Lady's Wager (5 page)

Minnie stood in Charlotte’s lap, her nose pressed against
the window as she and Charlotte observed the bustling London streets from
inside Lady Redding’s well-appointed town coach. Minnie barked as the carriage
passed a dog chasing two schoolboys through a small alley.

“How much farther to Mr. Taylor’s?” Charlotte asked,
interrupting the excited whispers of Aunt Mary and Lady Redding as she pulled
Minnie down from the window.

“Not far. You’ll love Mr. Taylor. His collection cannot
compare,” Lady Redding replied in her elegant voice. “You’re sure to find
something of quality to contribute to Mrs. Greenville’s charity auction and
perhaps a few for your own collection. I don’t know how Mr. Taylor comes across
these treasures but I’d love to know his secrets.”

“Perhaps he’ll trade a few of his secrets for a few of
yours?”Aunt Mary teased and Charlotte’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Aunt Mary?”

“No, she’s quite right. I’ve gathered a few secrets in my
time. But I’m not the only one.” Lady Redding gently nudged Aunt Mary who
giggled behind her fan.

Charlotte shot her a questioning look and moved to inquire,
but Aunt Mary raised her hand.

“Never you mind,” she snapped, and Charlotte knew better
than to press the matter.

“Charlotte, tell me again about Paris. I haven’t been
there since well before the revolution,” Lady Redding sighed, glancing lazily
out of the carriage. Though not a conventional beauty, Lady Emily Redding,
Dowager Countess of Redding, possessed a handsome face, a slender figure, dark
hair and steel gray eyes that, according to Aunt Mary, had once set London
society on fire. “I hear Napoleon has made it the jewel of Europe once again.”

“Don’t ask Charlotte about Paris, she saw little of it
outside the Musée Napoleon. It was all I could do to entice her to the opera or
balls,” Aunt Mary said, half jokingly, and Charlotte sat up in excitement.

“The Musée is magnificent. I wish London had such an art
gallery, and I met so many interesting people there. Remember the old German
artist, Aunt Mary?”

“He was one of the few people you met who was of any
interest,” Aunt Mary teased, turning to Lady Redding. “He told us all about Mr.
Beethoven, who is quite the scandalous gentleman.”

“I understand Empress Josephine has a rather sordid past.
Is it true she was raised with savages in the West Indies?”

Aunt Mary leaned closer to Lady Redding, the fire of a
secret burning in her eyes.

“It’s all true and more,” she whispered then nodded at
Charlotte, “but I’ll tell you another time.”

“Aunt Mary, you never hesitated to share the latest
on-dit
in Paris.”

“We aren’t in Paris anymore. Beside, gossip isn’t fit for
a young lady’s ears, but if you were married I could tell you everything.”

Charlotte bit back a retort then changed the subject as
she was in no mood for another discussion of marriage. “Lady Redding, Empress
Josephine owns a number of works by Jacques Louis David and they’re magnificent.”

Lady Redding nodded in appreciation. “Mr. Taylor has quite
a number of works by well-known artists and a few obscure but talented ones. He
recently came by a work of Mr. Smibert’s, a rare find indeed for it’s a
landscape.”

“A landscape from an American?” Charlotte mused. “I
thought Colonial artists only produced portraits. I can’t wait to see it.”

“I hear Lord Woodcliff owns some of Mr. Smibert’s works,”
Lady Redding winked knowingly at Aunt Mary, much to Charlotte’s chagrin.

So this is what they’d been whispering about on the other
side of the carriage.

“The American can’t be very talented if one with such
limited means and wit as Lord Woodcliff can afford his works.”

“Lord Woodcliff’s means aren’t so limited or his wit as
dull as you believe, Charlotte,” Lady Redding chided. As an old friend of Lord
Hatteston, Lord Woodcliff’s father, she didn’t take kindly to Charlotte’s less
than flattering opinion of his son.

“He only has himself to blame for my low opinion,”
Charlotte muttered, focusing her attention on the buckle of Minnie’s collar in
order to avoid the grand lady’s studying eyes. She wondered how Lady Redding,
and even Elizabeth could be so blind to Lord Woodcliff’s faults. Certainly he
was capable of being affable, as he’d proven in Hookham’s, but he could be
equally annoying as he’d been at the Royal Academy and at her soiree.

“I hear Lord Hatteston’s situation is much reduced since
his wife moved to Bath.” Aunt Mary leaned toward both ladies and dropped her
voice to a tone fit for gossip. “She runs up enormous debts at the whist table
the Earl is obliged to settle. It’s a pity he married so poorly the second
time.”

