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“Nicole,” Theodore leaned forward, his eyes sharp with intrigue. “These meetings—could you describe the man? Anything distinctive about him?”
She met Theodore’s intense gaze. “Distinguished, silver hair, and his hands... they always fidgeted with a gold signet ring—a crest I couldn’t quite place.”
“Signet rings are often familial,” Theodore interjected, his mind racing through the lineage of nobles. “Nicole, do you think you could sketch the crest?”
“Maybe,” she hesitated. “I’ll need to concentrate.” She reached for her purse and the pencil and paper she kept there.
“Take your time,” he encouraged.
As she sketched, Theodore watched over her shoulder.
“Here,” Nicole finally said.
“Oh wow,” Theodore murmured. The crest belonged to a lineage thought loyal, an allegiance woven into the very fabric of the kingdom.
“Is it familiar?” Nicole asked.
“It is,” Theodore affirmed, his hand involuntarily clenching into a fist. “It’s the insignia of the House of Bellamy.”
“Would they have reason to conspire with Christopher?”
“Until now, I would’ve thought not.” Theodore’s gaze turned distant as he thought about all the places he’d seen the family in question. “But desperation breeds strange alliances.”
“Then we must be careful,” Nicole said softly. “We’ll unravel this plot thread by thread.”
“Indeed,” Theodore agreed. “And shield James from those who want to harm him.”
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Nicole’s fingers danced across the cool ivory of her telephone. She asked questions that on the surface meant nothing, but underneath would explain so much.
“Mr. Henderson, how lovely to hear your voice,” Nicole said. “I was just reminiscing about the lovely Van Gogh you admired last week. By the way, have you seen Marquis Christopher lately? He mentioned an acquisition that piqued my interest.”
Each conversation she had with her patrons was a piece of the puzzle, and Nicole felt the image of conspiracy slowly materializing before her mind’s eye.
Later, in the backroom of the gallery, Theodore and Nicole met to exchange information.
“Any word from the Countess?” Theodore asked.
“Nothing concrete,” Nicole replied. “But she hinted at a gathering—somewhere private.”
“Interesting,” he mused. “We must find out more.”
As the days passed, each telephone call Nicole made gathered more pieces of the puzzle that lay before them.
“Christopher was quite taken with the Rembrandt, you say?” she probed. “I wonder what draws him to such somber pieces.”
“Perhaps it mirrors something within him,” Theodore suggested later, their shadows merging as they leaned close in the dimness of the backroom. “A darkness we’ve yet to uncover.”
“Or a clue to his intentions,” Nicole countered.
“Tell me everything,” he insisted, his gaze intense, searching hers for secrets she had yet to divulge.
“Patience,” she said softly. “We mustn’t rush or we risk alerting him.”
“Here,” Nicole said, her finger tracing the intricate pattern etched into the margin of an old auction catalog. “Do you see it? The symbol matches the one on Christopher’s seal.”
“It does. Perhaps Christopher’s family is selling off their heirlooms because of money trouble? There have been no rumors, but not all rumors reach the ears of the royal family.”
“We need to work faster. Our country won’t be happy for long without James making his presence known. Your father may be king, but James is the face of the monarchy.”
