Leslie Lafoy (26 page)

She laughed. “I know it’s hard to believe that something so beautiful can make a good acre of jungle impossible to endure, but I honestly thought I might retch before I completed that particular painting.”

“As she also noted on the back,” Somers added, his smile fading.

Carden’s did as well. “Since she’s ably passed your examination, Somers, we return to the lady’s question of why she learned of the publication at a dinner party only last evening and to mine regarding the whereabouts of what must be the considerable royalties due her as the heir.”

Somers swallowed twice and visibly gathered himself. “My sincerest condolences on the loss of your parents, Miss Baines Miller,” he offered smoothly. “Your father was a rare intellectual gift to the world and I will be eternally grateful for having had the honor of being his publisher. We are most fortunate that you remain to gift us with your artwork.”

It was prelude, she knew; sincere in its message but also intended to buy the publisher time to think and plan. “Thank you, Mr. Somers,” Sera said graciously, waiting for the real response to begin.

“How very tragic that your father never knew of his success. But I find it most strange to think that Mr. Carter failed to pass such important information on to him or to you.”

“Mr. Carter?” she repeated, caught completely off guard.

“Yes. Mr. Reginald Carter. Are you not familiar with the name? At the time of acceptance, Mr. Carter was residing in Belize.”

“I don’t know a Reginald Carter,” Sera rejoined, her wits snapping back to center. “I’ve never heard of or from him. And Belize is not so populated that he would have been lost in a crowd of humanity. Had he indeed been there, I would have been aware of it.”

“Oh, dear,” Somers said softly, as though to himself. “This would appear to be a most tangled and sticky web in which we find ourselves.”

Blessedly, there wasn’t the slightest hint of confrontation in Carden’s manner or voice when he asked, “Have you been regularly sending the royalties in care of this Reginald Carter?”

Somers considered him for a long moment and then relaxed. “On three occasions, yes. Once, general delivery in Belize City. Then twice more to an account he established here in London to make the transaction more secure. Distances and the mail being what they are, you understand. This past autumn, Mr. Carter presented himself to me personally and with credentials that satisfied me as to his identity. He has personally accepted the bank drafts ever since.”

Sera could almost hear the mental wheels clicking in Carden’s head when he asked, “And he provided you with documentation that led you to believe that he is a legitimate literary and financial representative of Geoffrey Baines Miller and his heirs?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have consigned the monies to him if he hadn’t.” Somers looked at her. “I can produce it if you’d like, Miss Baines Miller. As is customary, it was placed in our legal files.”

God help her. What if her father had actually signed such a thing? “I would very much like to see it, Mr. Somers,” she managed to say with entirely feigned aplomb.

He rose from his desk again and bowed slightly. “If you’ll pardon me for a brief moment.”

She lowered her chin in silent assent and then watched him hurry out of the office. The instant he was out of earshot she turned to Carden. “It’s Gerald, isn’t it? Reginald Carter is really Gerald.”

“Oh, I’d wager the house on it,” he laughingly replied, his eyes sparkling, his manner easier than it had been all morning.

“Why are you so delighted by this?”

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s get through this first.” Sobering only slightly, he said, “If the document seems legitimate, let me take it from there. But if you recognize it for a forgery, say so. But don’t mention that you know who Reginald Carter really is. If Somers goes to Gerald asking questions, we’re better off if Somers knows nothing of any value. That way he can’t inadvertently confide a detail that might tip our hand.”

“Agreed. Do you have a plan?”

He grinned. “No, but I will before the day’s out.”

She was about to point out that she didn’t find much comfort in that when Somers returned, a piece of parchment in hand. He passed it to her on his way to his chair. She looked first at the signature and then, her heart in her throat, at the date. It took a long, torturous second, but realization, when it came, brought instant, merciful relief.

“Mr. Somers,” she said, handing the paper back to him as he settled into his chair. “I’m afraid that I must tell you that this is not my father’s signature. It’s a forgery. A very good one, but a forgery nonetheless.”

