Page 2 of The Cloverton Charade (The Houses of Yorkshire #3)

London, England, late August 1818

Brannon Antiquities & Company

Olivia could hardly believe the proposition that had just been presented to her. This was the opportunity she’d imagined only

in daydreams.

Giddy anticipation mingled with intoxicating disbelief, and for a brief moment, a dazzling glimpse into an entirely new existence

glistened—one where she was independent. Self-sufficient. Needed. Valued.

She looked to the elegantly clad woman in front of her: Mrs.Agnes Milton, the widow of her father’s most influential client.

“You’d like for me to come to Cloverton Hall to evaluate your collection?”

Mrs. Milton shifted the fluffy Pomeranian in her arms before nonchalantly adjusting the jade kid-leather glove on her hand. “Yes. My husband told me of you—a young woman who assisted with her father’s appraisals and knew more about antiquities than any purveyor he knew. Now, I find myself in a peculiar situation and require assistance from one knowledgeable on such matters.”

Summoning fortitude, Olivia glanced at her uncle Thomas, who was, at present, the only other person in the receiving room

of the Brannon Antiquities warehouse. Thomas Brannon had assumed full ownership of their business after her father’s death

four years prior. Never would he openly display disapproval in front of a client, but his hooded left eye twitched, and his

lips had flattened to a thin line.

Olivia returned her eager attention to the petite, plump woman in front of her. “And your collection—are these chinoiserie

pieces?”

“There are a few, but mostly it consists of jewelry, shells, and gems. I inherited them directly from my grandfather, an East

Indiaman captain. All the items are separate from the Cloverton estate holdings. I would require you to catalog the pieces

and estimate their value and, if all goes according to plan, discreetly identify buyers.”

Olivia gripped her hands behind her to contain her mounting enthusiasm. Was her dream about to be realized? Was she being

sought out for her professional reputation?

Dozens of questions rattled in her mind, but her uncle’s sharp stare reinforced her place. Since her father’s death, she’d

been reduced to little more than an assistant at Brannon Antiquities & Company, and he was keen that she should not forget

it.

“Perhaps my uncle should join us,” she suggested reluctantly. “He’s well-versed in the—”

“That will not do,” Mrs. Milton snapped, her sky-blue eyes sharp and direct. “My nephew, the new master of Cloverton Hall, has recently taken up residence there, and he must know nothing of this. I’ve no doubt he’d attempt to challenge my claim to my collection and acquire it as his own. If your uncle, a known antiquities purveyor, were to arrive at my invitation, tongues would wag, whereas no one would question your presence.”

Fearing the offer might vanish straightaway, Olivia blurted, “I’d be honored to join you at Cloverton Hall at such a time

that is agreeable to you, Mrs.Milton. I know you would not be disappointed with my work.”

Mrs.Milton pursed her narrow lips and stroked the little dog’s fur with her free hand, as if completely accustomed to others

acquiescing to her will. “I’m glad to hear it. My nephew’s to host a house party to introduce his companions to Cloverton

Hall, and he has requested that I act as his hostess. Normally I’d refuse such a ridiculous display, but I see it as an opportunity.

You shall attend as my guest.”

Olivia had heard about these gatherings—where wealthy members of society descended upon a grand country house and indulged

in lavish entertainment for a fortnight or so. Never in her wildest imaginings did she think she’d ever be invited to one.

“We shall depart next Wednesday. While there, you’ll participate in the entertainment and activities to avoid raising any

speculation, but you can conduct your evaluations during the morning hours and as time permits.”

A dozen concerns bombarded Olivia. She did not possess the proper attire. How was one to behave in such a setting? But those issues could all be addressed. She owed it not only to herself but to her younger sister, Laura, to seize every opportunity to advance herself.

“As for a fee,” Mrs.Milton continued, “I assume it will be as any other such transaction—you’ll receive a percentage of the

purchase price once it is sold. In the meantime, I’ll provide your board and proper attire for your trouble.”

Olivia ignored the stab at the simple charcoal-gray printed muslin gown that currently adorned her frame, for it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered more to her than securing this opportunity. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. My maid will contact you with other pertinent details and make arrangements for my modiste to visit you. I’ll apprise

her of the clothing you’ll require. Remember above all, this must be done with absolute discretion. To everyone else present,

you will simply be my guest.”

Mrs.Milton bid them a staunch farewell, exited their modest shop, and accepted the help of her liveried footman to reenter

her carriage. Only after the ornate vehicle lurched into motion and plumed a trail of dust into the thick afternoon air did

Olivia dare to move a muscle.

The sense that her life was about to change flared within—and she was eager to begin.