Actually, she considered the insipid portrait on the other side one of the artist's poorest works. Her mother could not possibly have looked that vain even twenty years ago, and she certainly had never been the frail beauty the artist had thought to make of her. Perhaps that kind of beauty had been as fashionable then as it was now, but Arianne knew that her mother was as tall as she, and had always enjoyed robust good health.

Until these last few years. Frowning, Arianne pried at the backing. If she listened carefully, she could hear her mother's cough in the rooms above, but here in the workroom she tried to shut out this reminder. Her father had brought in no new commissions lately, and there was nothing to be done down here, but Arianne had used the excuse of cleaning one of their own portraits to escape for a while into this solitude.

Not that she minded tending to her younger brothers and sister, or even cared that the major part of the housework fell on her shoulders now that her mother's coughing spells had become more frequent. Her family had been all her life for twenty-one years. She knew little else. But the constant worry of the hacking cough gnawed at fears Arianne didn't wish to confront.

She could remember a time when she had run through the wild grasses of Somerset, free and laughing as only a child could be. She had been too young to remember the death of her first baby sister, but she could remember the time after the fever, when her new baby brother had been carried off on angel's wings, as her mother had explained it. It had been then that the laughing summer days had dwindled to a permanent winter.

Her mother had been a long time recovering from the fever. Her father's genial absentmindedness had become more distracted. Bits and pieces of their heavy old carved furniture had begun to disappear: the lovely chair with the faded tapestry of lions and Romans, the massive walnut sideboard with so many intricate carvings that Arianne used it as a hiding place for her smallest treasures, even the golden candlesticks with the dragon heads that breathed fire when the candle was lit. Along with these fantasies of the past disappeared Arianne's childhood.

They had removed to London by the time Lucinda was born. Even as a six-year-old Arianne had taken the responsibility of looking after the infant, rocking her cradle when she cried, keeping her amused when she was awake so her mother could rest and get strong again. It seemed a natural progression of things that her mother's "best little helper" should be the one to watch the toddler when she began to walk, to set the table and clear the dishes on the maid's night off, to stir the custard when the kitchen was a flurry of activity.

Arianne breathed a sigh of relief as the backing finally came loose from the frame. She knew no one minded when she came down here to get away for just a little while. Her father had encouraged her habit of slipping away to watch him work as he cleared centuries of dirt and grime from the rare and valuable oils brought to him from the collections of the wealthy. He had even allowed her to help him on less valuable pieces, until she knew the best chemicals to use for which oils and could work patiently without his guidance while he went out to obtain more business.

It was because his own collection was so extensive that Ross Richards was consulted by royalty and aristocracy seeking to refurbish their family treasures or keep newly acquired ones in good repair. Arianne wrinkled her nose in frustration as she thought of the fortune in paintings adorning the walls of this rather humble abode. The paintings were almost all they had left when they had moved to the city, and her father refused to part with even the least of them, even if it meant not taking a much-needed trip to Bath or Brighton to improve her mother's ailing health.

It was the one subject on which she and her father were at odds, and it wouldn't do to dwell on it now. Her father's passion for art supported them, while her parents' aristocratic relations gave them the connections to the world necessary to provide that support. They seemed content with that, and Arianne knew it wasn't her place to interfere.

But as the backing slipped away to reveal a palette of colors that shouldn't be there, Arianne gasped and felt a flutter of hope somewhere deep inside, hope hinged on keeping this discovery a secret from her beloved father.

Arianne didn't bother to look in the mirror as she tied the ribbons of her eminently practical buckram-stiffened bonnet over her heavy chestnut hair. She had no lady's maid to cut and comb and tease and curl the thick lengths into a fashionable coiffure, and she had no patience for it herself. By pinning her tresses carefully into a heavy chignon, she managed to keep them in control enough to fit a bonnet over them. That was all that was necessary under the circumstances.

Tightening her generous mouth and catching a glance of the result in the mirror, Arianne sighed as the knocker sounded below. She had been watching for the carriage and had hurried to make ready as soon as it had turned down the narrow street, but it would be completely indecorous to run out before Melanie's footman had even knocked at the door. Thinking of Melanie, she sighed again. Melanie had the pouty bowed lips of fashion. Why couldn't she at least resemble her fashionable cousin in this one small respect?

Hurriedly pulling on her gloves, Arianne hastened toward the hall stairs, but she had no chance of escaping without notice. Fifteen-year-old Lucinda bounded out of the upstairs parlor, and from the sound of running footsteps, she would be followed closely by their brothers.

