Page 2 of The Work of Art

“Her eyes are extraordinary,” Darly murmured. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

Edgeworth snorted. The oldest man in the room, he had a great property in Hertfordshire and was, for all intents and purposes, little more than a titled farmer. “I had a sheepdog once just the same. One blue eye and one brown. Would hardly call it extraordinary.”

Arthur hadn’t seen her eyes. Even when she’d taken her dog from out of his arms, she’d most decidedly refused to look at him. He’d thought her behavior had something to do with his appearance. Now, however, as he listened to the other men discuss Miss Satterthwaite, it occurred to him that it likely had more to do with her own.

“Her eyes are hardly her only asset, Lord Edgeworth,” Townsend said. “Even a man as particular as you are couldn’t fail to see her other enticements.”

Arthur hadn’t paid much attention to Miss Satterthwaite’s enticements. She’d come into the room in a rush of radiant feminine energy and had left just as quickly, remaining only long enough for him to get an impression of a softly curved figure and a mass of dark auburn hair that was coming loose from the pins meant to hold it.

She might well be beautiful, but things of that nature made no difference to him anymore. He’d only come away from his estate in Somersetshire to transact some business for his father. Once it was concluded, he would return to the country, and as far as he was concerned, he’d be happy if he never saw another living person again.

During a few subdued chuckles, Darly addressed Townsend. “If you intend to see your niece married off, what are you hiding her away for?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Townsend’s cadaverous face. “My sister, Mrs. Vale, has been overseeing the arrangements. Miss Satterthwaite will make her debut into society at Lord and Lady Worthing’s ball on Saturday.”

Darly burst into laughter. “So, that’s your game, is it?”

“The Collector,” Edgeworth said. “He never misses one of Worthing’s soirees.”

The Duke of Moreland was an avid collector of anything rare and valuable. He had a particular attraction to those priceless objects that were one of a kind—highly coveted treasures that, if possessed, would earn him the envy and admiration of other men. Indeed, many said his single-minded pursuit of such rarities pushed the limits of obsession and bordered on the edge of mania.

If he desired some unique item, Moreland would stop at nothing to acquire it. And if, by some chance, complete and total possession managed to evade him—an event which happened infrequently—there were apocryphal tales of the vengeance he’d exacted against those foolish enough to have deprived him of his goal.

Arthur knew of the man’s reputation, but he’d had no idea that Moreland’s passion for collecting extended to human beings.

“I heard Moreland’s on the lookout for a new wife,” Edgeworth said. “Last one died quite suddenly, I believe. Drowned in a fountain, or some such unlikely event.”

“A tragic accident.” Townsend gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “She was a foolish young chit just out of the schoolroom. He’s made it known that his next wife will be of more mature years.”

“How old is your niece?” Darly asked. “I expect she must fit the bill.”

“She is three and twenty.”

Edgeworth tilted back his teacup and downed the contents in one gulp. “If he’s interested in your niece, Townsend, no doubt he’ll make it worth your while.”

Townsend bowed his head in silent acknowledgement.

“It’s rotten luck that at his age he still gets first choice of all the young ladies,” Darly said. “You should introduce her to us.”

“And I shall,” Townsend said. “When you all come to dinner next week.”

Darly set his teacup and saucer down onto a side table with a clatter. “I see no need to delay.”

Townsend frowned. “Regrettably, my lord, I believe Miss Satterthwaite and my daughters have already left for their afternoon walk. Perhaps some other time—”

“Then why don’t we join the ladies?” Darly suggested. “It’s damnably fine weather today. We could all do with some air.”

Townsend was plainly not keen on the proposition, but he wasn’t the type of man to offend his business partners. Especially not over something as inconsequential as an introduction. “Very well. A short turn about the park can do no harm.”

Edgeworth glanced at Arthur. “What say you, Heywood? Are you able, man?” There was a trace of pity in his words. “No shame in begging off.”

Arthur’s hand tightened on the handle of his cane. “I’m confident I can manage.”

“Splendid.” Darly stood, straightening the cuffs of his expensively cut coat. “If we leave at once, I’m sure we’ll catch up with them directly.”

Phyllida Satterthwaite lifted her face to the sun, heedless of the danger its rays might wreak on her complexion. She loved nothing more than fresh air and exercise. Long rambles with her dogs had been a daily occurrence while living with her grandfather in Devonshire. She’d often walked miles to visit the tenants, or to call on friends in the village, with Basil, Jasper, and Dash trotting along at her heels and Fox held safe in her arms.

Those days were but a memory now.