Page 6 of Avenging the Earl's Lady
Dear God.Shaldon had not given the painting to his daughter yet.Steal it from Shaldon, not Perry?Perhaps he wouldn’t prosecute, but he’d chase her to the farthest corners of the world to get back what was his.
But if Lady Shaldon wanted her daughter to have it, then technically she’d be stealing from Perry, who didn’t want the painting and would surely understand, as long as Jane didn’t sell it to the Duque.
She shoved the letters into her pocket, found her Kashmiri shawl, and pulled it around her.It had been her brother’s last gift and wrapping herself in the vibrant reds and oranges of the rich print always brought him closer.
She’d considered selling the shawl if she must.But the painting was so much more valuable.
Would Shaldon leave it here at Gorse Point Cottage?
“What of the painting, Jenny?”she asked.“Did his lordship say whether he is taking it?”
“No, milady.”
Perry’s gaze narrowed.“Why?”
Her chest squeezed and she gulped for air.“I wondered.You said it was quite valuable.”
Perry shook her head.“Quite valuable to the right buyer.You must tell me what you’re thinking.”
What she was thinking?
She waved a hand.“Mere nonsense.I was…thinking about Sirena.About what she would say.She’d say the painting was cursed.She’d say whoever transported it might…might bring bad luck with them.”
That nonsense tale was good enough to make Perry laugh.
And when had Lady Jane Montfort ever been so quick with a lie?She’d always been far more ponderous in her plotting.
“If you’re worried about Father’s safety traveling with it, you mustn’t be.But I’ll find out his plans for it.Fox will tell me.Where are you going?”
“I need some fresh air.I’m going for a walk.Alone.”
A few minutesearlier
In the dining room, Edward Everly, Earl of Shaldon, poured another cup of coffee and studied the letter spread before him.
“Is Kingsley well?”Kincaid asked.
He smoothed the paper.“Bakeley doesn’t say.He’s aboard a British naval vessel and will be arriving in Portsmouth within the month.”
“Good that he’s returning,” Kincaid said.“What has the able privateer found, I wonder?”
“Nothing he would entrust to a letter.”
“We’d best set a stout guard when we take the painting down to London.”
“The best place for it is Cransdall.”His country estate was well protected, and the painting had hung on the wall of his wife’s bedchamber there for many years.
He glanced at the sideboard.Since its removal decades ago from New Spain, it hadn’t fared well.His late wife, Felicity, had held off restoring it, fearing it would lose value.Always one to consider the price of things, was Felicity.
It had arrived in England rolled up on a privateer’s ship, and ten years ago, Fox had rolled it again for transporting.The paint had cracked in places, and Fenwick’s care had not involved any more than reframing.
And the fool hadn’t known what he’d had in that frame.
“Did Felicity know the true value?”Kincaid asked.
He shook his head.He’d not known the painting’s secrets himself when he’d presented it to her as a gift early in their marriage.As he’d suspected, she was delighted with the subject matter of the painting—and its intrinsic value as a masterpiece.Had she known more she would have funded her own explorations.“No.Among us, only the two of us, Farnsworth, and Kingsley.And San Sebastian, of course.”
“And whoever wrote down the coordinates,” Kincaid said.“I wonder if Fox copied the markings accurately?”Kincaid rubbed at his bandaged chest.“Probably not, else San Sebastian would not still be looking for missing treasure.Is there aught else of import in Bakeley’s letter?”
