The Masterpiece

By Sally Matthews

Alice Carstairs' dream to be free - to once in her life do something that she wants - has finally come true. Through a mistake in her father's will, she gains her inheritance at twenty-five rather the thirty-five, and although it is not enough to make her independent of her brother’s control, she does have enough for a bit of travel, thereby hoping to give herself at least a few fond memories to relive when in her dotage. Yet, her first one is hardly a fond one, having been snubbed by Lord Gifford, when she had only been acknowledging his presence, he going so far as to tell her that he is some German baron from Munich. While on deck that evening she overhears him say that he is planning to steal ‘one of the finest treasure to grace this earth’ from an Italian count. Alice is determined to stop him, convinced that if she were able to warn the Count, the man would be so eternally grateful, he would bestow upon her a reward that would finally see her free of her brother’s grasp. Little does she know her decision will begin a series of events the likes of which will more than satisfy her wish for something to remember, as well as send her on a daring adventure in love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sally Matthews
• Release date: Apr 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310958991

Book preview

The Masterpiece

by Sally Matthews

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either the sole product of the author’s imagination, or if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Except as permitted by law, no part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise without the written permission of the author.

Text copyright © 2013 Sally Matthews

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Regency Novels by Sally Matthews

The Tutor and the Tyrant

The Masterpiece

The Earl’s Treasure

Roses in December

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Chapter One

He snubbed me! He actually snubbed me! Can you believe it? Looked right through me as if I didn’t exist! And I was only giving him a conciliatory nod of acknowledgment. It wasn’t as if I was trying to strike up an acquaintance or encroach upon his time.

Plopping down in a deck chair beside her aunt, the young lady continued to expound on her ordeal by humiliation. Naturally, I thought he simply hadn’t seen me at first, so I greeted him, and then he had the gall to give me that, ‘Have we met before?’ look of pretend innocence, speaking to me as if I were a child and informing me that I must be mistaken, that we had never met. I have never been so humiliated in all my life! You hear about people being snubbed, but let me tell you, Aunt, until you actually experience it, you can’t begin to understand the complete—oh, I can’t even adequately describe it! It’s—it’s horrible! was all she could come up with.

Who snubbed you, dear? asked her aunt somewhat vaguely. She was only partially listening to her niece, for she was counting the stitches in her knitting and daren’t stop.

Lord Byron! her niece quipped while still glaring at the man, although he was some distance from her, gazing out upon the ocean. Judging from his relaxed posture, he was apparently indifferent to her outrage or else completely oblivious, although from this distance it was hard to tell which. Either one triggered emotions in her that made her want to box his ears.

Lord Byron? asked her aunt in confusion. Why, he’s dead—oh, now I’ve lost count! She was trying to get through a rather difficult portion in the sweater design she was knitting, one with braided cables, seed stitches and bobbles, and needed to carefully count each stitch so she wouldn’t make a mistake, which made her niece’s conversation an unneeded distraction.

He’s Lord Gifford to you, her niece replied to clarify things. In her mind she had called the haughty, arrogant man as Lord Byron for so long now, she thought of him as such. "True, he’s never danced with me, which would have guaranteed a remembrance, but we were introduced, and I was standing right next to Charlotte each and every time he asked her, so he has to have seen me at least fifty times."

Alice, countered her aunt in a dubious tone of voice. Fifty times? As I remember, he only occasionally attended our little assemblies. With her focus distracted, she dropped a stitch, for she had never been very good at doing two things at once, causing her to cry, Oh, dear!

Then at least twenty times—or ten—well, certainly enough times to recognize me, replied Alice in her defense. "He then had the nerve to inform me he is some sort of German baron from Munich, returning from zer wunderbar trip to England, she mimicked his words. As if I would believe that—and spoken with the phoniest accent I’ve ever heard."

Lord Gifford isn’t German, stated her aunt as she refocused more on her knitting and went back to counting, much to her niece’s annoyance.

