Chapter 15 #2
That was what Bull called her. Rosie glanced down at the ring she wore. “But the National Portrait Gallery would not sell you the one they owned.”
“Right!” Lady Mistree chuckled. “So I arranged for dear Teddy to steal it.”
A daring daylight robbery by the new Earl of Mistree.
“And Allie’s portrait, the one you tried to steal from us—?”
The old woman smiled smugly. “I could have offered to purchase it from young Miss Hawthorne, of course, but that would not have suited my goals. I got what I wanted for her, but you have made acquiring her portrait more difficult.”
Shaking her head in confusion, Rosie glanced at the nearest portrait.
In this one, the mystery woman was a little younger, standing beside a swing in a garden.
The leaves on the rosebushes behind her were beautifully crafted; Rosie could tell that the artist had put quite a lot of time into the plants.
“That one was her favorite,” Lady Mistree sighed, squeezing Rosie’s hand.
“Her?” Rosie swung her gaze back to the old woman. “These are not portraits of you? I assumed, when you said you wanted them back…”
“To remind myself of my youthful beauty as I slipped from this world? No, although she was always far more beautiful than I.” She nodded to the portraits. “These are all that remain of my younger sister Rosemary. These portraits…and you, my dear.”
Aunt Eliza.
Rosie remembered the genealogical research they’d done yesterday—had it only been yesterday? Before she’d gone to Bull’s room and her life had changed forever? “So you are Elizabeth Smith,” she breathed with a smile.
“Well done, my dear! I knew Bull would benefit from having you at his side. Yes, my sister Rosemary was your mother’s grandmother.
She was considered quite scandalous for taking so many lovers, and I am sorry to say that I do not even know if she could name little Amelia’s father.
But the lassie was precious, and I—I was married to my Reggie by then, and a Countess—made certain she was raised with all the benefits of my station, even after her mother passed.
She married your grandfather quite young.
We thought it might be the beginning of…
well. I am sorry their marriage was not happy. ”
Rosie’s stomach twisted. “You are not alone in that.”
Lady Mistree beamed at Rosie. “But your mother! Oh, your mother found happiness, and soon…” She lifted Rosie’s hand to smile at the ring. “Soon it will be your turn.”
Her sister, in the paintings. She was dying, and she wanted her sister back for a short time. But why would she think…
The truth struck Rosie. “You painted these portraits, did you not, Lady Mistree?”
“Aunt Eliza,” the old woman corrected gently.
And Rosie had to smile. “Aunt Eliza. This is your work. No wonder they are all unsigned. The identity of the artist has been one of the mysteries of this century, you know—second only to the identity of the subject.”
“I used to paint quite extensively, my dear. It was one of the things Reggie liked about me—one of the many things, I flatter myself to admit. But we became interested in touring, and my oils didn’t travel well.
When I tried to take it up again I fear I had lost some of the talent, along with the ability to see things up close… ”
“You had remarkable talent,” Rosie assured her. “And your sister—my great-grandmother—lives on through your work.”
“Yes.” Aunt Eliza sighed in satisfaction as she settled against the bath chair.
“Yes, Rosemary has always lived in my heart, long after her death. She was my dearest friend, and she always said I was hers, for not turning my back on her as the rest of Society had.” Her pale eyes had a glint of humor in them.
“Her Amelia was a serious little thing, but I see my sister in Georgia, and in you. Both you and your mother have been unafraid to grasp what life can offer, and I am so very proud to call you family.”
Rosie’s throat was rough from emotion. “I…am grateful to know you as my aunt.”
“An aunt who might have done some rather naughty things, but all for the greater good, I assure you.”
With a twitch of her brow, Rosie hummed. “Blackmailing poor innocent Allie?”
“Dear Rupert was taking forever getting around to proposing to that poor girl!” Aunt Eliza shook her head. “My letter was intended to retrieve the final portrait and give him the kick in the rear he needed! Otherwise I would have just offered Allison money for the portrait, for goodness’ sake!”
Chuckling, Rosie had to admit the truth as she pulled her hand from her great-great-aunt’s and stood.
“It did nudge them toward marriage, which was quite a nice announcement to finally hear.” She bent and pulled Allie’s portrait from the briefcase, her fingers shaking.
This was it. The end of the puzzle. She had—mostly—solved it.
“And I am certain she would not begrudge you ownership of this. In fact, her intention was initially to send it to you as soon as possible, had Bull not requested a chance to study it.”
