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This story follows the first in Jenn’s Rediscovered series, Last Assault on Oak Island.
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Anxious to tell Carlos of the crypt venture, Lauren was disappointed to find him deep in conference with a very subdued Madame Chatillier in a small parlor on the second floor. The woman was, for once, not talkative.
Lauren slipped down the hall before the curator saw her. No doubt she would be dragged in to console the Madame in her time of loss.
Poor Madame Chatty, she thought with little sympathy. The woman had fallen victim to The Cloisters Apocalypse scam of several years ago when questionable antique dealers had circulated what they sold as recently discovered artworks, sans any form of provenance, at the expense of many naïve private collectors.
By now Lauren had reached the patio facing the river behind the chateau. Several of the tables were occupied. Morrow and Madame Poussin were sharing an early lunch at one. Lauren smiled, declining their invitation to join them as she made her way through the tables.
She passed the barberry hedges surrounding most of the patio and dissolved into the gardens. Sounds of heavy equipment working echoed to her from the north, interrupting the beauty of the warm day. Edmund had wasted no time in claiming the estate, what little of it Gustalav had to permit under court order so far.
With distaste she viewed the workmen around the stable. The 500-year-old barracks above the stalls were almost completely reduced to piles of rubble on the grassy slope. She could well understand the Duke's disappointment with his nephew. Across the lawn, a temporary shelter had been erected for the horses that had suddenly become homeless. She frowned as the last end of the barracks came down with a crash amid the bulldozers.
"You don't agree with Edmund's idea of renovation?" Reuben's voice jolted her into a sidestep. He smiled at her start.
"You did that intentionally," she said without malice.
"I did," he admitted. "A shallow attempt at humor." He nodded to the stables. "His lordship disapproves, too. The horses are still here, Mademoiselle."
She looked across the lawn to the line of stalls shaded beneath two large maple trees and then back at him. "I thought you didn't like formalities," she said, moving away, wondering how long he'd been there.
He shook his head, falling into step alongside her. "I don't, but the Doctor does."
She hesitantly returned his smile. "It's Lauren."
He grinned. "Lauren it is."
Moments later, two riders slowly moved to the tree line north of the estate, still within earshot of the bulldozer and crane. Here the grounds met the river in a gradual decline, but Lauren and Reuben turned the horses into the woods. The path divorced the pruned trees and landscaped shrubs, the rough hickory and thick ferns swallowing the trail that showed little use. Lauren welcomed the coolness of green canopy overhead, a relief from what she knew to be a steamy summer, even for the Alsace-Lorraine region.
The charcoal Holsteiner she rode shook his head and she adjusted the reins. Her riding skills were unused of late and she hoped she wouldn't embarrass herself.
"Have you found any worthwhile purchases?" she asked when she found Reuben watching her.
"Enough. Have you?"
She shrugged. She decided his profile much better than staring at the back of his head as they had driven in from the train station. "Dr. Sheldon makes the acquisitions; I mostly observe."
"I noticed that. You're very young for this field, but not new," he said with a nod of appraisal, as if judging her standing like an aged piece of pottery. "What's your position with the museum?"
She deliberated answering. Carlos' suspicious nature of Reuben hadn't been her imagination, but she could see no reason for it. Reuben was perhaps deliberate in his study, measured in the few words they'd exchanged, but hardly more, and certainly nothing a bit of caution on her side couldn't contain.
"I have no permanent position," she admitted. They ducked beneath a low hanging branch in the trail as they horses passed under. "There's another student who acts as Dr. Sheldon's assistant, too, in exchange for tuition offsets and the experience. Sort of an apprenticeship."
"Or indentureship. No perks?"
"A few. Sometimes Dr. Sheldon gives me authorization to purchase, but only after he has made the initial decision and cleared it with the museum."
He laughed, a sudden sound in the wooded stillness that made her more at ease. "You want his office," he said with a nod, watching a faint blush tint her cheeks. "Admit it."
She didn't, but worked off the slight blush. "That's not it."
He shrugged. "You must be his favorite, to be chosen for this trip."
She detected a trace of suspicion in his tone that raised the reservations she had recently subtracted. She forced a laugh. "Manuscripts are his specialty, but I don't think there's anything terribly unique about the ones we're considering."
"Not the reaction Gustalav would like to hear." He batted at a horsefly on his horse's shoulder. "But I'm ignorant of illuminations and old papers."
She held his steady stare, feeling something had dropped between them and a different sort of guard arose. "I doubt you're ignorant of much, and I doubt you rave and drool over every sword Gustalav presents to you."
He grinned. "It's been a very long time since I've drooled over anything, particularly a sword."
She kept her eyes on the trail ahead as his candid attention made her cheeks heat again. After a moment, she said, "Are you staying for the auction?"
He nodded, brow furrowing in serious consideration now. "I'm hoping the Duke will unveil a treasure worth the wait."
Her cautions were back. "A certain item?"
He flicked the horsefly away again, shrugging as he sat back. "There are a few pieces I'd like to see make an appearance, Lauren. An authentic jutte sword. A Lombardo cinquedea from the very early Renaissance. The gladius that stabbed Caesar—still bloodstained, if possible. Something of similar prestige."
She appraised his wistful countenance. "You're nearly drooling. Would the Duke have something of that nature?"
For a moment she had the uncanny feeling he was about to spring a trap he'd set without her awareness. Instead he sighed as the horses reached the end of the woods. The estate wove into view below them. Madame Chatillier's voice rose during a lull in the bulldozing.
"If he does, it won't be in my field of interest. Grant has the best choices for something as rare, I believe." He halted their progress. His interest wasn't in the magnificent chateau below them, but pointed on her. "Is Dr. Sheldon waiting on a particular treasure, or is the auction an excuse to see you in an evening dress?"
She laughed, shaking her head. She found herself wondering if it was his wording or her imagination that aroused her suspicions of him again. "Carlos would like to find a rare acquisition; but you're right, Reuben. I think the plates are the crowning jewel this time."
She hadn't noticed it herself, but her reference to her superior by his first name didn't escape Reuben. He watched her eyes frown at the progressive ruination of the stable. He hadn't fully decided what shade of green or blue they were. She sat back in the saddle and looked at him.
He saw the shield in her composure was again raised, firmly in place despite her recent slip of protocol. "Do you have plans with Mr. Grant for lunch?"
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