An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(96)

Callie offered a tentative wave when she caught sight of them approaching.

"Welcome," Grace said. "Miles is looking forward to meeting you."

They left the noisy mosaic of movement and sound behind as they entered the quiet interior of the museum. Grace waved at the guards and the docents and began walking quickly toward the back when she realized Callie had fallen behind, having paused in front of an exhibit.

It was the one noting the Woodward Hall family's contributions to the study of American history. There were photographs and paintings of various generations, as well as of Willings. Grace's picture had been added, next to her father's.

Their father's, she corrected herself. She tried to imagine what it would be like to stare at a history that was hers by right, but not practice.



"Sorry," Callie murmured, coming forward.

"Do you want to—"

"We should go, shouldn't we?" Her voice was strained and Grace nodded.

Callie was silent as they went past exhibits on archaeological digs that the Foundation had sponsored and through a gallery featuring Early American portraiture.

When they got to a large freight elevator, Grace slid her pass card through a reader. As the doors opened and they stepped inside, Callie said, "Thank you for doing this."

"I'm glad to," she replied, meaning it.

Grace punched the fourth-floor button and the elevator lurched upward. She realized that, had they been alone, she would have asked Callie what she was thinking, because she wanted to help. She had a feeling the emotions she herself was struggling with were similar to the ones that had drawn Callie's lips tightly together and caused her brows to ride low over her eyes. Grace just wasn't sure what she could do.

Maybe they could help each other, she thought.

When the doors reopened, they stepped out into a long hallway. "Miles's office is down here to the right."

Grace took Callie to him and then decided to stay and chat with some of the museum's administrators while she waited for Jack to arrive. To her relief, everyone was excited about the Copley and, in spite of Lamont's dire predictions, the consensus was that the bidding at the auction was going to get lively.

A while later, Jack emerged from the elevators and a couple of the staff members who were waiting to get on stepped out of his way with deference. He was dressed in a black suit, walking in his forceful gait, and Grace thought he cut a powerful figure. Like John did, only in a different way.

"I'm all ready to see my ancestor again," he drawled as he kissed her on the cheek. He and John nodded curtly at each other.

At that moment, Callie's voice drifted into the hall.

"Again, thank you for the advice." She was backing out of Miles's office, a smile on her face as she waved.

Jack's head snapped in her direction just as she turned around. When she met his stare, her eyes widened as she looked up into his face.

Grace smiled, thinking Jack tended to have that affect on women. And then she hesitated, unsure of how to introduce Callie.

Her friend took care of it by putting his hand out. "I’m Jack Walker."

Callie paused before sliding her palm against his. As soon as contact was made, she retreated and looked at Grace. "Er—thank you for getting me in to meet Miles. It's always good to talk to a fellow conservationist."

"What's your name?" Jack asked, his eyes scanning her face.

Her eyes went to his. "Callie Burke."

"And you are?"

Grace flushed, aware of her own rudeness. "She's a friend of mine. She came here to meet with Miles."

"You're in the art world?"

Callie nodded, looking as if she wished the man would stop focusing on her. Grace had to wonder if Jack had offended her, but then saw the way Callie's eyes went back to him.

As if she were intrigued as well as wary.

"If you like art, then you must come meet Nathaniel," he said laconically.

"Nathaniel?"

Grace explained. "It's John Singleton Copley's portrait of Nathaniel Walker. Why don't you stay and have a look? It won't take long and I'd be curious to hear what you think of it."

Callie's eyes flipped to Jack. And then, with a nod, she followed the small group into the conservation workshop.

Grace loved visiting the lab and seeing the works in progress. The room smelled like varnish and paint and there was always some kind of classical music playing in the background. At stations all around the room, paintings in various stages of conservation were held upright in wood blocks. Next to each was a rolling cart of supplies that carried dark jars full of solutions as well as paintbrushes and cotton swabs.

The staff had left for the evening but she knew where the Copley was.

"He's over here, in lockdown," she said, going over to a bank of cabinets that were segmented into five-foot-wide, shallow drawers. With a key ring she'd brought with her, she unlocked one, slid it out, and rolled back a cloth. She heard Jack's sigh of satisfaction as he looked at his ancestor.

"Let's take him out," Grace said. She reached in and tried to lift the painting, but because of the massive, gilded frame she could barely budge the thing. Smith picked it up carefully and walked it over to one of the worktables, laying it down fiat.

"He's beautiful," Callie murmured, standing to the side.