“Indeed,” Lady Redding sighed with regret. “The first Lady
Hatteston was a diamond of the first water.”

“What happened to her?” Charlotte asked. Despite her
dislike of Lord Woodcliff, Charlotte found herself eager to know more and Aunt
Mary was quick to oblige.

“The poor woman died of a fever when Lord Woodcliff was
young. She was from the Colonies, the daughter of a merchant. It was quite the
talk of society the Season Lord Hatteston proposed to her.”

“She was also a great admirer of art. Lord Woodcliff
acquired his taste for art from her.” Lady Redding raised a well-shaped eyebrow
at Charlotte’s incredulous look. “Yes Charlotte, he has taste and Mary informs
me he was admiring many of your own pieces last night, including yourself. He’s
well traveled too.”

Charlotte snorted. “Then it’s wasted, for it’s done
nothing to open his mind or set his horizon beyond his front door.”

Lady Redding laughed, her gray eyes alight. “Careful, so
many protestations might be mistaken for interest, though the son of an Earl
would be an advantageous match.”

“I have no need for an advantageous match, or any match at
all.”

Aunt Mary shook her head disapprovingly and moved to reply,
but Lady Redding spoke first.

“Charlotte, don’t dismiss it entirely. After all, there
are some advantages to marriage.” Lady Redding exchanged a knowing smile with
Aunt Mary.

“What advantages could there possibly be?” Charlotte demanded.

“The longer you’re in London, the more you’ll discover
them.”

Before Charlotte could say she didn’t care a whit for Lord
Woodcliff or the supposed advantages of marriage, the carriage came to a halt.

“Here we are at Mr. Taylor’s,” Lady Redding announced as
the footmen, attired in fine blue livery, hurried to hand the ladies down.

Charlotte gathered up Minnie and her reticule and followed
Lady Redding and Aunt Mary out of the coach and up the stone stairs to Mr.
Taylor’s front door.

A sober butler ushered them into the town house and
Charlotte gasped at the sight before her. Every wall was covered from floor to
ceiling with the faces of saints, martyrs, knights, ladies, children, Greek
gods and landscapes of every conceivable fashion and time period. Charlotte
wandered through the foyer and the large adjoining hallway, overwhelmed by the
masterpieces available in this small space. She’d seen a number of great
collections in a few private homes in England but none to match the sheer
volume of works available at Mr. Taylor’s.

A large marble staircase dominated the far end of the
entrance hall and at the top stood Mr. Taylor, a portly man of fifty with a
round face, small spectacles and little hair. His large girth strained the blue
satin of his waistcoat and breeches as he descended the stairs with the
affected flourish of a practiced dandy, his hand outstretched toward Lady
Redding. “I’m so glad you could come.”

Lady Redding smiled as his lips brushed the back of her
hand. “I couldn’t resist a visit to my favorite art dealer.”

“And you’ve brought friends?”

“This is Mrs. Stuart and her niece Miss Stuart.”

Charlotte and Aunt Mary curtseyed. As Mr. Taylor stepped
closer to Charlotte, Minnie growled.

“No, no Minnie,” Charlotte scolded. “I must apologize Mr.
Taylor, she’s shy with strangers.”

“Aren’t we all sometimes?” He stepped out of range of
Minnie’s sharp little teeth.

Lady Redding took him by the elbow. “Miss Stuart has
traveled the continent and has a fine collection of paintings.”

Mr. Taylor’s eyes lit up. “Do you?”

“It’s only a trifle compared to yours.”

“Then we must increase your collection.”

“Miss Stuart doesn’t shop for herself today but for a
charity auction. I’ve informed her of Mr. Smibert’s work. May we see it?”

“Of course. Please follow me.” Mr. Taylor led them to a
smaller room off the main hallway. Inside, paintings hung along a single row
against the green painted walls to show them to their best advantage.

“Each is available ladies. Please feel free to choose any
you like. But for you Miss Stuart, here is Mr. Smibert’s work.” Mr. Taylor
motioned to a prominently hung landscape of a distant city perched on the edge
of a harbor.

Charlotte stepped up to the work, admiring the rich tones
and the subtle, delicate brushstrokes. “It’s magnificent, unlike anything I’ve
ever seen. I don’t recognize the city.”

