Page 13 of The Viscount’s Forgery (Bluestocking Book Club #4)
N icholas paced up and down the hallway, barely able to glance at the paintings on the wall but, at the very same time, unable to take himself away from this place.
The soiree last evening had turned from light to darkness in only a moment, leaving him confused and more than a little perturbed. Surely it could not be?
“Mr. Falconer knows as much as there is to know about paintings and the like,” he muttered to himself, speaking aloud of his man here in London, whom he hired to purchase the very best of things.
“It seems unusual to me that he would mistake it.” Running one hand over his hair, Nicholas let out a slow breath and stopped his pacing, turning to look up at the painting in question.
It was, to his eyes, just as it ought to be.
A landscape painted in great detail; a harvest scene which took in the workers, the sunset, and the golden hue of the sheaves.
How could it be that this was a forgery?
It looked quite proper, but Nicholas considered, he did not know for certain.
He had never taken a great interest in what hung upon his walls, save only for the fact that it was always the very best. What shame it would bring him if the ton discovered that he had forgeries on his wall!
Heat began to curl up in his chest, spreading out like flames across his skin.
She said there might be more, he thought to himself, the fire now in his face. More than I have not yet seen. What am I to do if nearly all of these paintings are forgeries?
He would have to get a new man of business, that much was certain!
Could it be that Mr. Falconer himself was responsible?
Nicholas considered this and then dismissed it quickly.
Falconer had been loyal to Nicholas’ good father, and Nicholas knew just how much trust there had been between them – the same trust that he now felt.
Mr. Falconer would not risk his livelihood or his reputation, he was sure.
“My lord?”
Turning sharply, Nicholas made to berate his butler, only for the man to bow in clear awareness that he had interrupted Nicholas’ contemplation.
“Forgive me, my lord, but the carriage has arrived.”
Nicholas blinked. “The carriage?”
“Yes, my lord. Lord Bothwell is waiting. I believe you are to go to a picnic with Lord and Lady Derbyshire?”
Confusion reigned in Nicholas’s mind. He did not know what his butler was speaking of, had no recollection of agreeing to attend any sort of picnic, and certainly not with Lord and Lady Derbyshire! Silence grew though the butler remained steady and silent, waiting for Nicholas to respond.
“Did I – did I agree to this?” Nicholas asked, wondering if the butler knew of something he did not. “Was there a note? A discussion mayhap?”
“Yes, my lord. Last evening, on the way out of the house, Lord Bothwell asked you directly if you would attend with him this afternoon.”
Nicholas scrubbed his forehead with his fist, aware of the dull ache beginning to grow there. “I do not remember.” He had been so perplexed by what Miss Sherwood had told him, his wits had not been about him. “But clearly, I agreed.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then I shall go at once.” Nicholas took in a deep breath, a little surprised at how reluctant he felt. Was it because he wanted only to pace up and down this hallway and think about his paintings? Or was it because he did not much want to see Miss Eugenia Sherwood again?
“You are tardy.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Nicholas did not tell his friend that he had quite forgotten about the meeting, offering him instead a clear apology. “I was thinking about a painting and became quite distracted. I apologize.”
“One that you are going to purchase, mayhap?”
Nicholas scowled. “No, quite the opposite. I may sell it.”
“I see.” Lord Bothwell shifted in his seat.
“I confess, I am a little anxious about this picnic. It was Polly’s suggestion – I mean, Miss Sherwood’s suggestion.
” He glanced at Nicholas and let out a tight laugh.
“I am doing my best to pretend that we are not particularly well acquainted, you understand.”
Pulling himself out of his thoughts and reminding himself that Lord Bothwell needed his support, Nicholas took in a deep breath. “That is good, my friend. I hope that this brings you clarity.”
Lord Bothwell nodded. “As do I.”
The remainder of the carriage ride remained silent as Nicholas looked out of the window and contemplated, with Lord Bothwell doing the same, though both men were thinking of entirely different young ladies.
Lord Bothwell, Nicholas knew, would be thinking solely of Miss Polly Sherwood whilst his thoughts were captured by Miss Eugenia Sherwood.
Lord Bothwell was looking forward to seeing the lady again, but Nicholas felt restrained.
