Ducal Encounters 03 - Portrait of a Duke

by Wendy Soliman

  Vince treated his youngest brother to a withering glare. “We shall know after a couple of days, I expect.”

  The conversation between the brothers became more general after that but Vince took little part in it. Nate’s comment about his attachment to Nia had struck a chord. If he had noticed, then his mother most certainly also had. Vince had not thought he was being quite so obvious, which was ridiculous since he had devoted all of his attention to Nia the entire evening. Even though the rest of his family did not know about the kiss, he had obviously made his partiality apparent. It was a timely reminder not do to give the lady herself the wrong impression. He enjoyed her lively company as much as he admired her determination to protect her grandfather; but there could be nothing more to their association than that.

  He suspected she was sincere in her desire to remain single, return to Ireland after her grandfather’s exhibition, and care for him in his declining years. That was all to the good since the only honourable way to pursue Nia was with marriage as his goal. Nia’s enthusiastic response to his kiss told Vince that not pursuing her would be an almost impossible resolve to adhere to, since he had never desired a female more. Whether Nia realised it or not, she was equally drawn to him and it would not be difficult to persuade such a sensuous creature to do more than merely kiss him.

  And yet he could not go that far. His gentlemanly instincts waged an increasingly desperate battle with his baser side. It was a battle he would probably lose, especially when Nia looked at him with such burning and unguarded curiosity reflected in her eyes. She might live beneath the same roof as a courtesan, but there the similarity between their backgrounds ended. Vince had been looking forward to her visits to the Park with her grandfather. Now he accepted that if he found himself alone with her, he might not be able to control himself. Ye gods, the chit had a lot to answer for!

  “You’re quiet, Vince,” Nate said, swirling brandy around in his glass. “Can’t imagine what occupies that vacant brain of yours.”

  Vince chastised his irrepressible brother with sardonic look. “Nothing could if, as you suggest, it is vacant,” he replied indolently. “Besides, you are perfectly capable of talking enough for all four of us.”

  Amos laughed. “Can’t deny that one, Nate.”

  Nate laughed too. “Just because I am an astute student of human nature and have much to say about my observations, that does not make me a rattletrap.”

  “We noticed you observing Miss Ash a little too assiduously,” Zach said.

  “I say, what a woman! No offence to Trafford, but she’s wasted on him.”

  “Nate, she’s old enough to be your mother,” Vince reminded him.

  “Hardly that.” Nate’s smile was irrepressible. “Besides older women have the advantage of experience on their side.”

  “Leave her alone,” Zach said mildly. “We are trying to help Trafford, not create more problems for him.”

  “Which is why I don’t like Portia making moon eyes at Sean Trafford,” Amos added, scowling. “I was watching them at dinner and I have never seen her half so animated before.”

  “Portia compares herself to Annalise and finds herself wanting,” Vince said. “We all know she didn’t enjoy her first season, even though she received her share of attention.”

  “But no offers, in spite of her substantial dowry,” Nate added. “Whereas I lost count of the number of coves who sought your permission to address Annalise, Zach. No wonder she doesn’t bother to make the best of herself.”

  “Portia is attractive in a different way to Annalise,” Vince said pensively. “She prefers being at home to the whirlwind of a London season.”

  “So do all the rest of us,” Amos pointed out.

  “Yes, but we are not on the marriage mart, thank God,” Nate said, shuddering. “Whereas young ladies are expected to marry as soon as they come out, and are looked down upon if they do not. Besides, most females enjoy all the rigmarole.”

  “Quite, but Portia is too sensible to conform to society’s expectations, which is perhaps why no offers for her hand were forthcoming. I noticed several men take an interest in her but she discouraged them so firmly that they were probably scared to approach you, Zach,” Vince said with a wry smile.

  Amos curled his upper lip disdainfully. “If they are that weak, they would be no good for Portia. Our sister deserves a man with backbone.”

  “Quite so. And now she has found a charismatic one here in the country who showed what she thinks is a genuine interest in her, it has completely turned her head.” Zach frowned. “But it simply won’t serve. Trafford will return to Ireland with his grandfather and sons. I don’t see Portia taking on another woman’s children and his demented father. I want better for her than that.”

  “I want to protect our sister’s interests every bit as much as the rest of you,” Vince said pensively. “But I think we are reading too much into one evening during which she enjoyed a gentleman’s society because he had the good manners to make himself agreeable to her. She ought to be able to do that without us reading too much into it.”

  “She was completely taken with him,” Zach replied. “Which you would have noticed for yourself, were you not so busy entertaining Miss Trafford.”

  “You are worrying about nothing. She will have no occasion to see him again for some time. Sean Trafford will not accompany his father here at the Park while he paints your portrait, Zach,” Vince assured his brother, wondering why he felt the need to defend any man who showed too much interest in his sister. Normally his suspicions would be aroused, along with those of the rest of his brothers. But he had convinced himself Sean Trafford was no fortune hunter; merely a charming Irish rogue who enjoyed the society of women. Portia deserved to have some fun. “And Annalise expects Portia to join her in Southampton next week. By the time she returns, hopefully the portrait will be almost complete, and the Traffords will have the exhibition planned, after which they will return directly to Ireland. There, does that set your mind at rest?”