No, Aunt Gertrude. He isn’t. You aren’t listening to me, she complained. He’s pretending to be German—traveling incognito one would have to assume.

How unusual—oh, I’ve lost count again.

Although why he would do so is beyond understanding, continued her niece, oblivious to the look of annoyance coming from her aunt, since she wasn’t looking in her aunt’s direction, but at her infamous Lord Byron. Look at him, standing there as if he owned the ship, she went on.

Her aunt looked in the indicated direction, but without her spectacles, he could have been the King of Prussia for all she knew. Well, if you say so, she said, seeing only that he had on a dark coat and was leaning very heavily upon the deck rail, which she thought a dangerous thing to do, no matter how much they assured her it was safe. Are you sure it’s Lord Gifford? Strange we shouldn’t have seen him before this—here on deck—or at the docks when we boarded. And I don’t understand why he would snub you. We aren’t part of his close circle of friends, but we are certainly acquainted. Perhaps he really is a nobleman from Munich who simply happens to look like Lord Gifford.

Believe me, Aunt. It’s him. No doubt he has been wined and dined in the captain’s quarters while the rest of us make do with sailor fare, and that’s why we’ve not seen him until now. I bet if I were Charlotte Cowper, he’d be singing a different tune.

Charlotte? Is she traveling on this ship too?

Alice thought if her aunt would only pause for just a little, focus upon the conversation at hand, and commiserate with her properly over the injustice visited upon her person, their conversation would go on at a better clip. She was about ready to grind her teeth.

Oh, I’ve done it again, her aunt exclaimed. You know, my dear, I really need to get through this section. It’s very difficult.

Seeing her aunt carefully pull out the stitches from several rows, she felt some guilt over having disturbed her aunt’s work—and all over what some might think a mere trifle. But rather than let it go, in her newly acquired status, one in which an epiphany had made her realize she need no longer stifle the pluck and courage with which she had been born, she decided then and there to do something about it.

Well, we shall see who is who! she said, speaking her thoughts out loud, which confused her aunt even more. The young lady nearly sprang out of her chair with that statement and strode down the deck way with determination practically emanating from her person.

Who is whom, her aunt automatically corrected her, then wondered if perhaps it really was ‘who is who’—she could never remember—but her niece was already out of earshot. Aunt Gertrude watched for a moment as the young woman went down the deck, in some ways delighted to see that her niece’s personality had swiftly blossomed since leaving on this trip—some might say miraculously so. Looking back, she now realized that over the past couple of years Alice had become—well, dull was the word for it. She herself hadn’t really noticed the decline in her niece’s personality, it being so gradual, but with this sudden turnabout over the last three days, she couldn’t help but think the poor child must have completely subdued her own nature, somehow willing herself to embody the behaviors that were expected from a young lady of good birth. No doubt her niece had taken to heart the frequent reminders that she herself had given her, that in order to attract the right kind of marriage proposal, a young, unmarried woman needed to maintain a prim and demure demeanor about her at all times.

Yet seeing now the clear and fierce determination in her niece’s stride, she also wondered if things weren’t going a bit too far the other way, something along the order of too much of a good thing. This youthful, zealous behavior she was now displaying was quite startling from someone who was not only five and twenty, but for the last several years had been quiet as a mouse. She suddenly noticed that she had pulled out far more stitches than necessary and abandoned her thoughts on her niece’s sudden transformation in order to set her knitting to rights.

The young woman’s anger built with each step she took and was further bolstered by her thoughts that she, Alice Carstairs, was a member of a very old, and very good family that need not bow to the likes of a mere lord. True, her family wasn’t from the upper echelon, but one of their distant ancestors had saved the day in battle, which the king at the time had much appreciated, and they had occupied that same grant of land for over two hundred years now. But as she drew nearer her target, she checked her stride and forced herself to squash the feelings down—an ability she had come to perfect these last several years—realizing that if she wished to succeed, she must adopt just as casual an air about her as the quarry before her.

