The Lisle brothers did not stay for luncheon, given that Lord Cameron and Gemma were still at odds, their tacit agreement to stop shouting notwithstanding.
Unfortunately for Sophia, this meant that much of the discussion amongst the Beauchamp heiresses—Kerr and Maitland having left that morning for London to take care of business matters—was of the sudden abundance of Lisles in their small part of the county. Not that she was an authority on the subject. It was just that her friends seemed to see her as some sort of window into the minds of the Lisles.
“I suppose it’s not that unusual for the vicar’s brothers to visit him,” Ivy said as she picked up her soup spoon. “It’s just the appearance of two of them separately at around the same time. Don’t you agree, Sophia? What does Benedick say?”
“I am hardly the man’s confidante,” Sophia said with frown. “We are working together on the matter of a possible forger, and he was kind enough to take my side against Mr. Morgan, but it’s not as if we have spent hours together discussing our feelings.”
“You must have talked about something on the drive to and from Primrose Green this morning,” Daphne said, tilting her blond head in that questioning way she had. Normally Sophia found it endearing, but today it had the opposite effect.
“You seemed quite friendly when you burst in on Lord Cameron and me,” Gemma offered with a shrug.
She wasn’t sure why, but Sophia felt cornered, and she didn’t care for it at all.
“I wasn’t expecting the Spanish Inquisition,” she said tartly. “Would you like to go get the thumbscrews, Daphne? I’ll wait.”
Ivy bit back a laugh. “My goodness, it would appear that someone is sensitive over the subject of our handsome vicar.”
“I am nothing of the sort,” Sophia said crossly. “I simply do not enjoy being interrogated by my friends. And my sister. We didn’t quiz you when you were suddenly going off with Lord Kerr on various errands alone.”
“But that implies that your errands with the vicar are of a similar nature,” Daphne said triumphantly. At Sophia’s scowl, she added with a shrug, “It’s logic. You cannot argue with logic, Sophia.”
“Can we not just enjoy our meal without discussing the vicar, or his brothers, or your sudden baseless speculations about the nature of my friendship with him?” It was odd even to Sophia that she was so overset by their teasing. She only knew that whatever it was she had with Ben was new enough to be fragile and might not stand up to the harsh light of day. And aside from that, she had other things to worry about. Ensuring that the most important work of her life was part of the exhibition. Perhaps then she would think about whatever it was she and the vicar had been tiptoeing around.
Besides. She’d seen enough infatuations of a few days’ duration to know that it was far too soon to think about Ben in those terms. For all she knew, he’d meet the love of his life when he was paying calls in the village and not give her a second thought.
To her surprise, since her sister was often her most ardent teaser, it was Gemma who came to her rescue. “I suppose we’ve nettled you enough. Though I hope you will remember this when it comes time for you to scold me about my behavior with Lord Cameron.”
“My maid told me she heard the shouting from the laundry,” Daphne said with an admiring glance at Gemma. “I must admit I enjoyed hearing that you gave the male editor of a scholarly journal a set down. I’ve known several in my time who deserved worse.”
“Do not encourage her,” Sophia said, giving her sister a speaking look. “It might have been cathartic, but it really is not the thing to shout at a gentleman you don’t even know. Though I do know your nerves were overset, Gemma, you must know you crossed a line. As did Lord Cameron. It was badly done on both your parts.”
“So much for not scolding me,” Gemma said under her breath. Aloud she said, “I am sorry for losing my temper. It was not becoming. And I am grateful you arrived when you did.”
“And I’m sorry you were so upset,” Sophia said, grasping her sister by the hand. “I must confess, I find it difficult to believe that Lord Cameron’s manners are so lacking given…”
“I thought we weren’t going to speak of the Lisle brothers any longer,” Daphne cut in. “I really wish someone would ensure that we keep this conversation on track. I don’t know if I’m coming or going.”
Sophia felt a pang of conscience. Daphne was right. She was being hypocritical.
