The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(35)
“This is where you spend your days?” Grapling asked Isabelle with a wide smile. Too wide, in Fallon’s opinion. “It suits you. I’ve always enjoyed places where the rooms are swept clean of the city’s dust and good society can stroll about…and appreciate art, of course.”
Ha! Amusing for a man who reveled in getting his hands dirty. Fallon shifted so that he could continue to hear their conversation without being seen.
“I hadn’t considered the cleanliness of the museum as a benefit to volunteering here, but there are maids on staff,” Isabelle replied as they moved deeper into the maze of the upper rooms of the museum.
“A building this size would need a sizable staff to function. Who works in this area with you?”
Fallon nodded to an older gentleman who passed, but on receiving the man’s curious glare, Fallon was forced to move. Slipping to the opposite side of the room, he clung to the wall beside the open door, listening for anything he might have missed.
“It depends on the time of day. It’s quiet in the mornings from what I hear. In the afternoons, I assist Mr. Jasper, the librarian. There’s a nice man who services the wobbly frames in the back workroom. He makes tea for me on occasion and tells me stories about his family.”
“They are fortunate to have such a giving lady in their employ,” Grapling stated. Fallon could almost hear the sickening smile in his voice. He held himself back from vaulting out to knock the false look from the man’s face. Giving—Grapling had no interest in charitable endeavors. He never had. What was he after besides taunting Fallon with his closeness to Isabelle? Murder again? But in the letter he used the word destroy. A scandal that involved Isabelle? Perhaps, but what scandal? And when? Fallon had to understand the man’s intentions if he was to protect Isabelle.
“I’m a willing volunteer. I’m the fortunate one, to be able to spend my afternoons amid such beauty,” Isabelle returned. Her voice was closer, as if they were looking at the painting on the other side of the wall.
“Your own beauty exceeds that of these paintings.”
Fallon closed his eyes and forced himself to remain still. This was the worst part of gaining information. There always came a point when it became difficult not to rush in with fists raised. But information could be just as valuable as an enemy with a bloody nose. Often more so. Fallon knew that, but with Grapling leering at Isabelle on the other side of the wall, he was having trouble remaining still.
“Oh. Thank you,” he heard her gush, most likely smiling and blushing. Fallon released a harsh breath.
“I’m honored to have you give me this tour.”
“We share a love of art,” Isabelle replied. “A tour is the least I can do.”
Fallon shook his head. Of course Grapling had convinced her that he appreciated the pieces here; he was trying to use her. He was Reginald blasted Grapling! He used everyone. But there was nothing to be done for it now. All Fallon could do was listen and wait for some piece of information that would turn the tide in his favor.
“How long will this collection be on display?”
“For the remainder of the season, then it will return to our home. For a time anyway,” Isabelle replied, her voice growing distant as she and Grapling moved farther from the open door where Fallon stood.
“It belongs to your father?” Grapling asked, making Fallon tense and listen more carefully. He would need to move in a moment to get closer.
“For now. He’s a custodian, really.”
“Meaning?”
Fallon tipped his head around the corner into the next room and spotted a display of ancient pottery. He ran for it and came to a stop behind a raised display featuring bowls and pitchers of various sizes. He could now catch glimpses of the two as they perused the artwork.
“It was my grandfather’s collection,” Isabelle was saying. “One day soon, once my sister is settled, it will be displayed in her home as part of her dowry. All but this one painting.” She pointed up to a large painting of a castle on a hillside that hung on the wall. “For now, it’s here for all of London to enjoy.”
“Only one painting will go toward your dowry? That hardly seems fair. Your family is unjust.”
“It’s the centerpiece of the collection,” Isabelle cut in with obvious affection for the painting of the distant land. “I don’t mind that I can keep only this one. It’s my favorite anyway.”
“Even still…”
“They were catalogued and divided when I was only a baby. Father didn’t have his title then. It was all he had to give us for us to marry well. Things change, though. Father inherited unexpectedly, and then there was the fire at my grandfather’s home. Most of my portion of the art collection was destroyed. But that only increases my appreciation for what remains. These paintings survived. I like the beauty of that.”
The circumstances of Isabelle’s childhood were ones Fallon knew well—ones many younger siblings with families had to overcome. He’d spent the past few years ensuring that his men could provide a stable life for their families. Without an inheritance and with a social inability to delve into trade, gentlemen like Isabelle’s father didn’t have many options. For Fallon, everything always came back to the Spare Heirs.
Further resolve to take Grapling down and stop whatever game he was playing in town seeped into his bones. Enough watching. That was what Grapling wanted him to do. Fallon was done giving Grapling what he wanted. This man was constructed of lies. Nothing Grapling told Isabelle today would help Fallon be rid of him for good.