The Conquest of Lady Cassandra (39 page)

Slowly the crowd found seats and the sounds dimmed. Riggles stepped up on a stool so he showed tall behind the rostrum’s podium. Mr. Nightingale moved to where the first lot hung on the wall. His perfect features probably garnered more attention from some of the patrons than the obscure oil painting that he pointed to.

Emma Fairbourne remained discreetly away from the action but very visible to everyone.
Bid high and bid often,
her mere presence seemed to plead.
For his memory and my future, make it a better total than it has any right to be.

E
mma kept her gaze on Obediah, but she felt people looking at her. In particular she felt one person looking at her.

Southwaite was here. It had been too much to hope that he might be out of town. She had prayed for it, however. He went down to his property in Kent often, her friend Cassandra
had reported. It would have been ideal had he done so this week.

He stood behind all the chairs, dressed for riding, as if he had been heading down to the country after all, but had seen the newspaper and diverted his path here. He towered back there and could not be missed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him watching her. His harshly handsome face held a vague scowl at the doings here. His companion appeared much more friendly, with remarkable blue eyes that held a light of merriment in contrast with the earl’s dark intensity.

He thought he should have been told, she guessed. He thought it was his business to know what Fairbourne’s was doing. He was going to want to become a nuisance, it appeared. Well, she would be damned before she allowed that.

Obediah began the sale of the first lot. The bidding was not enthusiastic, but that did not worry her. Auctions always opened slowly, and she had given considerable thought to which consignment should be sacrificed like this, to give the patrons time to settle in and warm up.

Obediah called the bids in his smooth, quiet fashion. He smiled kindly at the older women who raised their fans, and added a “Quite good, sir” when a young lord pushed the bid up two increments. The impression was that of a tasteful conversation, not a raucous competition.

There were no histrionics at Fairbourne’s auctions. No cajoling for more bids, and no sly implications of hidden values. Obediah was the least dramatic auctioneer in England, but the lots went for more than they should when he brought down his hammer. Bidders trusted him and forgot their natural caution. Emma’s father had once remarked that Obediah reminded men of their first valet, and women of their dear uncle Bertie.

She did not leave her spot near the wall, not even when Mr. Nightingale directed the crowd’s attention to the
paintings and objets d’art near her. Some of the people in the room would remember that her father stood here during the sales. Right in this spot where she now was.

As the final lots approached, Mr. Nightingale retreated from his position to stand beside her. She thought that odd, but he had been most solicitous today in every way. One might think his own father had taken that fatal fall, from the way he accepted the condolences of the patrons during the preview, almost losing his composure several times.

As soon as the hammer came down on the last lot, Emma exhaled a sigh of relief. It had gone much better than she had dared hope. She had succeeded in buying some time.

Noise filled the high-ceilinged chamber as conversation broke out and chairs scraped the wooden floor. From his place beside her, Mr. Nightingale spoke farewells to the society matrons who favored him with flirtatious smiles and to a few gentlemen who condescended to show him familiarity.

“Miss Fairbourne,” he said while he bestowed his charming smile on the people passing by. “If the day has not tired you too much, I would like a few words with you in private after they have all gone.”

Her heart sank. He was going to leave his situation. Mr. Nightingale was an ambitious young man and he would see no future here now. He no doubt assumed they would just close the doors after today. Even if they did not, he would not want to remain at the auction house without the connections her father had provided him.

Her gaze shifted to the rostrum, where Obediah was stepping down. It would be a blow to lose Mr. Nightingale. If Obediah Riggles left, however, Fairbourne’s would definitely cease to exist.

“Of course, Mr. Nightingale. Why don’t we go to the storage now, if that will suffice.”

She walked in that direction with Mr. Nightingale beside
her. She paused to praise Obediah, who blushed in his self-effacing way.

“Perhaps you will be good enough to meet me here tomorrow, Obediah? I would like your advice on some matters of great importance,” she added.

Obediah’s face fell. He assumed she wanted advice on how to close Fairbourne’s, she guessed. “Of course, Miss Fairbourne. Would eleven o’clock be a good time?”

“A perfect time. I will see you then.” As she spoke she noticed that two men had not yet left the exhibition hall. Southwaite and his companion still stood back there, watching the staff remove the paintings from the walls in order to deliver them to the winning bidders.

Southwaite caught her eye. His expression commanded her to remain where she was. He began walking toward her. She pretended she had not noticed. She urged Mr. Nightingale forward, so she could escape to the storage chamber.

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Jove titles by Madeline Hunter

RAVISHING IN RED

PROVOCATIVE IN PEARLS

SINFUL IN SATIN

DANGEROUS IN DIAMONDS

THE SURRENDER OF MISS FAIRBOURNE

THE CONQUEST OF LADY CASSANDRA

Specials

“AN INTERRUPTED TAPESTRY”

FROM TAPESTRY