"Rainy, Melanie is here! Could I go too? Please, Rainy? Just this once? I've never ridden in a carriage through the park before. Please, Rainy?"

Arianne didn't hesitate, though her heart tugged at her sister's plea. Were it not for their cousins, she would never have seen the fashionable world from an elegant carriage either, but this carriage ride had more importance than a gay outing.

Smiling up at her sister, Arianne called, "Another time, Lucy, I promise," before hurrying through the door held by Melanie's footman.

Her cousin practically bounced with eagerness as Arianne sat beside her on the velvet squabs. Melanie had lost both her parents, leaving her in the somewhat whimsical care of her twin brothers, Gordon and Evan, but aside from that one unhappy circumstance, Melanie Griffin had everything that Arianne had not.

The Griffins were wealthy and moved in the fashionable circles of their grandfather, the Earl of Shelce. At eighteen Melanie had been presented to court under the auspices of her brother Evan's new wife, and she was now enjoying the Season she had been denied after her father's death.

But it wasn't so much Melanie's wealth and fashion that Arianne envied as her cousin's blond, petite beauty and sunny disposition. Melanie practically glowed with charm and laughter and seemed totally unaware that heads turned to watch her wherever she went. Beside her, Arianne felt the veriest dull horse, but then, she wasn't here to charm anyone into anything,

"Tell me now, Rainy!" Melanie clasped Arianne's gloved hand and turned blue eyes burning with curiosity to her elder cousin. "Tell me or I shall die of suspense. What is it that actually has you sending for me for a change? Usually it is I who must seek you out. Have you found a beau, Rainy, and wish to meet him secretly? Is Uncle Ross to become curator for the Regent? It must be something vastly exciting to stir you from your busy hearth and home."

Arianne smiled briefly at her cousin's overindulgence in romantics. It was widely recognized among the family that Arianne was the practical one while Melanie was an incurable dreamer. Before the late Viscount Griffin's untimely death, Arianne had been much in Melanie's household simply as a balance against the younger girl's high spirits. They had been tutored together until Arianne was too old for tutoring and was needed too much at home to be spared. It had been several years since she'd enjoyed the freedom of the Griffin household but Melanie hadn't allowed their friendship to fade with time.

"How can I tell you my poor secrets after hearing those wild dreams? Art curator for the Regent! As if Prinny weren't far enough in debt, my father would have the whole of the monarchy up the River Tick in no time."

Melanie giggled at this solecism from her solemn cousin. Arianne seldom smiled, and it was difficult for strangers to know whether she was serious or not, but Melanie knew her sharp wit well enough. "I should like to see that. Do you think they might sell the crown jewels, then? I rather have a fancy for that ruby coronet. Wouldn't I look grand?" At Arianne's lifted brow, she grinned again. "And you have not ruled out a beau, Rainy. I wish you had allowed Gordon to bring you out with me. Some of these entertainments are deadly dull without you along to prick all those puffed self-esteems."

Arianne shook off her annoying bonnet within the privacy of the carriage's closed confines and smiled at the memory stirred by her cousin's words. "The Puffed Self-Esteem, a rare bird, as I remember. One wouldn't want to prick one, would one? Now, the Haughty Snuff-Snatcher, there's a common one, put salt on his tail if you like. He'll not likely know the difference."

"He will if the salt lands in his snuffbox! Oh, I had forgotten that, Arianne. You should never have encouraged me so. I don't think there was one of the twins' friends who did not avoid us after that."

"Oh, p'raps one or two. They weren't all lofty fellows. I rather suspect some of them had a good laugh at their clubs that night. 'Twas a pity I hadn't told you pepper worked better, but I had no notion you would take it into your head to salt our imaginary birds."

Melanie swallowed a chuckle. "I don't suppose the poor fellow ever figured out why I chose to salt him. But the stairwell wasn't a very good hiding place. Even if the lid of the salt cellar had not come loose, someone would have seen me as soon as he began choking on that awful snuff. I must have appeared quite the goose."

"Feather-Headed Guinea Hen," Arianne affirmed readily. "But by now I'm certain all is forgiven and you have bevies of suitors at your doors."

"Straitlaced Sapsuckers and Peafowls by the dozen." Melanie dismissed them airily with a wave of her hand. "Now, what is it that you need my advice for? It is such an unusual occasion, that you cannot hope to distract me from your request for long. If you have not found a wealthy suitor, have you some notion of persuading Uncle Ross to part with his precious paintings?"

