Artful Deceptions (7 page)

Melanie, on the other hand, looked quite respectably put together, but the worry in her eyes told a story as loud as Locke’s disreputable appearance. Arianne gestured them in, but Locke hesitated, glancing toward the stairway, where the sounds of racing feet indicated the household was up and stirring.

“Can you come away with us for a few minutes where we might speak in private?”

Anxious, Arianne bit her bottom lip and followed his glance upward. Her mother wasn’t feeling at all well and the one maid they managed to keep had the day off. As if interpreting her glance, Locke interceded.

“I’m sorry, that was selfish of me.” He turned to Melanie. “Perhaps we ought to take the children for a drive in the park?”

Melanie looked mildly alarmed as the whoops of laughter above grew louder, but bravely she nodded her head. Galen turned his head in time to catch the wisp of a smile flitting across Arianne’s lips at her cousin’s reaction, and he felt a jolt of remembrance, but now was not the time to contemplate the prior night’s foolishness. Without compunction for the crisp muslin skirts of his fashionable companion, he ordered, “Bring them with us. The day is sunny and they can run off their energy in the grass.”

Knowing it was not at all fair to her friends to subject them to the wild spirits of her siblings, Arianne couldn’t help imagining what a treat it would be for her younger brothers and sister to ride in a carriage. She hesitated over the decision too long. Davie pounded down the stair with two cats and a dog on his heels, heading straight for the doorway where their guests still stood. Galen caught the redhead while Melanie executed a swift maneuver to slam the door before the animals could make a break for the street.

Davie whooped at being flung toward the ceiling by the tall gentleman. The dog, upon once again discovering Galen’s scent, leapt ecstatically up his leg. One cat ignored the commotion and took this opportunity to clean his paw, while the other found Melanie’s skirts to her liking and purred around her ankles. It was only a matter of moments before the two youngest boys stumbled down the stairs to discover the source of Davie’s joy, and on her best haughty-lady manners, Lucinda held herself aloof and above the noise by waiting on the stairs and giving the crowd below a disdainful look.

“Go fetch your bonnets and caps,” Galen ordered, swinging Davie back to the floor. “Your sister says you might come riding with us today.”

The shrieks of wild excitement ascended the stairs to include Lucinda, whose pose instantly disintegrated into childish glee as she raced to find her best bonnet. Arianne rolled her eyes heavenward, then regarded her guest with painful directness.

“You would have done better to tell me now than wait for the horde to descend upon us. What can you have to say that would be so terrible that you must submit yourself to this punishment?” A wretched thought occurred to her, and Arianne gave the fashionable pair a startled look. “Is it Rhys? Has something happened to Rhys?”

Melanie looked startled at her proper cousin’s use of a gentleman’s given name, but Arianne had focused on Locke’s reaction. Clear gray eyes gave her a thoughtful look, and some small part of his usually languid aplomb briefly disappeared, but he reverted to normal swiftly enough.

“You’d best find that fetching hat of yours, Miss Richards, or your curls will be decidedly disheveled before we reach the park.”

Arianne threw him a suspicious look, but retreated up the stairs after the required article. Undoubtedly it was bad news they brought, and she could always wait to hear bad news.

* * * *

As Melanie led the children on a romp through the park, Galen took Arianne’s gloved hand and led her to the nearest bench. Clasping his hands behind him, he stood before her, searching for the best words to use.

“It has something to do with the painting, doesn’t it?” she finally broke the silence, making it easy for him.

“I’m afraid so.” Galen tried not to imagine the pain that would soon fill those luminous blue eyes, but he could feel their impact as she waited patiently. Miss Arianne Richards was not the kind of laughing, lovely beauty he usually fancied, but there was something in her grave demeanor and intelligent face that gave him cause to look twice. What he saw was a woman fully capable of dealing with whatever came her way, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “The painting was stolen last night.”

Arianne’s eyes widened as she absorbed this information. “Stolen? How can that be? Who would steal a painting? It cannot be sold like diamonds or jewels. With all those other valuable things lying about, why would a thief bother with a painting of questionable value?”

