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Though the auction began the following day, I opted to wait until the second day to attend.

For one, I had a project which needed my attention and could not be abandoned for so long.

Not if I was to achieve the effect I’d been attempting.

For another, I wanted time to consider the catalog and its contents.

Gage questioned this decision, for there were two Titians being auctioned on the first day and he knew I was an admirer.

But I already owned a Titian that I believed to be far superior to the two up for bidding that day.

It had been bequeathed to me by Gage’s grandfather along with about a dozen other paintings which had formerly graced the walls of his manor at the edge of Dartmoor.

They were currently being stored at Lord Gage’s Warwickshire estate, waiting to be hung at the former dower house once it was completed.

Gage and I might have walked the several blocks to the auction, but the damp weather continued, so we elected to take the carriage instead.

As such, we arrived with plenty of time to browse before the bidding began.

The entry hall was larger than most, offering ample space for new arrivals to congregate out of the rain while they waited for one of the staff members to collect their outer garments.

I wasn’t certain whether the two men were employees of Thomas Winstanley & Sons or retainers of the late Lord Eldin, but they worked with quiet efficiency, even as a gentleman with bushy side whiskers scowled at them from across the room.

“Who do you suppose that is?” I murmured softly to Gage.

He didn’t appear to be an employee of the auctioneers. Or if he was, not a very welcoming one. I could only imagine his presence would be off-putting to all but the most determined bidders.

“Probably a relative,” he replied. “I heard Lord Eldin had something like five brothers and sisters.”

“Six, actually,” a voice behind us proclaimed. “And yes, that’s his brother William. Inherited his estate.”

We turned to look at the gentleman, who was smiling rather remorselessly for eavesdropping. He boasted a head full of pale brown hair now going to gray.

“Apologies. But I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Of course, he could have, but neither Gage nor I corrected him on that point as it would be fruitless. In any case, he had provided the answer that neither of us knew.

“Allow me to introduce myself. Sir James Riddell, at your service,” he declared with a bow of his head and a flourish. I’d thought his pout was some sort of artifice, but now I could tell he simply possessed full lips.

“Sebastian Gage,” my husband replied, shaking his hand before nodding to me. “And this is my wife…”

“Ah, yes,” Sir James replied before Gage could finish. “Everyone knows Lady Darby.”

This was yet another false statement, or at least not an entirely correct one.

Many people knew of me, thanks to my late husband and my somewhat scandalous reputation, but that didn’t mean they knew me.

Not by any stretch of the imagination. Though Sir James didn’t appear mean-spirited, merely intrigued by my presence.

“Please, call me Mrs. Gage,” I requested, offering him my hand and hoping he wouldn’t ignore my wishes as so many members of society did.

By courtesy, if not right, I was often still addressed by the title granted to me during my first marriage to Sir Anthony Darby because my first husband outranked my second.

However, I had no desire to be reminded of my time with the cruel anatomist, nor to maintain the name which had linked me to him.

“Of course,” Sir James agreed, a curious glint in his eyes as he clasped my fingers, offering a brief nod.

“Are you a collector, or were you a friend of the deceased?” I asked as we reached the front of the line and the footman took my hat and fern green mantle, revealing the softer mint green shade of my gown underneath.

“Both.” He passed over his own outer garments to the staff with a smile, displaying nary a twinge at the reminder of the loss of his friend. But then again, Lord Eldin had died the previous May, so I supposed there had been time to adjust to his absence.

“I’m not sure anyone has seen his entire collection,” he remarked avidly as we moved deeper into the house.

“He was a bit…defensive of it.” A small frown marred his brow as if that had not been the exact word he was looking for.

“Wouldn’t have considered parting with even a coin while he was still alive,” he tried to explain.

“I can only imagine he’s turning in his grave to see it all dismantled now. ”

This last remark was clearly aimed at Lord Eldin’s brother, who turned his scowl on Sir James.

But despite the barbs contained in this statement, Sir James didn’t seem to hold any genuine animosity toward William Clerk as he offered him a jaunty smile, which he then turned on us. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Curious fellow,” I murmured as he hastened off.