With as much nonchalance as she could muster, Alice gradually sidled up to him until she was so close he was finally forced to straighten and look at her. It was somewhat of a surprise to find that her head barely passed his shoulder. He was much taller from this aspect than when she had watched from afar as he danced with Charlotte. But, she tossed that thought aside, for she had more important matters at hand.

Ah, Fraulein—weeze meets again, he said to her as if completely surprised by her appearance, his phony accent grating on her ears.

Yes, she agreed, smiling as brilliantly as she could under the circumstances. I was just saying to my aunt how astonished I was to see you here on the ship. She sends her regards, by the way—and Charlotte too, she emphasized the last in order to forestall any efforts on his part to deny her. She talks of nothing else these days—Charlotte that is. She’s quite enamored of you. She then paused carefully for effect. I suppose I shouldn’t be telling you this—Charlotte would kill me if she ever found out. She then pretended to look about her, as if to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. But personally I think she is head over heels for you—as the saying goes, she said, adding a knowing look as she tipped her head coquettishly towards him.

Is she now, he said, his accent slipping somewhat from being completely caught off guard by the very gratifying news.

Alice watched with delight as a look of male satisfaction appeared on his face, that he had succeeded with the exquisitely beautiful Charlotte where none had before.

He looked around her, as if the young lady in question were waiting in the wings to surprise him. Not seeing her in sight, he glanced down at the one beside him, about to ask the current whereabouts of the exquisite Charlotte, when he saw clear and smug satisfaction on her face and realized she had neatly trapped him. Drat, the woman! Thinking quickly, he replied,

You know Charlotte—Hartzburg? What a co-in-zee-dence! He fortunately remembered his thick accent in time.

Nicely done, milord, but just a tad too late, she said, tipping her chin up in victory. Turning swiftly about, she walked off, leaving him standing there, gaping like a fish.

Once he had overcome his shock, he called after her in a last ditch attempt to convince her of her error, grimacing when his accent seemed more French than German, But Fraulein—you are meeztaken. But she either didn’t notice or didn’t care, for she merely waved her hand back at him in dismissal and walked on.

Reaching her aunt, she lowered herself into her deck chair with ladylike grace and gazed out at the ocean, emotionally feeding upon her success, almost laughing out loud at how cleverly she had tricked him. When her aunt finally folded up her knitting and placed it in her bag, Alice said to her with delight, It’s him. And that will teach him to tangle with me!

Who, dear?

Lord Byron—Gifford I mean.

Seeing a golden opportunity to broach the subject of the consequences to letting too much go to one’s head, Aunt Gertrude gathered her thoughts on how to gently remind her niece that ladies weren’t supposed to gloat, among other things.

Alice, dear, she began tentatively. You really shouldn’t—

Oh, I know, Aunt Gertrude. But, I just couldn’t take it. Him—making me feel like some encroaching mushroom.

Yes, I know, dear, but you mustn’t allow yourself to cross the line. I realize that with your father’s inheritance you have suddenly found yourself free to do things you never thought possible. And while it’s only to be expected that this new freedom of yours would turn your head a bit, you must be careful. A lady’s reputation is a fragile thing and once broken cannot be repaired.

Thinking her reputation nigh on worthless at this point, she really couldn’t see how it mattered all that much, what with the Charlottes of this world waltzing off with every last eligible bachelor between them. What chance did she have now? She might as well put on her caps and admit defeat. So realistically, why couldn’t she be as wild and as eccentric as she wished? She had forced herself to be a paragon of respectability for years now, perfecting the facade to such an extent she could maintain her composure even in her sleep. Why, she could have been put on a pedestal so that young ladies everywhere could gawk in admiration while their match-making mothers pointed to her as the embodiment of perfect comportment. Yet, what had that gotten her? Absolutely nothing! And now, at her advanced age, the only other means to matrimony was money. But, what she had inherited would be reduced to a mere pittance once she tallied up the cost of this trip, so the possibility of using the term heiress as a counter to her age was out. With all her options having dwindled away, she could see no reason why she couldn’t lease an Italian villa—that is until her money ran out—and dance barefoot in the wheat fields—if she were so inclined—for none of it would make a bit of difference to her future. Since she was never going to experience anything but drudgery for the rest of her days, surely her aunt wouldn’t begrudge her a few precious memories of wild abandon to fill the long dreary years until she breathed her last.