To Melanie, all of life was a game to be laughed at and played with an abundance of cheer. Arianne had to smile at her wild assumptions. It was much easier to feel good about her decision when there was someone to urge her on. "In the absence of suitable beaux and the silver tongue required to persuade my father of anything, I have done something quite despicable. I have stolen a painting."

That startled the laughter from Melanie's lips, and she sent her cousin a hasty look of concern before realizing the ever-practical Arianne had made another joke. Relieved, she sat back and joined in the game. "You have spirited his Gainsborough from above his desk and hidden it in the garden."

Arianne did laugh at this mad suggestion. "The house and grounds would have been leveled by now in his search had I done so. No, nothing nearly so dramatic or valuable. You know I have been helping him with cleaning the paintings that have been brought to him?"

Melanie made a face. "All those smelly oils and turpentines. I don't know how you abide it."

"It is great fun. You must persuade Gordon to bring in some of your family portraits sometime. All those years of dirt and grime from wood smoke hide so many of the true colors. I enjoy watching a musty old ancestor become a colorful rogue or dashing lady once the colors are revealed."

"I doubt that we have a single interesting ancestor between us worth uncovering, but what does any of this have to do with your stolen painting? Surely you have not stolen someone else's painting?"

The horror in Melanie's voice rang more with drama than anxiety, and Arianne ignored it. With some difficulty she explained the discovery of the hidden painting and her decision not to tell her father of its existence. "For I know he will spend more money to have it framed and hung on a wall where no one but his clients will see it and where no good can come of it at all. But if it could be sold, even for a few pounds, I might persuade Mama to spend a few days in country air. The physicians say she should spend time at Bath or Brighton, but the expense is enormously prohibitive. But I thought just a few days somewhere quiet, out of the stench of belching chimneys and flowing sewers..."

Melanie wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Enough! I have never thought of London that way, but if Aunt Anne's lungs are delicate, then I suppose you are right. We should remove her from the city at once. But why must you sell your musty old painting to do so? I'm certain Evan wouldn't mind if she stayed at his place in Devon."

Arianne had been afraid that would be the approach Melanie would take, and she stiffened her resolve. "If I remember rightly, the estate actually belongs to the earl, and he and my father have never been on the best of terms. It is better this way, without argument or damaged pride."

The slightest trace of a frown briefly marred Melanie's cheerful features, and she tapped her fingers on the carriage side as it turned into the park drive. "I really cannot believe that Grandfather would care one way or another. It is your father who will not accept his help. They are both quite perverse in their pride, but I suppose you're right. There would only come an argument of it. I don't think Grandfather ever forgave my father for marrying into your family. Old people are quite silly sometimes."

"The fact that my family has no particular title and certainly no amount of wealth could have something to do with your grandfather's opinion," Arianne replied wryly. "But that is neither here nor there. We would never suit in society, so we are happy as we are, were it not for Mama's health. But I think the painting is some solution."

Melanie remained dubious. "If it was hidden behind another canvas, how could it be very valuable? Someone thought little enough of it to hide it like that."

Arianne clenched her fingers together. "The painting it was hidden behind was that terrible portrait of Mama, one of Lawrence's very early works. I am almost certain it is another Lawrence, an even earlier one. No one could hope to duplicate his style, and just the fact that it is nailed behind one of his..."

Melanie's eyes grew wide. "I heard his portraits cost a hundred guineas now. How much would one of his early portraits be worth?"

"I do not know. The style is not so polished as his current works. It is very lovely, though. It shows a woman and a little boy, and they look so incredibly happy. She has lovely dark hair, her coloring is darker than most, but she is extremely handsome just the same. The landscape behind them is rather rugged, so I know it must be nearer Bristol than London. I would think it ought to bring a good price, but there is the problem. How would I go about getting the best price, and where? I daren't take it to anyone who knows my father."

Glancing out the window, Melanie gave a sudden start; then, bouncing merrily again, she pounded on the box and ordered the driver to pull over.

Arianne followed her cousin's glance and discovered to her surprise that they were already caught up in the fashionable crowds of Hyde Park. Quickly donning her bonnet, she wondered what her cousin could be up to now. Elegant landaus and old-fashioned barouches vied for a place among the dashing thoroughbreds with their silk-hatted riders. Beside them strolled pedestrians showing off their fashionable walking attire, the ladies in their delicate gowns on the arms of gentlemen in padded coats and knee-high boots. Arianne had no desire whatsoever to descend into that public arena, where the only purpose of existence was to see and be seen.