“Good point, Daphne,” she said with a nod. “I broke my own rule.”
They were silent for a moment as they concentrated on the delicious fish pie cook had presented for luncheon.
“Where is Serena today?” Sophia asked, noting for the first time that their chaperone—and sister to the Duke of Maitland—was absent from the table. “She would have reined us in before we came to such a pass.”
“Jeremy has a cold, poor dear, and Serena is sitting with him while he’s feeling poorly,” Ivy said with a sympathetic frown. “She’s taking a tray in the nursery.”
Though the boy was old enough to have been sent away to school, Serena was determined to keep her son at home and away from the often brutal realities of Eton for as long as she could. Sophia couldn’t blame her. Especially given the bad behavior the boy had already witnessed from his now deceased father.
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Sophia said aloud. “Is there anything we can do?”
“She says not.” Ivy shrugged. “I already asked. And Dr. Holmes had a look in on him yesterday when he was here to see you. He says it’s nothing to worry about.”
Both Lady Serena and Jeremy had become dear to the heiresses in their time at Beauchamp House, and the ladies discussed possible trinkets available in town they might purchase for the child. Nothing too dear, but well suited to divert an ailing child from his misery.
Once they’d settled on a plan, the conversation turned to the exhibition.
“You didn’t tell us what the Primbles said about your paintings, Sophia,” Gemma said. “Are they going to back you against Morgan?”
“Yes,” Sophia said, pleased with that portion of the visit to the Primbles. She filled them in on what the couple had said regarding her place in the exhibition, and their assessment of Ryder as the possible forger.
“Is he the unpleasant fellow who none-too-subtly attempted to determine the amount of each potential dance partner’s dowry before he would sign their dance cards?” Gemma asked with a look of disgust. “He is not terrible to look at, but I confess I cannot understand why any of the young ladies present consented to stand up with him.”
“He has the unqualified support of his patron.” Ivy’s mouth pursed in distaste. “Ryder himself might not have wealth or talent, but he has the support of Morgan. And Morgan is not without some degree of influence. Both in Little Seaford, and in some circles in a certain part of London. He may not be a pillar of polite society, but he holds some sway in the middle class. And like it or not, many genteel families with land have a need for the infusion of funds that a connection to Morgan might give them.”
If it had been Morgan she and Ben overheard at the ball, perhaps the politician’s support of Ryder wasn’t as strong as they thought. Without any means of identifying the voices they’d heard, however, it was entirely possible it was someone else who threatened murder. Given her own animus toward Morgan, it would be so much more satisfying to learn he was a criminal. But the truth of the matter was she had no idea. Not with any degree of certainty.
“Did any of you get the feeling that anyone else was particularly interested in Ryder at the ball?” she asked her friends. “Not ladies, but perhaps men who seemed to be taking him under their wing. In a manner similar to the way Morgan did?”
“He seemed to be very friendly with the mayor, Mr. Ivens, and of course Mr. Framingham, but he owns one of the galleries in town, so that’s not unusual,” Gemma said. “Why do you ask?”
At the mention of Framingham, Sophia’s heart began to beat faster. As owner of one of the two galleries in town, Framingham was in a prime position to sell forged paintings. He had the connections in town that would allow him to know exactly what sort of works the newly wealthy middle class were seeking to furnish their homes with. And he knew which artists were least likely to draw suspicion from the authorities. It was much less risky to attempt to sell a forged version of a work by lesser-known Renaissance artists, than, say Tintoretto. And Framingham would know that.
Surely it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary if she were to pay a visit to Framingham’s gallery while they were in town purchasing things for little Jeremy.
“So,” she said, trying to sound casual, “are we all agreed that a trip to the village is in order this afternoon? I should also like to look at the selection of ribbon at White’s. My chip bonnet is sadly in need of refurbishing and I’d like a little project to take my mind of this business with Morgan.”