A familiar look of withdrawal appeared fleetingly upon her niece’s face, and Aunt Gertrude patted her hand in a gesture of comfort as she smiled at her. It really was too bad that marriage was the only respectable option for a young woman of Alice’s station, for she truly had the intelligence and ability to be anything she wanted. But such was the world, and there was little she herself could do to help her niece but hope that this trip would somehow bring about a miracle in the matrimonial department. It still wasn’t completely out of the question for her niece to find someone. That brought the young German man to mind, and be he a baron or lord, he could definitely be a prospect. She would have to discover his marital status at the first opportunity. She smiled thinking there just might be some hope yet, for she had seen no other young ladies on board of the proper age or status to interfere. Feeling a pang of hunger suddenly strike her, she said, I hope we aren’t having fish for dinner—again.

The sudden turn in the conversation made Alice smile. I hope not, but we are out at sea, she joked, her humor suddenly restored, for she had never been one to overly dwell upon things that couldn’t be changed.

Aunt Gertrude was struck by how much a simple smile changed the young woman’s looks, making her blue eyes flash with merriment and her demeanor come alive. That simple, unassuming smile also made Aunt Gertrude suddenly realize she had seen little of such from her niece lately, and she felt a twinge of guilt that she hadn’t really noticed until now. Still, even with this sudden transformation in her niece’s demeanor, she could see that she had not the obvious beauty that struck a man at first glance. He would have to look much longer to see that there really was an attractive face beneath that silky black hair, and a delightful, loving nature hidden away about her person. If only some man would give her a chance, she thought and mentally sighed.

Well, perhaps they will have some nice vegetables this time, her aunt remarked while they gathered their things to head below and dress for dinner.

Chapter Two

Baron Schmidt, known to others in England by his true title of Lord Gifford, dashed down the stairway, and burst into his cabin, yanking off his jacket and tearing away his neck cloth with considerable force in his anger at himself for letting a mere slip of a girl, with the snap of her fingers, expose his identity before they’d barely left port. After having so carefully laid his plans, a lot of good it was going to do him if before they even reached Naples she was going to blab the fact that he was Lord Gifford to all and sundry. He contemplated for a moment taking her into his confidence, for he had found that women in general were readily attracted to the thought of being the Keeper of Secrets.

Yet, he dared not, for his was a dangerous game, and he could not afford to have her involved, even remotely. After pondering the problem for some minutes, it seemed to him his best bet was to simply bluff his way through and continue to deny her claims of acquaintance. Hopefully, if he staunchly persisted, none would believe her. Still, it wasn’t the people on this ship who concerned him. Count Vendazio was no fool. With the man’s spies everywhere, even the hint of his true name might end the game before it had even begun. Where is Cummings? He should be here by now. His angry thoughts concerning his errant servant were cast aside after mentally booting him one, since he was running out of time if he didn’t wish to be late for dinner. He changed his shirt and pulled on his dinner jacket—thankfully the fashion for a looser fit meant he could actually do so—as he mentally fortified himself for another night of being regaled by the captain’s tales of seafaring. Hopefully the wine would be as good as it was last night. That had at least helped mitigate some of his boredom. He also hoped they weren’t having fish for dinner—again.

Fortunately for all, the dinner consisted of a nice beef roast with potatoes and vegetables. Aunt Gertrude was so delighted to finally taste something of pure English fare, she forgot all about romantic encounters, and instead the dinner conversation revolved around their itinerary once they landed in Naples.