But Melanie had no such reservation. Tugging Arianne's arm, she indicated the footman opening the door, waiting for them to descend. "Hurry, or they will be gone. I should have brought an open carriage. Out!"

Bewildered, Arianne descended to the grass. People turned in curiosity, but finding nothing of interest in a tall woman in dowdy brown broadcloth and unadorned bonnet, they moved on. Melanie's appearance stirred interest, but she seemed to take no notice of it as she brashly caught Arianne's arm and brought her around the vehicle into view of the road.

Garbed in a rich yellow silk topped by a white eyelet spencer and wearing a matching bonnet trimmed in roses, Melanie rivaled the rarest bird in this aviary of peacocks. Her wave at two gentlemen setting a reckless pace in a shining new high-perch phaeton could scarcely be ignored. Arianne gasped at her cousin's forward behavior, but the phaeton instantly slowed, and its occupants looked more than pleased at being thus signaled.

As the driver of the other vehicle expertly steered his horses from the road, Arianne tried not to stare, but she was very much reminded of the god Apollo steering his chariot across the skies. Tall and golden-haired, he had a smile remarkably similar to Melanie's, but she knew he was not one of her cousins. The resemblance failed to go beyond the smile and hair coloring. Whereas Melanie was petite and small-boned, this gentleman towered well over six feet and his large frame made languid elegance an impossibility, although the excellent cut of his coat showed off his broad shoulders to perfection. The smiling eyes were clear gray and direct, taking in not only Melanie but also her angular and awkward cousin.

"I don't suppose I may do anything so dashing as rescue a lady in distress, may I?" The golden-haired driver dropped to the ground beside them.

The man with him did not remove from the carriage with the same physical swiftness, but at a leisurely pace that belied the sturdy stockiness of his frame. When he came across the grass, Arianne could see that he limped, but the quiet darkness of his eyes and the wide intelligence of his brow endeared him to her without a word being exchanged. Here was a man who could defy society, everything about him said. His clothes were not of the first fashion, and he wore them with a casualness that said he did not care. Closer, he could be seen to have worn spots on his cuffs, but his linen was as immaculate as his companion's. His gaze, however, fell only on Melanie.

"Yes, you most certainly may, but not in the manner in which you are thinking," Melanie laughed in reply to the driver's question.

The large gentleman slipped Melanie's hand through his arm with an insouciance that contained as much amusement as pleasure, then turned questioningly to Arianne. "My lady, will you join us also? It's a lovely day for a stroll, and I can see Melanie means to bend our ears for a while."

Melanie's laughter pealed beside him. "Galen, don't you remember Arianne? Honestly, we have been in and out of each other's houses forever. Surely you have come upon each other before."

Surprised gray eyes swept upward from Melanie's pert face to the solemn young woman in a spinster's rags. Eyes of a deeper blue than her cousin's met his gaze gravely, and Galen fought a twitch of his lips as he remembered just exactly where he had seen those eyes last.

"Let us pretend to ignore her, Miss Richards," he replied, slipping Arianne's hand through his other arm. "Melanie is spoiled beyond redemption and fails to remember that she has not deemed London worthy of her presence for these last two years or more. And even then, if I remember rightly, she was but a schoolroom miss not worthy of my attention. But you, Miss Richards, I do remember. You had a decided propensity for showing up in your cousin's library at the most awkward of times."

Arianne was not accustomed to blushing, but she felt a warmth in her cheeks now as she finally remembered the identity of this imposing man. It had been years, when she and Melanie were but girls hiding from Melanie's governess, since she had last encountered him, and he had been little more than a gangly Oxford student. The heat in her cheeks increased as she remembered what he had been doing then.

"I trust the maidservants have learned to stand out of your way since then, my lord," she managed to retort, before removing her hand and turning to the unknown gentleman watching this tableau unsmilingly.

Melanie gave her tormentor a triumphant smile and made the introductions. "Arianne, may I introduce you to Rhys Llewellyn, a dear friend of my brothers. Mr. Llewellyn, this is my cousin Arianne Richards. You and she will have much in common, and cutting Galen will be the least of it."

Mr. Llewellyn made a perfunctory bow, but a twinkle could be discerned beneath his indecently long lashes as he noted his friend's rather astonished expression. "A pleasure to meet someone who is not overpowered and tongue-tied by Galen's imposing visage, Miss Richards. Have you been saving that retort for him ever since his juvenile infraction?"