To her relief, no one seemed to guess the secondary reason for her enthusiasm for the shopping excursion. And, not too much later, all four ladies were settled in the open carriage, on their way into Little Seaford.
* * *
Jeffries was waiting at the door when Ben arrived back at the vicarage from Beauchamp House, accompanied by Cam.
That another of the vicar’s brothers had arrived for a visit seemed not to faze him. But the note that had come while Ben was out seemed to be burning the hand that held it.
“This came for you, my lord,” he said with a speaking look as he handed it over. “It was tucked into the door jamb. I found it just after you left this morning.”
It wasn’t unusual for Ben, as the local clergyman, to receive anonymous notes, deliveries of produce as tithe, and even once a cage of chickens. But something about this note must be troubling his butler.
“What’s amiss, Jeffries?” he asked, ignoring the smirk on Cam’s face. His brother’s wandering allowed him to get through life without the responsibility of personal servants. He claimed it was the best way to live, though Ben had his doubts.
“It’s just that this arrived without me knowing it, my lord,” the butler said in a low, harassed voice. “I always know when someone is delivering something. Even the chickens.”
Since the chickens had been rather loud it wasn’t exactly a glowing example of the man’s all-knowing nature.
“Well, it does happen sometimes,” Ben reassured him. “Even the sharpest eye can miss a detail from time to time.”
That didn’t seem to appease the man, but he took himself off to the kitchens to perhaps vent his frustration on the cook.
“I suppose I’ll take myself off, then,” Cam said with a wry grin. “When you begin dealing with domestic issues, it’s time for me to go back to my vagabond life.”
“You just got here,” Ben said, not really surprised, but not willing to let his brother off the hook either. “At least Freddie stayed a couple of days when he breezed through.”
“I came to confront the man I thought had insulted me,” Cam said with a shrug. “Now that I’ve discovered he’s a lady, I have no more need to be here.”
“You can’t cozen me, brother. I saw the way you looked at her when she wasn’t looking at you.” Ben had been amused to see his usually diffident brother fall under the spell of Gemma’s spirit. She was lovely—though he was partial to her sister’s softer beauty, of course—and Cam had definitely been intrigued.
“And that is exactly why I need to leave,” Cam said ruefully. “I might be attracted, but a smart man removes himself from danger before it becomes a real risk. You’d do well to do the same if you know what’s good for you.”
“Perhaps I’m not so fearful of getting caught,” Ben said with a shrug. In fact, he was rather certain he’d found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
It took a moment for the realization to sink in.
He blinked.
He wanted to get caught. He wanted to marry her.
Miss Sophia Hastings.
Ben felt the uncanny sensation of rightness that came from knowing his own mind.
He’d only experienced it one other time in his life: when he decided to follow his heart and join the church.
Despite the fact that he was grinning like an idiot, however, his brother was, as per usual, oblivious.
“To each his own,” Cam said with a shake of his head. “I’m going to go back to my happy bachelor life and leave you to your little artist. Don’t want any of that nonsense rubbing off on me. It’s bad enough Archer and Freddie have fallen.”
One day, Ben thought wryly as he cuffed his brother on the shoulder. One day Cam would succumb to love’s siren song.
However he might try to avoid it.
“The next time you come for a visit, please endeavor not to overset my lady or her sister,” he said aloud. Though despite the chiding remark, he was sad to see him go. He missed his brothers, living as he did, away from them.
But Cam didn’t seem to mind the scold. “I’ll do my best, though you know I’ve got a particular knack for setting up ladies’ backs.”
And with an answering clap on his elder brother’s shoulder, he took himself off.
When he was gone, Ben took the anonymous note to his study, poured himself a brandy, and broke the seal on the missive.
I HAVE INFORMATION ABOUT THE PAINTINGS. COME TO FRAMINGHAM GALLERY TODAY AT 3PM
A FRIEND
He’d donned his hat and coat again and was on his way into the village before the brandy settled again inside the cut crystal glass.