his shoulder blades. Usually that itch meant trouble.
“Excellent,” Destry exclaimed. “How long is Mr. Brent staying?”
Beatrice glanced into the room at her father, but it was Roger who answered. “He was planning to leave this afternoon but the countess convinced him to stay for the opening dinner.” He looked at Beatrice. “It gave me an extra few hours to work.”
She nodded. “And you ate at your desk.”
As they all watched, Mr. Brent whispered something to the countess and she nodded in return. Then she took up a pose in the center of the room and the four of them reentered the salon.
“It has been a long travel day for most of you,” the countess began, “so I did not plan any entertainment for this evening beyond Finch’s wonderful performance. Mr. Brent tells me that a storm is brewing but if you would like some exercise before you retire to your bedchambers, I have had the Long Gallery lit. You are welcome to stroll through it and admire the art collection housed there.”
“Yes, let’s go to the gallery.” Beatrice made to take Tremaine’s arm. “I cannot wait to see the Rembrandts, the drawings especially.”
Tremaine took a step away from Beatrice and shook his head. “I am to leave at first light, Beatrice. So I will say good-bye now.”
“And I am much too tired, Bitsy.”
Beatrice would have argued but Nora Kendrick, who was standing next to them, said, “I will be delighted to meet you in the gallery after I hand Finch off to my maid.”
“Wonderful and thank you, Mrs. Kendrick.” Beatrice gave her sister a kiss on the cheek. “Tell Darwell that I will not be late.”
“Roger,” she said, turning to him. “Good-bye, and come back for a day or two when you are finished in town, will you? I know the countess would love to have you stay awhile.”
“I’ll try, but your father wants the plans for the new threading machine as soon as possible, so I think I will be immersed in the plans for at least ten days.”
“Which should put you here just in time for the last few days of the house party and a holiday you have more than earned.”
Much like brother and sister, Jess decided as he watched the two of them bicker over his duties and her wishes. Finally Tremaine broke away, promising to return as soon as work permitted. Beatrice appeared to be pleased with that, so Jess decided the man must be the sort who was true to his word.
BEATRICE ALL BUT skipped to the Long Gallery. The countess had hurried her through it the day before but that had been like teasing a child with a toy, then withholding it.
She made her way to the room that ran the length of the house, so long that she could not see the other end. Of course the clerestory windows that gave extra light during the day were dark now and the chandeliers could only provide so much light.
One of the Rembrandt drawings was in a well-lit spot and she pulled her ugly spectacles from her reticule to set about examining it, delighted to be within breathing distance of a work by the great master. The small landscape featured cottages, meadows and, if you looked carefully, a distant windmill. The brown wash over the paper was as much a part of the drawing as the lines and shadows.
At the sounds of footsteps she wheeled around to see Lord Jess and the marquis approaching.
“Have you come to see the Rembrandt drawing, too?”
DESTRY HAD INSISTED this was a shortcut to the card room. Now it wasn’t. There was no way they could graciously ignore Venus’s longing to share her favorite subject with someone, anyone, even two philistines who would rather be playing cards.
“You are a student of art?” Destry asked.
“Yes,” Jess answered for her, “and particularly of Rembrandt.” He could tell by her expression that she was not sure if his comment was a tease or a compliment. He just smiled.
“I enjoy his work, my lord, though I am hardly an expert.”
“Excellent,” Destry said with unfeigned enthusiasm. “We have two of his paintings at our house in the north. Perhaps you and your sister could visit sometime and see them.”
“Thank you, my lord. That would be wonderful.”
Jess had no idea if there were any Rembrandt drawings at Pennford. One of his paintings, yes, but he had never paid that much attention to the art collection. What did it say about his life that the last