and she sensed a deep passion and pain behind the dark eyes he turned to the world. She felt more empathy with this man than with the charming Lord Locke, and she found herself wishing he was not so attached to her cousin.

“I went to Oxford before I joined the cavalry, you know,” he replied irrelevantly, slowing his pace to a more sedate walk as they encountered the fashionable crowds closer to St. James’s Street. He turned down a side street rather than walk past those windows of the gentlemen’s clubs.

“No, I didn’t know.” Arianne didn’t know what else to reply. She wasn’t at all certain he was even talking to her, or heard her answer.

“Evan and I belonged to the Four-in-Hand Club. We were notorious whips. I think I learned to ride before I walked. Good horseflesh was as much a part of me as the foot I no longer have.”

Arianne gave that appendage a covert glance, seeing no more than the boot to match the other. As brief as her look was, Rhys caught it, and his lips turned up wryly.

“Looks better than it did, I’ll admit. Amazing what a little money and modern conveniences can disguise. There used to be only a peg there, until Evan objected vehemently and dragged me off to the surgeon. But that is not a matter to discuss with ladies. I have forgotten my manners.”

“You and Evan were in the cavalry together, then?” Arianne tried to piece together the odd bits of information he was relating to her. Only wealthy gentlemen could afford Oxford and the cavalry. Wealth, at least, was a necessity. There were many in both places—despite their birth—who could not be termed gentlemen.

“We’ve been through everything together. We’re of an age and attended the same schools right from the start. That is the only reason Melanie knows me so well.”

Arianne remembered the furor raised in the Griffin household when it was decided to separate the twins and send Evan to school while quiet Gordon had private tutoring. But she could not see where all this led.

“Melanie was little more than a child when Evan went off to war. She couldn’t have known you very well.”

Rhys switched subjects abruptly. “Where did you find that painting, Miss Richards? Tell me everything.”

“I have told you everything.” At his swift frown, Arianne hastened to repeat all the details she had recited before, and perhaps some that had been left out in her earlier haste. None of them seemed very remarkable.

“Perhaps your father would know more of the portrait,” he said when she was done.

“I think if he had known of it at all, he would not have left it where it was. You do not know my father. He is a connoisseur of fine art. He would have been horrified at such treatment of a piece of work as good as that. No, I believe the artist is responsible for stretching a new canvas on the reverse of the old. He would not wish to destroy a painting he had spent so much time on, but if he could not sell it, he would make best use of what he could, particularly if he had little money for new frames. I was fortunate that he did not just paint over it, as many have in the past.”

“So am I.” Rhys slowed his pace even more as they approached the door to her house. “I know this is asking much of you, but could you ask them to wait before putting the painting up for sale? There are questions I need answered, and that painting is my only clue.”