Intertwine by Nichole van Read Free Book Online Page B

see the estate’s impressive collection, particularly Spunto’s portrait of Marianne Linwood.
    Mr. Betton had been nice enough, but it was obvious that he had an academic’s love of mind-numbing minutiae. He had gone on at length about the provenance of a large rare coin collection believed to have belonged to Sir Henry. Apparently, it was going to auction in a matter of days.
    “Auction estimates put the value of the entire collection around £100 million,” he intoned. “But the actual value could go even higher. Of course, the actual owner of the collection has chosen to remain anonymous. . . .” Emme vaguely remembered seeing something about it somewhere, maybe on her rss reader app. She finally interrupted his monologue to inquire about the museum’s portraits from the Napoleonic era.
    Leading her through a series of drawing rooms, Mr. Betton showed Emme a canvas of Timothy, the 4th Viscount Linwood and his sister, Marianne. The large portrait depicted a man with a younger woman wearing a soft pink, high-waisted dress covered with a gauzy overdress. The sparkling highlights of the fabric bounced out of the image. Her companion was dressed in the height of Regency gentlemanly fashion: dark coat, gold waistcoat, white shirt and neckcloth, tan breeches with polished Hessian boots. His gray-silver eyes stared challengingly at the viewer.
    Emme’s heart plummeted. This stern man was Timothy Frederick Charles Linwood, the man she had hoped was her F? She met the viscount’s haughty stare. Lord Linwood seemed the kind of man who had found little in life amusing. She couldn’t conceive of someone who was more Finn’s opposite. Well, as she perceived Finn.
    Mr. Betton also showed her Marianne’s miniature portrait. As was typical for the time period, the tiny portrait had been painted in watercolor on a thin ivory panel. A jeweler had then mounted the miniature into a pretty gold case with a chased filigree edge, covering the front with clear crystal to protect the fragile painting. As was common, the miniature had been turned into a pendant. The recipient would wear the pendent around the neck on a chain or attached as a brooch to a garment, displaying the loved one for all the world to see.
    It was rarer to turn a miniature into a locket like Finn, to hide the beloved one away. Usually the image was left exposed to the light like Marianne’s portrait. The exposure to sunlight had faded the flesh tones of her skin to gray. However, Emme could see similarities in the way Spunto had painted her: the minuscule brush strokes, the hair thin lines that suggested gentle eyes and a shy smile.
    Emme turned the pendant over. There was no locket of hair, no entwined initials, no inscription. Marianne’s portrait had clearly been set by a different jeweler. Though painted by the same person, the similarities ended there. It seemed unlikely that Finn had been associated with the Linwoods.
    In the end, Mr. Betton had suggested she visit the offices of Hartington, Chatham and Ware. They were a long-standing local solicitor firm that had been around at least since the 1790s, still owned by the same original families. Their old files would have more specific information, particularly as would relate to the gentry of the area.
    Emme had been disappointed that F wasn’t Lord Linwood. Well, she was choosing to label the emotion disappointment. She didn’t want to consider that it was actually relief.
    She wanted to find him. Right? She didn’t think her life could get any more pathetic.
    Emme just needed to know. She needed to know that Finn had sired ten children, had grown stout and lost his hair and then died of influenza. Or that he had been a terrible rake who squandered the family fortune and was killed in a duel for deflowering some innocent girl.
    She touched her finger to the glass which protected his portrait. He looked too nice for that. He had probably been just a person. One who had been at times cheerful and irritable