A Lady's Dream Come True - Grace Burrowes Page 0,110

before the mirror in the foyer. “I would never have been this bold.”

Oak had chosen a waistcoat of the same shade of burgundy as Vera’s dress, and his boutonniere was a tiny lavender bouquet designed to match Vera’s wrist corsage. Without saying a word, he proclaimed himself to be coupled with her, and splendidly proud of it.

“Are you nervous?” Oak asked as a coach clattered to a halt beyond the front door.

“Yes. Are you?”

He kissed her. “I am determined. Shall we?”

He winged his arm, and Vera’s nerves settled. Oak knew exactly what he was doing, and more than that, he knew exactly what his honor and his art demanded of him. At Lady Montclair’s reception, his air was cordial and good-humored, even as Vera sensed him reconnoitering the crowd.

“He’s here,” Oak murmured thirty minutes after they’d arrived. “Came alone, and there’s Mr. Tolliver with Mrs. Finchley on his arm. Longacre looks surprised to see her.”

And Oak sounded very pleased.

“Is Worth Kettering here yet?” Vera asked. Kettering was a solicitor. He had the ear of the Regent and invested the funds of some of the realm’s wealthiest families—including his own.

“Kettering is busily flirting with the Marchioness of Hesketh, while that lady’s husband looks amused. His lordship must be a client of long standing. And there’s Jonathan Tresham.”

Vera had had only one glass of punch, but already, her head was spinning. “I forget who he is.”

“Tresham is a friend of Ash and Sycamore’s. He’s selling them The Coventry, and more to the point, he’s one of the Academy’s most generous patrons—oh, and also the heir to a dukedom. He’s conferring with Her Grace of Walden, another generous benefactor of the arts. Let’s give Longacre another five minutes to enjoy himself, and then we will put an end to his games. Shall we say hello to Stebbins Holmes?”

“Let’s not,” Vera said, setting down her empty glass. “I’m angry with him on my own behalf and on Anna Beaumont’s.”

And why hadn’t Dirk noticed that Longacre was such a snake? But then, Vera knew why. The same art that made Oak such a keen observer had made Dirk oblivious to what was in front of his face. Made him all but complicit in his friends’ mistreatment of Dirk’s own wife.

The hum of conversation rose, while Oak introduced Vera to more titled and wealthy people until, by some silent signal, Sycamore and Ash appeared at Vera’s side.

“Time to catch a rat?” Cam inquired pleasantly.

“Indeed it is,” Oak replied. “I will fetch Longacre. You gentlemen please escort Mrs. Channing to the appointed gathering place.” He kissed Vera’s cheek, which raised a few eyebrows. “For courage.”

“Oak was never this dashing in Dorset,” Cam muttered, taking Vera by the wrist. “Come along, for I don’t want to miss a minute of the drama. I will pay you an enormous sum for the Stoltzfus odalisque. Ash and I agree that it would look splendid behind the bar at The Coventry.”

“Oak says it’s one of a pair,” Ash added, “and the matching portrait could hang in the game room. Our clientele would likely try to buy both of them off of us the first night they’re displayed. We could hold a little auction.”

“Stop it,” Vera said. “You are trying to distract me, because you believe I am nervous about confronting Longacre. My only concern is that I will do him a grievous injury.”

Ash, a notably reserved man, treated her to a dazzling smile. “Violence can be art too. Cam, we are in the presence of a lady who understands pugilism. I am smitten.”

“Not fair,” Cam said, holding open the door to Lady Montclair’s library. “I was smitten first, and Mrs. Channing likes me better.”

She preceded them into the library, surprised to find that her nerves had indeed dissipated, replaced by anticipation.

“I like you both quite well,” she said, “though I like Oak best of all, and the pair of you are ridiculous. My heavens, Mr. de Beauharnais has done a splendid job, has he not?”

One of the Stoltzfus nudes was propped on an easel, and beside it was an unsigned work that presented the same subject in the same setting—a forgery, in other words. A very good forgery.

And how ironic was it that a forgery would be the means of exposing the truth?

Vera had never looked more luscious to Oak, so much so that the business with Longacre had become simply a task to expedite. Oak pasted a hesitant smile on his face and approached Longacre, waiting patiently until Longacre deigned