It was a beautiful home that had been refurbished by Robert Adam in a Palladian style, but while Simone fully appreciated the split marble staircase with its intricate wrought-iron banister and even the paneled ceiling that graced the upper gallery, she was not at all enamored of the shrill aria that was piercing the air with painful determination.
As a rule she avoided such musicale evenings like the plague. Why would anyone with a particle of sense desire to put themself through such torture?
But the note she had received from Mary had been quite urgent, and putting aside her dislike for mangled arias and disapproving dragons she had attired herself in a rather modest gown in dark emerald and made her way to the house of Lady Falstone.
“At last.” Hurrying from a shadowed corner Mary attached herself to Simone before she could reach the open doors to the salon. “I thought you would never arrive.”
Simone grimaced as another shriek echoed through the corridor.
“I very nearly did not. There are few things I detest more than listening to the screeching of endless debutantes without a hairsbreath of talent between the lot of them.”
Mary waved a dismissive hand toward the salon. “I did not request you meet me here for the dubious entertainments. I have something I wish you to see.”
Simone blinked in surprise. “Here?”
“Well, not precisely here. It is upstairs.”
“Mary, you are making no sense.”
The widow tugged her away from the guests still entering the salon. “Lady Falstone was a distant relative of my dearly departed husband and once a month I am duty bound to attend her for tea. Yesterday I arrived and she insisted that I join her in her bedchamber since she was suffering from her gout.”
Simone frowned. “You wish me to see her bedchamber?”
“Actually I wish you to see a private gallery that is at the back of the house.” The dark eyes twinkled with a mischievous light. “I slipped into it on my way to Lady Falstone’s rooms to take a glance at the Van Dyck that has been promised to me.”
Simone was not at all shocked by Mary’s behavior. She made no pretense of her love for the finer things in life.
“Ah, keeping an eye on your inheritance.”
Mary glanced toward the salon with a grimace. “I have never been allowed to so much as peek at the portrait, and to be honest I wished to assure myself that the hours I spend pandering to the nasty old bird is worth the sacrifice.”
“Quite understandable,” Simone murmured, in no position to judge the woman. “Did you find it?”
“Yes, and something else I think you will find interesting. Come along.”
With a frown Simone followed the eager woman down the corridor and up another flight of stairs. She could not image anything of interest that Lady Falstone might possess, but the quicker she allowed herself to view the mysterious object the sooner she could return to her home.
She did not allow herself to consider her desire to hurry back to the empty town house. Certainly it could have nothing to do with the notion that Gideon might make one of his surprise visits.
Nothing at all, she told herself sternly.
Only a woman who had become utterly noddy would desire to spend more time with a gentleman who tied her into such knots she could no longer think straight. Or to wish for the kisses he stole without warning.
Intent on her ridiculous thoughts, she nearly ran into Mary as she came to a halt in a small alcove.
“Wait,” she whispered, glancing up and down the hall. “I believe it is clear, but we must hurry.”
Darting across the hall Mary motioned Simone to join her. Feeling more than a little absurd, Simone crossed at a more dignified pace, her expression wry.
“I feel like a thief. Why are we sneaking about?”
“If Lady Falstone realized I was in her private gallery she would have my head upon a platter.” Mary wrinkled her nose in displeasure. “The paintings were given to her by her fiancé, who disappeared only days before they were to wed. She kept the collection as some rather pathetic shrine to his memory and not even Lord Falstone ever entered without her approval.”
Simone found it impossible to believe the surly old woman had ever cared enough for anyone to create a shrine to his memory. Especially a gentleman who had jilted her at the altar. It would be far more in character to have burned them in the nearest fire. Still, it appeared that she had once upon a time possessed a heart.
“Will the door not be locked?”
Mary gave a short laugh. “Lady Falstone is too filled with her own self-worth to presume anyone would possess the audacity to defy her orders. Would you grab a candle?”
Simone dutifully collected the candelabra on a nearby table and followed her friend into the room. She was startled to discover that it was far larger than she had expected. Nearly a hundred feet long with a modillion cornice in a coved ceiling, the walls were covered by pictures, some enormous and hung in heavy gold frames, while others were small and grouped together. There were no furnishings beyond an ornate chimneypiece and a lone chair set next to a window.
She could have spent hours admiring the masterpieces that had been hidden away, but Mary was already headed toward the far end of the room. She swiftly caught up just as Mary halted next to a small portrait that had been hung by itself in a corner.
“There.”
Simone raised her brows in bewilderment. “It is a portrait.”
“Look closer,” Mary commanded.
Biting back an impatient sigh, Simone lifted the candelabra and studied the dark picture. It took only a moment as the soft light revealed the finely hued countenance of the gentleman for her heart to skid to a halt.
“Good heavens,” she whispered. “It is Mr. Ravel.”
“That is what I thought, until I noted the small plaque,” Mary retorted.
Lowering her gaze Simone read the words engraved into the plaque. “Lord Ravel. Penwhick Castle. 1520 A.D.
“I assure you that it gave me quite a start when I first noticed it.”
Simone’s disbelieving gaze returned to the portrait, noting the heavy velvet and lace that the gentleman wore. Certainly there was no gentleman today who would choose such garments.
“It is impossible.”
“It does look remarkably like him, even that gold ring he wears.”
Simone gave a shake of her head, her breath oddly elusive as she searched for some hint that this was not Gideon.
“It looks precisely like him,” she muttered.
“I suppose it must be a relative of Mr. Ravel’s,” Mary continued to chatter, unaware of the tension gripping Simone.