Olivia returned her eager attention to the petite, plump woman in front of her. "And your collection—are these chinoiserie pieces?"
"There are a few, but mostly it consists of jewelry, shells, and gems. I inherited them directly from my grandfather, an East Indiaman captain. All the items are separate from the Cloverton estate holdings. I would require you to catalog the pieces and estimate their value and, if all goes according to plan, discreetly identify buyers."
Olivia gripped her hands behind her to contain her mounting enthusiasm. Was her dream about to be realized? Was she being sought out for her professional reputation?
Dozens of questions rattled in her mind, but her uncle's sharp stare reinforced her place. Since her father's death, she'd been reduced to little more than an assistant at Brannon Antiquities & Company, and he was keen that she should not forget it.
"Perhaps my uncle should join us," she suggested reluctantly. "He's well- versed in the—"
"That will not do," Mrs. Milton snapped, her sky-blue eyes sharp and direct. "My nephew, the new master of Cloverton Hall, has recently taken up residence there, and he must know nothing of this. I've no doubt he'd attempt to challenge my claim to my collection and acquire it as his own. If your uncle, a known antiquities purveyor, were to arrive at my invitation, tongues would wag, whereas no one would question your presence."
Fearing the offer might vanish straightaway, Olivia blurted, "I'd be honored to join you at Cloverton Hall at such a time that is agreeable to you, Mrs. Milton. I know you would not be disappointed with my work."
Mrs. Milton pursed her narrow lips and stroked the little dog's fur with her free hand, as if completely accustomed to others acquiescing to her will. "I'm glad to hear it. My nephew's to host a house party to introduce his companions to Cloverton Hall, and he has requested that I act as his hostess. Normally I'd refuse such a ridiculous display, but I see it as an opportunity. You shall attend as my guest."
Olivia had heard about these gatherings—where wealthy members of society descended upon a grand country house and indulged in lavish entertainment for a fortnight or so. Never in her wildest imaginings did she think she'd ever be invited to one.
"We shall depart next Wednesday. While there, you'll participate in the entertainment and activities to avoid raising any speculation, but you can conduct your evaluations during the morning hours and as time permits."
A dozen concerns bombarded Olivia. She did not possess the proper attire. How was one to behave in such a setting? But those issues could all be addressed. She owed it not only to herself but to her younger sister, Laura, to seize every opportunity to advance herself.
"As for a fee," Mrs. Milton continued, "I assume it will be as any other such transaction—you'll receive a percentage of the purchase price once it is sold. In the meantime, I'll provide your board and proper attire for your trouble."
Olivia ignored the stab at the simple charcoal-gray printed muslin gown that currently adorned her frame, for it didn't matter. Nothing mattered more to her than securing this opportunity. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good. My maid will contact you with other pertinent details and make arrangements for my modiste to visit you. I'll apprise her of the clothing you'll require. Remember above all, this must be done with absolute discretion. To everyone else present, you will simply be my guest."
Mrs. Milton bid them a staunch farewell, exited their modest shop, and accepted the help of her liveried footman to reenter her carriage. Only after the ornate vehicle lurched into motion and plumed a trail of dust into the thick afternoon air did Olivia dare to move a muscle.
The sense that her life was about to change flared within—and she was eager to begin.
CHAPTER TWO
Olivia had overstepped a boundary. A significant one.
The herbaceous scent of Mrs. Milton's lily of the valley perfume lingered even after her departure. The mantel clock's steady rhythm seemed unusually sharp in the otherwise still silence, as if it, too, was anticipating her uncle's censure.
"So, you've made a decision, have you?" Thomas Brannon grunted at last, his baritone voice uncustomarily tight and gritty. "Without consulting me?"
The question was a legitimate one, but how long had she waited for something—anything—that would offer any sort of autonomy? She turned to face the man who, in appearance only, was so like her father. "I assumed you'd be pleased that such an esteemed member of society would trust us with such an assignment."
"Pleased?" He scoffed and propped his thick fists akimbo. "As I've told you countless times, you are not an agent of this company, Olivia."