“And once you became involved—with that amazing disguise you chose!—I know you recognized the family resemblance and insisted on joining the investigation.” The old woman chuckled again. “A mustache, of that proportion? Really, dear?”
Flushing, Rosie arranged the last portrait on the last easel. “In my defense, it was the only disguise I could think of where Bull would not recognize me right away.”
“You are just as mischievous, just as brave, just as willing to embrace your own fortune as your great-grandmother, my dear.” Aunt Eliza sighed happily, then glanced down at the ring Rosie wore. “And now you shall have the opportunity, with Bull, to embrace your future.”
“I…do not know.”
The old woman hummed. “What is it, my dear?”
Rosie pretended to study the placement of the portrait, scooting it to the left a quarter inch, then back, then left again so she wouldn’t have to meet Aunt Eliza’s eyes when she confessed.
“This case…I was useful to Bull. I know it. Even this ring—it is part of the many disguises I have worn. Not the mustache.” Finally, she grinned ruefully and glanced up.
“Although that was a brilliant disguise. But the others…”
“Are you afraid he was wearing a disguise as well? Do you know his true self?”
Staring in the eyes of her long-dead scandalous great-grandmother, Rosie exhaled. “I know him,” she whispered. “I have always known him. But these last days with him…I see the real him. He is always so loud, so charming, so confident, and suave.”
“Yes, he is,” Aunt Eliza murmured. “Why is that?”
The answer was obvious, now. “Because he secretly is afraid that he is not all those things, and he is making up for that fear.”
She heard the old woman exhale, and when she turned, Rosie saw the older woman beaming, though there were tears in her eyes. “Aunt Eliza?”
“I am so very proud of you for seeing the real Bull, my dear. He has been my friend for a long time, and I care about him greatly.”
“I do, as well,” Rosie whispered.
“I can see that. And you are right about him. He is afraid he does not deserve someone like you.” She glanced at the ring on Rosie’s finger. “Has he told you of his inheritance?”
Inheritance? Who had died? Bull was related by blood and love to quite a few families, but Rosie frowned, trying to remember any who had left him an inheritance. “I do not think so. Who is the inheritance from?”
“Me, my dear!” The old woman chuckled at Rosie’s look of surprise.
“Earlier this year, when I realized how quickly this blasted disease was taking me, I began to give my loved ones—and even a few people I only knew through beloved stories—their inheritances. I pride myself on bringing together a few couples who needed a nudge toward marriage.”
“Oh! Like Rupert and Allie?”
“Yes, indeed.” She smiled proudly. “And Allie’s uncle with Bull’s sister Marcia.
And dear Gabby and Hunter with their current spouses, as well—I claim the credit there, too.
But I was saving something truly special for my Bull.
Something he might not feel he deserves, but which definitely deserves him. ”
With her heart pounding in excitement, Rosie stepped closer to the bath chair. “What was it?” she breathed.
Lady Mistree opened her mouth to answer—but was interrupted by a commotion out in the foyer.
“No—you cannot go in there!” came the cry of the elderly butler, Jones, but it was cut off by the sound of a scuffle and the door flung open, and Rosie whirled around—
To see Bull’s terrified expression as he burst through the door.
She was already reaching for him, stepping forward with her arms out to calm him, when he recognized the woman behind her and his expression eased to one of confusion.
“Rose? Eliza?”
“What in the perfidious cockwobbler is going on here?” Demon roared, barreling into the room behind Bull, chest heaving and fists already raised, not slowly until he was halfway to the portrait collection.
“Who the fook is this? Where’s the blackmailer?
Are ye safe, Rosie? What are ye doing, wearing that thing? ”
Rosie, frozen with her arms out, glanced down at herself. “What thing?” she asked brightly. “Hello, Da.”
“Aye, aye, hello.” Her father waved dismissively, clearly not interested in social niceties, still glaring at her hand. “That ring! Ye’re no’ supposed to be wearing that ring! The cribbling engagement was a lie! Ye’ll no’ wear—”
Rosie’s heart had sunk, and she cut off her father with a sad sort of smile. “Oh yes, this.”
She lifted her hands, palms out, to show her father that she wore the ring, then closed them into fists and turned them so the backs of her hands faced him. She lowered her gaze, performed a casual bit of sleight of hand…
And when she showed her father her hands once more, the ring was gone.