The unshakable charm left Galen’s features as he took the place beside her. For the first time, Arianne had a glimpse of the man behind the mask of social politeness. He seemed to struggle within himself before deciding on the path of honesty. “The painting was the only thing stolen. This was no ordinary thief. Have you seen Rhys lately?”

Shocked, Arianne clasped her hands and stared out over the greensward where the children romped. They really ought to be in the country, where they could do this every day. Her mother longed for the country again. For her health, it really was a necessity. The painting was a very small step in that direction. A very small step. Its loss really shouldn’t matter so much. Someone else must have had a greater need than she.

“Last night. He came by last night. He was in an odd humor, said he was leaving the city for a little while. But he’s coming back. I’m certain of it. He couldn’t be the thief, my lord. He really couldn’t be.” Even as Arianne said it, she couldn’t know that of a certainty. Rhys had wanted her to stop the sale of the painting. Locke hadn’t wanted to comply. How desperate had he been?

Galen’s thoughts had apparently taken the same direction. “He asked me to hold up the sale of the painting, but I wouldn’t agree without consulting Christie’s and yourself. Did he mention the painting at all? Give some clue as to its importance?”

Arianne shook her head and struggled for composure. How could she say that he had hinted he would be returning for her when all was well? That had just been her imagination willing something into words that had never been said. But she hadn’t imagined his kiss. She struggled not to touch her lips. He had kissed her, and then he had said good-bye. There was no clue in that.

“He merely said that there were some things he must do outside of the city, something about rectifying a situation that brought shame to those near to him. I know nothing of his circumstances, my lord. You would know more of him than I.”

Galen couldn’t possibly mention that Rhys had been with him when he entered a brothel but had left before enjoying the selection. He would need to go back and question the girls to see if any knew when he had left. Perhaps he could piece together Llewellyn’s activities of the night and thus uncover some clue. But if he had gone to see Arianne ... That covered the early part of the evening.

“Evan knows more of Rhys than any other, and he’s out of town at the moment. Perhaps we are on the wrong path entirely. Perhaps he wanted to remove the painting from sale to protect it, knowing it hides something of importance to someone else. Does that sound like a Minerva novel, Miss Richards?”

“I would rather believe that than the other. I should have known that nothing worth having is gained easily. Perhaps we should forget the whole thing. When Rhys comes back, we’ll know the story, even if we do not find the painting.”

She managed to sound brave and gallant about the incident, while Galen wanted to rant and rave and throw things. He had taken on the responsibility of her most precious possession, and he had not upheld that responsibility. He didn’t like the feeling one bit, and he fretted at his helplessness. “I fully intend to find it, or pay you whatever Christie’s considers the actual value. I am the one who persuaded you to place it on public display. I will take full blame for the results. In the meantime, I think I shall find Sir Thomas and see if he can remember the origins of that piece of work. I dislike being taken advantage of.”

Arianne turned to him with alarm. “You are not serious? I cannot blame you for what has happened. You asked my permission, and I agreed. That is the risk one takes in life. I could not possibly accept your money. But I will admit to curiosity. If you are to see Sir Thomas, is there some chance that I might accompany you?”

Galen tilted his head as he considered the matter. Since Davie was running full tilt in their direction, it was obvious that their discussion was nearing its end. Reluctantly he nodded. “I will let you know when I gain an appointment. But do not argue with me on the subject of reimbursement. The cost is little to me and much to you. Perhaps Sir Thomas can give us an honest estimate while we are there.”

Before Arianne could reply, he stood and captured the nine-year-old before he could propel himself into the bench headfirst. Davie screamed with glee at being put within grasping distance of a sturdy branch overhead, and scrambled up faster than his brothers could run to join him. Arianne watched with equal parts awe and dismay as Galen casually flung both youngsters to his shoulders and bounced them to less dangerous perches. Never in her life had she imagined the fashionable gentleman lowering himself to the rowdy activities of three little boys. Their scrambles succeeded in divesting his cravat of what remained of its elegance and left long streaks of dirt against the blue broadcloth of his coat, but he seemed quite pleased with himself as the boys crowed their delight.