“Boston. This is a very rare piece for the artist usually
specializes in portraits. The Prince of Wales owns a number of Mr. Smibert’s
portraits.”

“I don’t think much of the Prince’s favorites but in this
instance, he exhibits marvelous taste.”

“Charlotte, mind yourself,” Aunt Mary chastised and Mr.
Taylor chuckled.

“No, it’s rare to find a young lady with such well-formed
ideas about art. It’s an admirable quality.”

“It’s beautiful. Aunt Mary, what do you think?” Charlotte
turned to the two ladies, excited by the prospect of contributing such a fine
work to the auction.

Aunt Mary squinted at the painting. “It would go well over
the fireplace in the dining room.”

Charlotte stifled a small laugh. She’d learned long ago
Aunt Mary only disapproved of a painting if she couldn’t imagine a room in
which it might hang.

“It’s not for me but for Mrs. Greenville’s auction. If the
artist is a favorite of the Prince’s, then it may attract the attention of the
ton
and earn a great deal for the Widows and Orphans Fund.”

“I’m afraid I can’t sell it just yet for I have a
gentleman coming to view it,” Mr. Taylor said with a little regret but then
seemed to think twice about his objection. “However, I’m told his circumstances
are much reduced. For a young woman of such astute judgment, and to help so
noble a cause, I’d be willing to entertain an offer sooner.”

“Then I shall have it.”

“A lady who is both generous and wise, you’re truly a rare
find.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte replied, when suddenly the portrait
of a young lady dressed in the wide skirts so fashionable a half century before
caught her attention. She hurried across the room to it. “Is this by Mr.
Gainsborough?”

“Yes. Are you an admirer of Mr. Gainsborough?” Mr. Taylor
stepped closer to Charlotte and Minnie growled, forcing Charlotte to shift the
dog to her other arm.

“I adore his work. He must have painted this during his
Rubens phase,” she stated confidently, pleased to share with Mr. Taylor her
knowledge of art. She was disappointed when the art dealer shook his head.

“No, I’m afraid it was painted while he was influenced by
Van Dyke.”

“Are you sure?” She leaned in to examine the feathery
brushstrokes of the trees and the formal pose of the subject.

“Yes, very sure. You can tell by the—”

“Sir,” the butler interrupted, “the gentleman has
arrived.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll tell him the piece has been
taken. But not to worry, I have another, smaller canvas by Mr. Copley that’s
sure to satisfy him.” Mr. Taylor hurried from the room, leaving the women to
enjoy the art.

“Come Mary, I wish to show you a sweet dog portrait you
may want for your dining room.”

“It sounds lovely.” Aunt Mary followed her friend down the
hall.

Charlotte placed Minnie on the floor and returned to the
painting of Boston. While Minnie sniffed about the corners, Charlotte admired
the deep amber tones of the rolling hills and the way the city, set so far from
the viewer, seemed to disappear into the landscape as though it belonged there
more than the trees and rocks so prominent in the foreground.

Suddenly, a man’s angry voice, followed by the heavy stomp
of boots making their way down the hallway toward the gallery, caught her
attention.

“I demand to see who’s robbed me of the painting. If you
won’t see reason, maybe he will.”

“Your lordship, I assure you, there are other pieces to
satisfy your interest,” Mr. Taylor urged.

Minnie gave an enthusiastic yip, her attention focused on
the door, her tail wagging excitedly.

“Who is it, Minnie? Someone we know? No one we know is so
rude.”

Lord Woodcliff stormed in followed by Mr. Taylor. He
stopped short at the threshold, his shock temporarily overwhelming his anger.
“Miss Stuart?”

“Lord Woodcliff?” He was the last person she wanted to
meet here.

Minnie bounded toward him, oblivious to his foul mood as
she jumped excitedly at his legs.

“Minnie, bad girl. Come here this instant.” The little dog
slunk toward Charlotte, who snatched her from the floor and tucked her under
her arm.

“So it’s you who’s stolen my painting?” Lord Woodcliff
accused, his hand tight on his walking stick.

Charlotte threw back her shoulders in defiance. “One
cannot steal something which you do not own. I’ve purchased the painting,
therefore, it’s mine.”

“You can’t understand the value of this painting.”

“Yes, you’ve told me before how ladies possess little
knowledge.”

Lord Woodcliff started at this remark and his expression
softened. “I apologize if I’ve offended you. I didn’t mean to imply you know
nothing of art. The painting has a certain sentimental value to me and I’ll
gladly pay you double for it.”