He did not much want to see Miss Eugenia Sherwood, certain he had not had enough time to think about all she had said and revealed to him.
It was not only the painting she had spoken of but also the fact that she was, evidently, a bluestocking.
Was that something Lord Bothwell knew? Nicholas did not dare to mention it, thinking to himself that Lord Bothwell had more than enough to consider at present.
Besides, he did not want to do anything that would jeopardize an already strained connection.
“Here we are.” Lord Bothwell drummed his fingers on his knee as the carriage came to a stop. “Now, let us hope that this goes well! We are not the only ones invited, you understand.”
“I do not recall the details,” Nicholas admitted, as Lord Bothwell climbed out of the carriage. “It is a picnic, yes?”
Lord Bothwell nodded. “Yes, that is so. There have been a few people invited, and I am one of them. It was Lord Derbyshire who suggested I invite you also, for it is not a particularly formal affair.” He gestured to one of his servants who was carrying a basket, which, no doubt, was full of food.
“I have enough for both of us and others also!”
“I thank you.” Nicholas, who had only broken his fast earlier that day and eaten very little since, realized that he was quite hungry. “Then I need not fear I shall have to make prolonged conversation with Lady Derbyshire, then?”
Lord Bothwell laughed, the strain seeming to drain from his expression as he did so. “No, indeed not. There will be a good many others present, I am sure – and even if they do not join the picnic, they will be walking about the park as well. Come now, it is just along this way.”
Nicholas followed after him but did not say a single word.
He was not truly thinking about having to make conversation with Lady Derbyshire, but was instead, thinking only of Miss Eugenia Sherwood.
He was still unsure as to whether or not he wanted to speak with her, still a little overwhelmed by all that had been revealed.
“Good afternoon, Lord Bothwell!” A young lady soon detached herself from a small gathering of gentlemen and ladies and came hurrying towards them both, though she only greeted Lord Bothwell.
Recognizing her as Polly, Nicholas slowed his steps to permit them both to greet each other without his presence, though he did note that Lord Bothwell did not show as much enthusiasm as the lady.
With a grimace, he looked away, hoping that his friend would not force himself to be too restrained in his manner.
“Good afternoon to you also, Lord Suffolk.”
A quiet voice made him look to his left, seeing the other Miss Sherwood approaching, her friend beside her.
“I did not know that you had been invited, though of course, you are most welcome,” she said, as she bobbed a curtsy. “It is a very pleasant day for a picnic, is it not?”
“It is.” He bowed, then looked to the other lady, trying to recall her name.
“Lady Isobella,” she reminded him with a smile, making Nicholas’ face flush. “Yes, we have been introduced already, though I quite understand how difficult it can be for a gentleman or a lady to remember the names of every person they have been introduced to!”
Nicholas cleared his throat and bowed again.
“You are most generous, Lady Isobella.” His gaze pulled again to Miss Sherwood, seeing her blue eyes steady as she gazed back at him.
There was a question in them, a question that Nicholas could read quite clearly, and with a sigh, he spread out his hands.
“I do not know whether we ought to speak of the painting or not, Miss Sherwood,” he said, addressing the matter directly. “It came as a great shock to me and I am still, I confess, not fully convinced.”
This wiped the smile from her face in an instant. “You do not think that I am telling the truth?”
Nicholas shook his head. “No, no, it is not that. It is only that I find the idea to be so… astonishing that I cannot quite take it in. My man of business is excellent in such matters, and I am sure he would never knowingly have purchased forgeries for me.”
“Can you trust him?” Lady Isobella asked, entering into the conversation with a clear understanding of the matter, which meant, Nicholas realized, that Miss Sherwood had told her friends everything. That struck a match of concern in his heart, and his jaw tightened.
“Yes, I do. Though, Miss Sherwood, Lady Isobella, I would prefer it if you did not speak of what you have learned to anyone else. It is not the done thing for a gentleman to have forgeries in his home, and for the ton to discover that would bring me a great deal of embarrassment.”
The two ladies exchanged a quick glance, though Miss Sherwood nodded quickly.
“But of course, Lord Suffolk. It is not as though this is something that we can discuss with others either, for there are very few ladies who are interested in art and the like, not to the depths that I have chosen to pursue it.”