"Well, Aunt, I’ve studied the suggestions given to us by our agent, Mr. Trenton. In Naples, I think you might particularly like the drive around the bay. He says the views are outstanding, and the road around the bay very well paved. I thought I might like to see the ruins at Pompeii. Then, there is the fortress of Sant Elmo which has spectacular views of the entire city, and the Duomo di Napoli. I wonder if Sir Perkins can arrange a special tour of the Royal Palace, since he is the liaison to the King of Naples."

Perhaps, dear, but we mustn’t pester him. And once he and Lady Penelope join us, as our hosts we shall of course agree to whatever they suggest.

Yes, I’m sure they know all the places a tourist must visit. Still, I do think once we begin our travels with them, the Coliseum in Rome is a must, and I particularly wanted to see the Sistine Chapel. They say in the travel books that once you look up to the ceiling, you will feel as if you were in heaven, she exclaimed, her eyes looking upward, taking on a dreamy look as if she were envisioning the ceiling at that very moment.

Are you sure, dear? That’s rather presumptuous. I mean, who could say what heaven should feel like. I know of no one who has had a ‘return ticket’, so to speak.

Yes, Aunt Gertrude, she said, her reverie suddenly evaporating like a mist in the breeze. I’m sure they meant only that one would simply be overwhelmed by the experience.

Then, they should say that.

I shall write to them when we return, she quipped, but her aunt took her seriously.

I think that would be a capital idea.

Deciding to drop the subject of heavenly feelings, Alice went on with, "And in Florence, or Firenze as the locals call it, we must go to the Palazzo Vecchio. I simply must see the statue of David, for—"

With a shocked look on her face, her aunt suddenly interrupted her. The statue of David! But, he’s—you know— She leaned in closer to Alice and lowered her voice. "Déshabillé," she whispered as a hint, not being able to say ‘naked’ out loud.

Well, yes he is—but, at five and twenty, I think I am old enough to handle the experience. And Michelangelo’s David is considered by all to be a masterpiece, she informed her aunt to bolster her argument.

I’m not so sure I can allow that, Alice. What would your brother say! her aunt gasped. I can’t even begin to think about how angry he would be if he were to find out.

Well, if we don’t tell him, he can’t say anything about it, she hinted. And besides, I don’t see who gave him the right to say what I shall see or where I shall go. He’s two years younger than I! It’s ridiculous that I must get his permission to do anything or go anywhere until I am thirty-five. That he could have the law just drag me back if he pleased—it’s just wrong! she sputtered. He and his wife only want me around so that they won’t have to hire a nursemaid or governess.

At her aunt’s skeptical look, she added, You know it’s true. If that clerk hadn’t made a mistake on father’s will and written twenty-five instead of thirty-five, I’d be changing nappies this very minute. Why, if you weren’t there at the time, Herbert would never have let me take this trip even though it was my money, not his, that was to finance the journey.

That statement jogged Alice’s memory and made her realize how truly lucky she had been to have fortune smile upon her for once, much of it from the intervention of her aunt. I am eternally grateful to you, Aunt Gertrude, for not only your taking my side, but agreeing to come with me and being so instrumental in bringing this all about.

You are welcome, child. I truly thought at the time, and still do, that you will benefit greatly from the experience, and I believe you already have. I too had a bit of travel experience in my own youth and found it very uplifting, as well as educational. Although, I still find it strange that such a mistake in your father’s will could have happened, for I heard your father many times expound on the dangers of premature independence where women were concerned. I heard him say on more than one occasion that he was planning to make it forty-five before you could receive your inheritance, assured that by then no fortune hunters would be interested in you—not that it is all that grand of a fortune he was leaving you. Personally, I thought it not much more than a handsome dowry. I think he could have easily spared to give you a little more. Regardless, I still find it totally unbelievable that your father didn’t catch the mistake.