  “I shall not spare the matter another moment’s concern,” Zach replied drolly.

  “Do you really think the forger will show himself when the portrait is unveiled?” Amos asked after a short pause in the conversation. “He must know Trafford’s family are aware of his activities. It would be foolhardy to take the risk.”

  “Yes, but someone arrogant enough to forge paintings by a living artist is unlikely to be able to resist viewing that artist’s latest efforts,” Nate said in a speculative tone. “He will assume he is above suspicion and will be interested in Trafford’s landscapes, probably in the expectation that they will be easier to forge than portraits.”

  “I agree with you, for once,” Vince said, rotating his neck to dislodge the tension that had settled in his shoulders. “I think I might go up to town for a few days.”

  “And pass up on the opportunity to enjoy Miss Trafford’s society while she is here at the Park?” Nate’s eyebrows shot up. “I believe our brother thinks he might be in danger, Zach.”

  That was precisely what Vince did think, but his only response was a withering glare in Nate’s direction. The plain fact of the matter was that if he spent too much time with Nia, he would not be able to help encouraging her expectations; if expectations she had. Since he had shown her too much attention already, he could only suppose that she did, and couldn’t blame her for that. Seducing a lady of Nia’s class would be unthinkable, but it was all he seemed able to think about. Nothing could come of his growing obsession with her. An obsession that he had convinced himself would wither if he distanced himself from her.

  “Why the sudden desire to go to town?” Zach asked. “There will be no one there worth knowing at this time of year.”

  “I have a mind to set the cat amongst the pigeons,” Vince replied with a rakish grin.

  “In what respect?” Zach and Amos asked together.

  “I shall make myself known to Trafford’s agent, Belling, and a few other leading fig
ures in the art world. Let them know that Trafford is painting your portrait, Zach, and see what interest that produces.”

  “Thinking word will get back to the forger?” Nate suggested.

  “Precisely so. I shall also mention the theft of the sketches of Sophia Ash.”

  “Sophia Ash in her prime, au natural.” Nate sighed and dramatically clutched at his heart with both hands. “I would pay good money to see those. You have get them back, Vince, you absolutely have to.”

  “It was just a few months ago when our baby brother was sighing over Martha at the Crown and Anchor.”

  “Martha is an angel of mercy,” Nate answered, chuckling. “I believe she showed the three of you a range of celestial pleasures before she got round to me. The time has come to move on. I would not be so selfish as to occupy all of her attentions.”

  “Believe me, little brother,” Zach said, grinning. “Martha does not believe in exclusivity.”

  Vince laughed. “I shall endeavour to oblige with regard to Sophia’s sketches but I don’t suppose they are being touted on the open market.”

  “There is a black market for such merchandise, presumably,” Amos remarked.

  “I am hoping Belling will be able to cast some light on that angle. And while I’m at it, I shall also see if I can engineer a meeting with Smythe at Whites.”

  Amos looked momentarily confused. “Smythe being the person who purchased one of the forgeries, if memory serves.”

  “Yes. He probably knows more about the forger’s identity than he realises. Not that I shall indicate any interest in that particular subject. I shall simply tell him about Trafford’s activities here, he is bound to mention that he owns a Trafford original, and I will steer the conversation in the direction I wish for it to take.”

  “And you will invite him personally to the unveiling of my portrait,” Zack surmised.

  “Naturally.”

  “Don’t worry about Miss Trafford while you are gone,” Nate said as the brothers finished their drinks and headed for the stairs together. “I shall take the very best care of her for you.”

  Vince dealt Nate a chilling glare that set all his brothers chuckling as they climbed the stairs.

  ***

  “We have to stop!” Annie clutched the forger’s lapels. “They know something is wrong. I am perfectly sure of it.”

  The forger disentangled her grubby fingers from his exquisite tailoring. “Calm yourself, my dear, and tell me why you have summoned me here.”

  “Mr. Trafford is going to paint the Duke of Winchester’s portrait. Everyone in the house is talking about it.”

  Damnation, that was all he needed. “Then you were right to call me.”

  “This will make a difference to you, won’t it?”

  “I had not anticipated he would do more portraits, it is true.” He moved away from her. “Just give me a moment to think.”

  “I hear tell they are going to hold a private viewing at the duke’s home in six weeks’ time, along with Mr. Trafford’s landscapes. Lots of people of consequence will be invited.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  The forger scratched his neck as he contemplated this disturbing development. If the new owners of the portraits he had passed off as Trafford originals happened to be there, it could be disastrous. Panic momentarily overcame rational thought. Forcing himself to calm down, the forger assessed the implications from his perspective. Even if his customers did happen to be there, they would not have their paintings with them. Paintings changed hands all the time, through dealers and private transactions. If they mentioned their new acquisitions, no one would think anything about it. Trafford, in his prime, had produced a prodigious number of portraits. He couldn’t possibly remember them all; especially in his current deluded state.