The color drained from his face and there was a decidedly tight sound to his voice as he stared at the paper and replied, “I’ll have to have proof of your assertion before I can seek any sort of legal action.”

She paused for a moment, wondering how she could do that. Realization came much more quickly this time. “I hadn’t intended to use my father’s last bit of work to this end,” she said, turning to reach into her portfolio. She extracted the thin stack of paper and shuffled through the notes and pictures, adding, “And it’s certainly not why I brought it with me today, but…” Finding the ones she wanted, she handed the entire stack across the desk.

She gave him a moment to study them before beginning. “Please note the day on which the agenting document was allegedly signed.”

His gaze slid over to it. “Yes.”

“In your hand, on top, are my father’s field notes made the same week. As you’re no doubt aware, he was meticulous about noting the dates and times of his observations.”

She hadn’t thought it possible, but even more color drained from the man’s face. He shuffled through the papers. “He was failing badly, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. I brought the specimens to his bedside so that he could work. It made him feel as though there was still purpose to his life when the days and hours were growing dim.”

Holding the notes in one hand, Somers picked up the parchment and looked back and forth between them. A bit of bright pink color was rising above his starched collar when he said, “Your father couldn’t have signed his name to this document on this day.”

“No, he couldn’t,” she agreed, releasing a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “What you have on the agent document is a fairly good version of what his signature was like in far better, more hopeful days.”

He laid all the papers down and laced his fingers on top of them. Pursing his lips, he considered her for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and said, “Miss Baines Miller, you appear to have been defrauded.”

“A conclusion that was reached at last night’s dinner party,” Carden commented quietly. “Which brings us to the true crux of the matter. What’s to be done about it?”

Sera couldn’t tell whether he’d been thinking of this eventuality all along or if it was simply a matter of the publisher being in his natural element. In either case, he didn’t hesitate to respond, “All current royalties owed to the estate will be delivered to you on the next date due. Mr. Reginald Carter will no longer be recognized as the agent of record.”

Carden was every bit as quick. “And what about all the money he’s stolen to this particular date?”

The red creeping higher on his neck, Somers drew himself up and squared his shoulders. “I will personally see that criminal charges are filed against him. We will use all available legal resources to bring him to justice and see that any remaining monies are turned over to Miss Baines Miller without delay.”

“And if Mr. Carter hasn’t left anything to be turned over to her?”

Sera watched as Somers swallowed yet again and what color had been on its way to his face receded. “Then … I…”

Carden didn’t give him a chance to stumble or stammer any further. “To my thinking you bear some responsibility for Seraphina having been defrauded by this Reginald Carter person,” he said kindly but with great firmness. “It was you who accepted his credentials and you who delivered—personally—her money to him. Many a time, apparently. She shouldn’t have to bear the financial loss for your failure to exercise due diligence.”

Sera had no idea what “due diligence” was but the words seemed to have considerable impact on Mr. Somers. He rallied and found a tight smile. “I’m sure our respective barristers can come to some sort of mutually acceptable agreement on the matter. We have an established, professional association with Miss Baines Miller that we wish to continue to nurture and grow. I certainly wouldn’t want the Carter issue to come between us.”

Carden nodded, apparently satisfied with the offer of dueling barristers. She was less concerned with that aspect of Somers’s reply than with another. “
Continue
, Mr. Somers?”

“My dear woman,” he said, beaming as he picked up the papers she’d handed him moments ago. “You have just handed me a folio of botanical artwork that clearly stands as some of the best you’ve ever produced. I would be very honored if you would allow me a few days to prepare a bid for its publishing acquisition.”

He wanted her work? On its own merits? Once again she feigned a degree of calm she didn’t feel. “That would be fine, Mr. Somers.”

“Of course, I’d have to ask that you grant me exclusive rights to the property until such time as I can render the bid. If we cannot come to terms, then I would—most sadly and regretfully, of course—relinquish that right to another house.”