Gage didn’t respond to this remark, but I could tell that he agreed. “Now, where to first?” he asked as we paused to consider our surroundings.

The room to the right was open, as was the room at the back, though Sir James had moved directly toward the staircase. I had just opened my mouth to suggest we might do the same when I caught the eye of a young man who seemed to know what he was about.

“Good afternoon,” he declared with a congenial smile.

His gaze dipped to the catalog I held in my hand.

“Are you here for the auction?” He broke off at the end of the last word, inhaling sharply.

“Oh, my! Your ladyship, I didn’t recognize you at first. What an honor!

” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’ve had the privilege of viewing a number of your portraits, and if I may be so bold to say, they are exquisite. ”

I blushed, both at his praise and the attention he was drawing.

It wasn’t often that a person’s excitement to meet me was directed toward my artwork rather than my reputation.

“Thank you,” I answered, though I wasn’t certain he heard me as he rushed into speech again, albeit with a lower tone, almost as if confiding a secret.

“And I hear rumbles that you’re working on something new.

Something extraordinary.” His dark eyes were alight with interest beneath his mop of dark curls.

“Now, that is something I would love to see.” He grinned with such artlessness and awaited my answer with such eagerness that he put me in mind of a puppy anxious to be let outside for a run about.

I hardly knew how to answer him. I was about to ask where he’d heard such rumbles when he stumbled into speech yet again.

“But my apologies.” His expression turned sheepish. “You’re here for the auction, not to listen to me blather on. I’m Barnard Rimmer, Mr. Winstanley’s assistant.”

“Not one of his sons?” Gage asked.

Mr. Rimmer gave a huff of laughter. “No. They are back in Liverpool managing matters there.”

I’d forgotten the firm of auctioneers and art dealers was based in England, and I wondered at the choice. No doubt there were firms located nearer, either within Edinburgh or the surrounding area.

“As I understand it, Lord Eldin chose Mr. Winstanley to conduct the auction himself and stipulated as much in his will,” Mr. Rimmer said, almost as if he’d read my thoughts. But perhaps it was a common enough question.

Nevertheless, this seemed to contradict Sir James’s remark about Lord Eldin turning in his grave to see his collection sold off. Which assertion was true?

“Is there anything in particular you’re interested in acquiring?

” he asked, eyeing the catalog I held. “As expected, the Titians, Tintorettos, and Rubenses garnered great interest yesterday, as well as the Wilkie sketch. And several people have expressed interest in the Adam brothers’ architectural drawings.

” His gaze cut toward William Clerk, who had pulled aside one of the footmen to have a word. “That is, if they go up for auction.”

“Is there some doubt?” I asked.

He straightened, as if realizing he’d spoken out of turn. “Just a small family dispute. Now, where can I direct you?”

Family indeed, for Lord Eldin’s mother had been the sister of the Adam brothers. As such, William Clerk or another of his brothers and sisters or cousins might wish to keep the drawings in the family.

“I think we’d just like to browse for now,” Gage answered for us when I failed to reply.

“Of course,” Mr. Rimmer said. “Some of the paintings, and the china, bronzes, terra-cottas, and other items of virtu are located in the dining room.” He gestured to the room on the left and then behind him.

“And breakfast room. The prints and drawings and other paintings are located upstairs, where the auction will take place, as well as the coins, jewelry, and various sundries.”

“Then the paintings up for auction tomorrow are also on display?” I queried.

“Many of them.” He eyed me keenly. “Is there one in particular you wished to examine?”

“The Van der Neer landscape.”

His eyebrows arched gently. “I should have known you would choose by the eye and not the name.”

Spoken in another voice, this might have been an insult, but it was clear Mr. Rimmer meant it as a compliment.

He was a genuine art lover, then. This would seem to be a requirement for such a profession, but such was not always the case.

In fact, the patriarchal title of the business suggested it was not.

Just because the father admired art did not necessitate the sons would, regardless of their inheritance.

“Rimmer,” an older gentleman with spectacles said, hastening toward him. He paused to address us briefly before directing the younger man. “Excuse us. I need you upstairs.”

“Of course, Mr. Winstanley.” He glanced toward us. “Have you been introduced yet to Lady Darby and Mr. Gage?”