  No, he would be safe enough. But the deal with Lord Barrington might have to be the last one. If Trafford was intimate with influential dukes, it was too dangerous to continue. It was unfortunate, but greed had seen better men than the forger scuppered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nia tried not to resent the fact that there were more problems than usual calling for her attention at Stoneleigh Manor the following morning. Short of sleep, all she really wanted to do was set off for the Park so her grandfather could make a start on the duke’s portrait. Sophia had sent word to say he was bright-eyed and lucid that morning but Nia knew that situation could change at any moment. Time was of the essence.

  “Annie, where are the boys? Have they had their breakfast yet?”

  “I’m not too sure, miss.”

  Nia strove for patience. Annie could be strong-willed and sometimes seemed to forget she was there to serve them; not the other way around. “Well, find them, if you please, as quickly as you can.”

  “I need a word, Miss Trafford,” Mr. Drake said as he strode into the kitchen, a room which to her particular knowledge he had never before ventured into.

  “Not now, Mr. Drake.”

  “I’m sorry, but it cannot wait.”

  “What is so important?” Nia, aware that he would not leave until he had had his say, impatiently pushed the hair back from her face, the ribbon holding it back having already come undone. She should have taken a few minutes to put her hair up properly, but there always seemed to be something more important to do with her time. Besides, even when she did dress her hair, it never stayed in place, so there seemed little point. She reached up and hastily retied the ribbon a little more securely.

  Mr. Drake glanced around the kitchen, looking as though he wanted to ask Hannah and Beth to leave their domain. Nia almost wished he would attempt it: she could do with a diversion. But his common sense, such as it was, prevailed and he did not do so. Instead, he turned away from them and spoke to Nia in a lowered voice.

  “About our recent discussion,” he said. “Have you had an opportunity to give it more consideration?”

  Nia planted her clenched fists on her hips and looked at him askance. “That is what is so urgent? I have already said all I have to say to you on the matter, and I think it best forgotten.”

  “Forgotten?” He offered her a superior smirk. “Dining with our aristocratic neighbours has turned your head and given you improbable ideas.”

  “I would thank you to remember to whom you are speaking,” Nia replied stiffly, holding on to her temper…somehow.

  “I mean no offence, but I am older than you and do not like to see your head turned in such a manner. The likes of the Sheridans are above our station, you know.”

  “Our station, Mr. Drake? You make it sound as though there is a connection between us, which there most decidedly is not.”

  “You do not know what you are saying.” His insistence that he knew better than her on every subject was tiresome. “Nor do you realise quite how much you have come to rely on my advice. I cannot allow you to get carried away with unrealistic expectations. What sort of protector would that make me?”

  The man was deluded, but before Nia could tell him so, he spoke again.

  “Do you think it wise to risk having your grandfather paint the duke’s portrait? You know very well it will be a disaster.”

  Pondering upon Lord Vincent’s marked attentions of the night before had kept her awake for far too long. She was tired, on edge, and Mr. Drake had chosen an unfortunate time to become proprietorial.

  “Mind your own business!” she said no longer attempting to be civil, for which Mr. Drake had no one but himself to blame.

  Nia glanced through the window and was relieved to see Annie returning with the boys. Her nephews, no respecters of private conversations, would put an end to Mr. Drake’s nonsense. If he continued to plague her with further fictitious declarations of undying love, she would ask him to leave the house, no longer caring if he spread word about her grandfather’s condition. Even so, a tiny part of her still wondered why he was suddenly so very anxious to become engaged to her. He had not shown her any particular attention before they had come
to Winchester, being too wrapped up in himself and his dreary poetry to care about anyone else. But now he seemed desperate to prevent her from becoming intimate with the Sheridans.

  “You are my business, my dear. It is simply that you are not yet ready to acknowledge how close, how dependent upon one another we have become over the months.” Nia shook her head, astonished that Drake actually seemed to believe what he said. “You and I are made for one another and my only desire is to protect and care for you.”

  “And I have already told you that I don’t require your protection.” He opened his mouth as though to protest, but she sliced her hand through the air to silence him. Enough was enough! She had tried to be civil, but if he was not prepared to take a polite no for an answer then she would speak plain. “As far as I am concerned, you are with us under sufferance, Mr. Drake, and if you continue to make a nuisance of yourself then I shall ask you to leave.”

  He sent her a superior smile and slowly shook his head. “You cannot possibly be serious.”

  “My advice is not to put my resolve to the test.” She brushed past him. “Now, you really must excuse me.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing his mouth hang open as she finally shocked him into silence. Then, with an angry hiss, he turned on his heel and left the kitchen. She had no time to dwell upon the incident before the boys barrelled into the room. They were covered from head to foot in wet mud and were closely followed by Ruff, who was just as muddy.

  “What the devil—”

  “We decided to help you, Aunt Nia, by pulling the weeds from the pond—”

  “You did say yesterday that it needed to be cleaned up—”

  “And it’s difficult for the tadpoles—”

  “They have no space to swim about.”

  “But I fell in,” Art said, looking woebegone.

  Nia expelled a deep sigh. “So I see.”

  “Ruff tried to rescue him and I had to rescue them both,” Leo explained.