She nodded, knowing that she’d accept whatever he offered. To have her own money … It wouldn’t be much, though. He had only a few pieces of her work. “Are you interested in only those paintings you have in hand?” she asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. “Or would you also care to see the ones I made following my father’s death and for which there are no accompanying botanical notes?”

His eyes widened and it took him a moment to snap his lower jaw into place. “There are more?”

“Perhaps as many as a hundred and fifty. Perhaps more,” she explained, knowing that he was no doubt going to consider her the greediest woman who had ever walked into his office. “It was my habit to paint every day and I found comfort in it when I needed it most. I’ve never really stopped to count them.”

“A hundred and fifty,” he whispered, his gaze focused off in the distance. “Three volumes. Maybe four.” He brought his attention back to her abruptly. “How soon may I see them?”

He didn’t seem to be the least put off by her blatant effort to make all the money she could. In fact, he looked quite happy about it all. Taking heart in that, she replied, “I have yet to unpack them and they do need to be arranged into some semblance of presentation order. Would the end of the week be soon enough?”

“It would be perfectly fine, Miss Baines Miller. Take all the time you need.”

“And while she prepares her work for your consideration,” Carden interjected, rising from his chair, “you’ll see to the complaint against Reginald Carter?”

Somers also rose. “Consider it done.”

And with that Sera knew the ordeal was also done. Taking Carden’s hand, Sera allowed him to assist her to her feet. She picked up her portfolio and smiled at the man on the other side of the desk. “Thank you for your time and assistance this morning, Mr. Somers. I look forward to our next conversation.”

“As do I. It has been my pleasure to be of service.” He bowed slightly. “Good day, Miss Baines Miller.”

“And to you, sir.”

“Lord Lansdown,” he added crisply, with no bow at all.

Carden smiled and presented her with his arm while drawling, “Somers.”

And then it was well and truly over. She floated out of the office at Carden’s side, knowing that her happiness had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with brandy.

*   *   *

Carden grinned. He took back every disparaging remark he’d ever made about God, the saints, and anything even remotely associated with the divine. You had to when you were able to walk off the field with both a clear victory and the woman on your arm. Life was good. And it was going to get better yet.

“Stay to the left of the stairs,” he instructed, chuckling as he led Sera out the front door and down toward the walkway and their waiting carriage. “Somers will be bolting forth at any moment.”

“To go in search of Reginald Carter?”

“Ha!” He opened the door and paused before handing her in. “He’ll send a neckless minion to squeeze what’s left out of Gerald. No, Somers will be at his club within the hour to brag that Seraphina Baines Miller has arrived in town with the art folio of the century and that he holds exclusive bidding rights to it.”

“I’m flattered that everyone thinks so highly of my work, but they’re just pictures.”

“Pictures that every publisher in town will want,” he countered, finding her humility refreshing. “By sundown tomorrow the word will have rippled forth and you’ll have at least two confidentially submitted offers by the end of the week.”

“But they won’t know anything of the quality of the work or of how many pictures the collection contains. They’d be bidding blindly.”

“The quality is certain and the number doesn’t matter,” he assured her. “What does matter is that they take the publishing glory—and the profit—away from Somers. They’ll simply offer to double or triple his best bid. Whatever it is.”

She frowned for a moment and looked up at the building they’d just left. “Carden? In general terms … Just roughly estimating…”

He grinned, knowing that what she expected to be offered was only a fraction of what would eventually come her way. “At
least
five thousand pounds.”

“Honestly?”

Such an innocent about some things, so wise beyond her years in others. Carden nodded. “Heaven only knows how many thousands Gerald’s stolen over the last few years. Whether you ever see so much as a farthing of that, you’re still a wealthy woman, Seraphina Baines Miller.”

She sighed and considered him with pursed lips. “Gerald isn’t going to shrug his shoulders, walk off, and let me strip him of his gold mine. He’ll go to drastic measures to protect it.”

“The game is over,” he countered, offering her his hand. Helping her into the carriage, he added, “Somers knows that he’s not a legitimate agent, Sera. Gerald’s financial river has already dried up and, try as he might, there’s nothing he can do to make it flow again.”