Well, I can only say thank goodness for me that he didn’t, for if I had to be stuck completely penniless in Herbert’s house for another twenty years, I should go stark raving mad. Before I learned of my change in fortune, I was contemplating an escape in the night if he continued to treat me like a servant.

Never you say! her aunt’s voice rose at her niece’s disclosure. Alice, dear, I was at first quite happy to see your personality nearly blossom these last couple of days, but now I am fast becoming quite concerned over this streak of willfulness that you seem to be acquiring, or perhaps I should say reviving. I remember now that you were quite a handful as a child. Your mother quite despaired of you until you seemed to finally settle once you were out of the schoolroom. But back to my point, it is one thing for you to acquire some freedom of spirit, and quite another to contemplate complete and utter scandal. Think of your family’s good name, she admonished her. Your rash actions would affect more than just yourself, and you ought to have some consideration for others.

Chastised by the righteous indignation in her aunt’s voice, Alice mumbled that she hadn’t actually done anything, only thought of it.

Well, see that it remains so, her aunt cautioned her.

Alice felt a desire to kick something in her frustration. If only she were a man, no one would be able to say or do anything to stop her. Nor would they have batted an eye were she to suddenly dash to India or China.

When dessert was served, Alice declined to have any, her present state of mind too tumultuous to even contemplate eating anything more. She asked instead that she be allowed to get some fresh air, not mentioning that she needed the solitude in order to regain her composure.

You may, but since it will be growing dark soon, only if you remain close to the doorway. You can’t be too careful, even on a passenger ship. Sailors will be sailors, she warned her.

I don’t think they will take much notice of me, she replied, knowing full well that few men had ever looked her way.

My dear girl, you are too young and immature to realize what it does to men of that nature to have no contact with women for months on end. And if you don’t show a little more circumspection, I think I will have to take you closer in hand.

Forgive me, Aunt. You are right. I shall dutifully remain close by the door and not speak to any man, should he happen to pass, she responded with the proper demeanor, but was actually thinking sailors most likely had plenty of contact with women at each and every port where they docked. Really, she was old enough to know what went on in the world between men and women, although not from any personal experience. She’d never had more than a peck on the cheek, and that was only by chance when she found herself under some mistletoe. Her cousin Filbert had felt honor bound to satisfy tradition. Her personal opinion was that he could have put a little more effort into it. After all, she wasn’t poison.

Taking a large spoonful of the custard, her aunt exclaimed, Oh, this is delicious. You must have some.

No thank you, Aunt Gertrude. I am quite full. Seeing her chance, she slipped out of her chair and headed for the door to the deck.

She had taken her cape along with her, just in case, but with her thoughts practically burning inside her, she was sure they should be more than enough to keep her warm and doubted she would actually need the garment. Little did she know when she stepped out on the deck that the wind had picked up to such an extent that not only did she have to put on her cape, but she had to hold the front of it together so that it might actually do her some good. After a few minutes of having the wind buffet her face and lash at her hair, she decided, despite her aunt’s admonition to stay close to the doorway, to duck behind a stairway where the air was calmer. When she pulled the hood up over her head, the relief from the wind was finally complete. It was somewhat dark there, the light from the lantern barely reaching the edge of the steps, but certainly better than going back to their cabin which was her only other alternative. She needed time and solitude so that she could think things through productively and resolve her dilemma.

Despite her words of acquiescence, her aunt’s admonition that she should sacrifice her own desires in order to protect the good name of the family had had the reverse effect. Something with in her had just sort of risen up at the injustice of it all and taken possession of her. She just couldn’t go back to the way things were, not to her brother’s house and certainly not to that meek, milk water persona that she had been forced to adopt all these years. And certainly not to a life that denigrated her for not being able to get a man and offered her nothing but drudgery in exchange. She wouldn’t go back! She had tasted glorious freedom these last few days, and she now knew for a certainty that she would never give it up. The thought of living out the rest of her days with her brother and his