Secrets and Sensibilities: A Regency Romance Mystery (The Lady Emily Capers Book 1) by Regina Scott Page A
Authors: Regina Scott
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proclaimed.
“The fresh air is good for one’s constitution,” Ariadne
agreed. “Any number of medical experts agree.”
“I find even the air of the stable invigorating,” Lady Emily
added.
“I have the most darling riding habit,” Priscilla confessed.
“I’ve been longing to show it to you, my lord.”
“Wonderful,” he said with a smile. “If you follow that stair
at the end of the gallery, you should arrive in the rotunda. Yell and someone
will show up. Ask them to lead you to the stables and tell a groom to escort
you. I understand we have any number of horses.”
They obligingly turned and strolled to the stair,
conversation once more animated. Miss Alexander started to go after them, but
he caught her arm.
“Won’t you be joining them, my lord?” she asked, clearly
confused.
“I don’t ride,” David told her, grinning. “I’ve never even
designed a saddle. It’s a waste of good leather, if you ask me.”
“But the girls,” she protested, glancing toward the now
empty stair.
“Will be just fine,” he replied, linking her arm in his.
“They will be happier, and we will be happier. The grooms seem like nice
fellows. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to take the girls out riding. I bet you
already know that you’re the only one who’ll really appreciate a tour of this
place.”
“But Priscilla,” she tried, out of duty, he thought.
“Has most likely seen it all before. She visits often, I’m
told.”
The frown on her face told him she was struggling with the
idea of neglecting her duty. She sighed. “In truth, my lord,” she confessed, “I
don’t ride either. If you truly think they will be fine without me, I should
probably retire to my room until they return.”
“Nonsense,” David asserted. “I told you I had work for you
to do, and since you find yourself free, I’d like you to start right away.
There are several paintings that need to be identified. One’s by a fellow named
Rembrandt.”
She gasped. “You have a Rembrandt?”
“It was hidden away. Come on, I’ll show you.”
The next two hours were some of the most enjoyable he had
spent at Brentfield. He took her to a little-used room at the back of the west
wing, carefully checking the corridor before he unlocked the door. She gasped
again when she saw the pieces piled about the walls. The classical picture of a
warrior and a sleeping goddess she identified with awe as being painted by
Nicolas Poussin, apparently a rather famous French painter from nearly two
hundred years earlier. The colorful piece of an open-air festival she told him
was done by Antoine Watteau, another Frenchman who had painted in the last
century. The fat females cavorting in their all together she claimed, with nary
a blush, belonged to the Flemish painter Rubens. All were the masterpieces he
had suspected.
She was just as interested with the other pieces in the
room. While she rolled her eyes at the bust some long-ago Tenant had tried to
cast himself, she caught her breath at the other bronze sculpture of a rearing
stallion. He watched with pleasure as she dared to stroke the marble of a small
statue one of his forebears must have stolen from a Greek temple and grinned as
she gazed with wonder at the gold and lapis death mask that had surely been
retrieved from an Egyptian tomb.
When she stepped away from the mask, her eyes were serious.
“Priscilla said last night that the house should be opened to tours,” she told
him. “As an artist and an art teacher, I must agree. These treasures should be
shared with others, not piled up in a back room. You must put these on display,
my lord.”
“Only if I can assure their safety,” David replied. Although
he had only spoken of the matter to Asheram, he somehow knew that Hannah
Alexander would understand as well. “I have some concerns about these
treasures, Miss Alexander. I found them hidden.”
She blinked. “Hidden? Why? Where?”
David grinned at her, feeling as if she would
“The fresh air is good for one’s constitution,” Ariadne
agreed. “Any number of medical experts agree.”
“I find even the air of the stable invigorating,” Lady Emily
added.
“I have the most darling riding habit,” Priscilla confessed.
“I’ve been longing to show it to you, my lord.”
“Wonderful,” he said with a smile. “If you follow that stair
at the end of the gallery, you should arrive in the rotunda. Yell and someone
will show up. Ask them to lead you to the stables and tell a groom to escort
you. I understand we have any number of horses.”
They obligingly turned and strolled to the stair,
conversation once more animated. Miss Alexander started to go after them, but
he caught her arm.
“Won’t you be joining them, my lord?” she asked, clearly
confused.
“I don’t ride,” David told her, grinning. “I’ve never even
designed a saddle. It’s a waste of good leather, if you ask me.”
“But the girls,” she protested, glancing toward the now
empty stair.
“Will be just fine,” he replied, linking her arm in his.
“They will be happier, and we will be happier. The grooms seem like nice
fellows. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to take the girls out riding. I bet you
already know that you’re the only one who’ll really appreciate a tour of this
place.”
“But Priscilla,” she tried, out of duty, he thought.
“Has most likely seen it all before. She visits often, I’m
told.”
The frown on her face told him she was struggling with the
idea of neglecting her duty. She sighed. “In truth, my lord,” she confessed, “I
don’t ride either. If you truly think they will be fine without me, I should
probably retire to my room until they return.”
“Nonsense,” David asserted. “I told you I had work for you
to do, and since you find yourself free, I’d like you to start right away.
There are several paintings that need to be identified. One’s by a fellow named
Rembrandt.”
She gasped. “You have a Rembrandt?”
“It was hidden away. Come on, I’ll show you.”
The next two hours were some of the most enjoyable he had
spent at Brentfield. He took her to a little-used room at the back of the west
wing, carefully checking the corridor before he unlocked the door. She gasped
again when she saw the pieces piled about the walls. The classical picture of a
warrior and a sleeping goddess she identified with awe as being painted by
Nicolas Poussin, apparently a rather famous French painter from nearly two
hundred years earlier. The colorful piece of an open-air festival she told him
was done by Antoine Watteau, another Frenchman who had painted in the last
century. The fat females cavorting in their all together she claimed, with nary
a blush, belonged to the Flemish painter Rubens. All were the masterpieces he
had suspected.
She was just as interested with the other pieces in the
room. While she rolled her eyes at the bust some long-ago Tenant had tried to
cast himself, she caught her breath at the other bronze sculpture of a rearing
stallion. He watched with pleasure as she dared to stroke the marble of a small
statue one of his forebears must have stolen from a Greek temple and grinned as
she gazed with wonder at the gold and lapis death mask that had surely been
retrieved from an Egyptian tomb.
When she stepped away from the mask, her eyes were serious.
“Priscilla said last night that the house should be opened to tours,” she told
him. “As an artist and an art teacher, I must agree. These treasures should be
shared with others, not piled up in a back room. You must put these on display,
my lord.”
“Only if I can assure their safety,” David replied. Although
he had only spoken of the matter to Asheram, he somehow knew that Hannah
Alexander would understand as well. “I have some concerns about these
treasures, Miss Alexander. I found them hidden.”
She blinked. “Hidden? Why? Where?”
David grinned at her, feeling as if she would
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