“Devilish little imps, ain’t they? Should we leave them there?” Galen inquired imperturbably as he sauntered back toward the bench. The shrieks of protest and laughter behind him rose a degree at his words.

With satisfaction Galen noted the beginnings of a winsome smile upon shy lips as Arianne glanced from him to the boys in the tree. She shook her head in discouragement. “You are quite as hopeless as they, I fear, my lord. You enjoyed that. I hope you are prepared for the result when they are loosed from those branches.”

“Ummm, yes, there is that.” He gazed solemnly back to the shaking leaves as the boys attempted to find their own way out. “But it would be ungentlemanly to leave you to their rescue, so I shall have to take my punishment like a man.”

Arianne nearly laughed out loud at his satisfaction. He really was enjoying himself! All men were children at heart, she decided, and stilled her giggles as Lucinda and Melanie ran up to join them.

Arianne sobered when Locke gave his rumpled attire a sorrowful look upon Melanie’s scolding, but that was none of her concern. Holding her arms up, she rescued the youngest cherub from the lowest branch and tried not to think of what might have happened had the painting been sold for an enormous sum. The boys would be fine just as they were.

* * * *

“Do not let his hauteur disturb you. He is an artist, and they always have eccentricities we must endure if we are to enjoy their genius.” Galen handed Arianne out of his carriage before the impressive limestone facade of a London town house.

Straightening the plain rose muslin that matched her hat, Arianne tried to appear unconcerned. They had heard nothing from Rhys these last few days, and no clues had come to light about the disappearance of the painting. Lord Locke had assured her that he had put the word about in all the places he knew to look out for the piece, but neither of them believed the canvas had been stolen to be resold.

“I have met Sir Thomas upon occasion,” she said. “He can be disagreeable when he chooses, but my father’s opinion means too much to him for him to be openly rude to me. There is something to be said for having an art critic in the family.”

Her wry tone made Galen glance down, but the calm of her oval face reflected nothing more than her words. Offering his arm, he guided her into the apartment to meet the great painter.

When introductions and courtesies were over and Sir Thomas understood that they were there neither to request a sitting nor to make a purchase, he huffed and puffed for a while before finally condescending to find the time to answer a few questions. Upon discovering that it was the stolen painting that concerned them, he once again became affable.

“Yes, I could not believe that piece came to light again. I had to go see it for myself. Amazing. One of my better early works, I must say, although today’s portraits show the benefit of greater experience. I was most dismayed to hear it had been purloined. And you say the piece belonged to you, Miss Richards? However did you persuade your father to part with it?”

Arianne had the grace to blush, and Galen stepped in to avoid the confession. “Miss Richards came upon it personally. We thought perhaps if we knew more of the origins of the piece, we might have a better idea of why it was stolen, and then we would be that much closer to the thief. Could you tell us anything of the subject?”

The artist drew his regal brow down in a frown of thoughtfulness. “It was one of my early works, as I said. I did not do formal sittings then.”

Understanding the artist’s hesitation as a desire not to reveal his rather plebeian origins, Galen carefully eased his predicament. “We think we have some idea of the background. I would think only the sitters would be of interest. The woman had almost a Gypsy look to her, but she and the boy were gowned so richly that they must have been of good birth.”

Sir Thomas nodded affirmatively. “Yes, I quite remember now. Handsome woman. Can’t remember the name. Can’t remember what happened to the painting after I completed it.” He threw Arianne a look of suspicion. “But the man who paid for it did not take it. He sent me a generous sum and said to do with it as I will.” He waited for the surprise of his listeners and was amply rewarded.

“He paid you for a portrait he did not keep?” Astonished, Arianne could not keep the words from her mouth.

“Wealthy men are inclined to be eccentric. It had nothing to do with the quality of the painting, I might add, for he never saw the finished work. From gossip I heard afterward, I was inclined to believe that the woman had died. Perhaps, in his grief, he could not bear to see the likeness.”