"He all but boxed my ears when I informed him the maid would almost certainly be put off if he continued what he was doing." Arianne dared a brief glance to the man who had grown from the irate youngster, and noting he only grinned at this recitation of the tale, she managed a smile. "And since he and Melanie are so very much alike, I cannot be terribly impressed. I know Melanie's foibles too well to expect Lord Locke to be of any better character."

"Unfair!" the maligned lord complained. "To be tarred with the same brush as Melanie is patently ridiculous. You must give me time to redeem my character, Miss Richards."

Melanie tugged the crook of his elbow and steered him farther from the road. "We do not have eternity, dear Galen. You may salvage what you may by giving us some aid with your expertise." She threw a swift look to her cousin to be certain she and Rhys were following. "Arianne, despite appearances, Galen is an expert in the field of art. He apparently means to rival the collection of the Duke of Devonshire in his old age."

Galen turned in time to catch the look of interest in the eyes of the prim-and-proper Miss Richards. He remembered her as a beanpole of a girl with a thick braid and a frown of disapproval upon her face, but circumstances might have influenced his memory. From what he could see beneath her long-brimmed bonnet, she wasn't frowning now, and the long braid had become an abundance of rich chestnut. Beside Melanie, she was awkwardly tall, and the unadorned brown round gown she wore did little to enhance this impression, but he knew the difficulties of height himself, and he disregarded society's opinion in the matter. She certainly wasn't a beanpole any longer, and his eyes crinkled in a sudden smile at the thought.

"Undoubtedly that old age is just around the corner in Melanie's eyes. Will you lend me your shoulders for support, Miss Richards, so I might dodder over to yonder bench?"

Melanie beat his arm with her fist, but with much laughter and teasing they managed to acquire the bench. Melanie promptly appropriated the seat and placed her cousin beside her so that the gentlemen must stand and admire them while they spoke.

"Do be serious for a minute, Galen. We have very important business to discuss. Arianne has a painting she wishes to sell. How does one go about selling paintings? And how can she be certain to receive the best price?"

"Pretty ladies have no business worrying over such things. I'm certain Miss Richards' brothers or father will be able to take care of it. I will be happy to give them what little advice I might have at my disposal. But in the meantime, you must tell me if you mean to attend the Rawdons' soiree tomorrow. For you I will attend, but otherwise I would rather dine at White's than be subject to those minuscule inedible objects that pass for food on Rawdon's table."

Both men had a glimpse of flashing eyes before Miss Richards rose stiffly from her seat. "Melanie, I must be on my way. Mother will need me. Gentlemen, if you will excuse me..." She made a brief sketch of a curtsy and turned to leave.

"Arianne, don't be a goose!" Melanie called after her. "Galen can be made to be sensible when he wants. Come back here right now. You aren't going to walk home from here. Rhys, stop her, will you? She has a terrible temper sometimes, but I must say, she's justified this time." She turned a scathing look to the indolent lord lounging before her. "Galen, when will you grow up? Arianne's brothers are barely out of knee breeches and her father must never learn that she means to sell one of his precious paintings. You know my Uncle Ross. He is a positive miser when it comes to his collection. He would give away his last penny, but he could not be parted from those wicked pieces of canvas for love or money."

Lord Locke leaned against a nearby tree and crossed his legs lazily as he watched Rhys catch up with the wayward miss and talk her back to reason. Rhys had a way with words, mostly written, but he could make use of his tongue when required.

Arianne turned with interest to listen as the Welshman spoke about some subject that obviously fascinated them both.

Locke tapped his shining black boots with his stick. "I had forgotten Mr. Richards. Forgive me, my dear. She definitely has a problem if she means to pry one of those oils from his hands. How does she suggest to do it?"

By this time the other pair had returned. Arianne gave Locke a cold nod, then seated herself beside her cousin. Melanie squeezed her fingers and explained the situation as hastily as she could, before Arianne and Galen could freeze each other to death. It was too late now to remember that Galen and Uncle Ross had had words over the authenticity of one of Galen's artworks. She only prayed that Galen was too much the gentleman to allow an old argument to influence his reaction to a lady's need for help.

She held her breath when she was done, waiting while Galen frowned at his boots. When he finally looked up again, the smile was back on his face, and he held out his hand to help Melanie up.

"Where can we see this fine painting?"