could be done in Paris as well as anywhere; Paris was a city full of stolen and looted art of every description; anything was available if the price were right.
Bootle was being a damn nuisance. On his mettle in this city of fashion, he was being finicky over every speck of dust, demanding perfection of every fold of masterâs neck cloth, insisting he wear the palest-coloured pantaloons and then moaning when he came in with dirt upon them.
âParis is a dirty city, Bootle. Three steps beyond the door, and all your perfection is undone.â
âIn which case, sir, why is it that these Frenchies keep themselves so smart?â
Bootle had set out to find out what he could about George Warrenâs whereabouts from the servants of English people currently residing in Paris. Titus visited art dealers, seeking out old acquaintances and finding who the new people were. Nobody had seen a Titian of the kind he described, no one had been offered any such painting, no one had heard any news of such a painting even existing.
âThe late war,â said Monsieur Dubenois, shaking his smooth grey head. âSo much of an upset to our business, such unsettled times. I fear that you must not place much faith in finding your fatherâs painting.â His face brightened. âHowever, the recent troubles have also brought their opportunities. I have some very fine items that I am sure would interest you.â
They didnât. Titus wasnât in Paris to inspect or barter or buy. Then he had news of George Warren: the wretched man was moving in his silky way through the ranks of society, relishing the gossip, picking up the threads of old friendships, exactly what so many of his compatriots were doing.
He seemed only to be passing through Paris. Titus was soon sure that his visit here was entirely for pleasure and would not be of long duration, and moreover that he was not undertaking any kind of negotiations that had to do with the world of art. He was frequenting the salon of a certain Madame de Faillaise, so Bootle informed him when he finally came to report that he, too, had drawn a blank with regard to the presence of a notable Titian here in Paris.
Titus remembered Madame de Faillaise. She had a pretty foot, yes, her charms were just such as would appeal to Warren. The fiend take him, why could he not stop his dalliance and continue his journey?
He resented the time spent in Paris, was disinclined to enter into any social life and was annoyed when his cousin Eliza, a lively woman married to a diplomat, dragged him reluctant and protesting to soirées and balls.
âTitus, I declare you are behaving like a curmudgeonly old man, when I know for a fact you are not much above thirty. Here are beauties aplenty, French and English and every other nationality under the sun. If a man cannot find a delightful companion in this city, then there is no hope for him.â
âIf by companion you meanââ he began.
She gave him a saucy look. âI mean it is time you married and set up your nursery, all the family say so. Here is your chance, here are all these delightful creatures, spring is in the air, the very trees breathe amour, you must not sit and frown, but take your place in the dance and show that you can enjoy life.â
âOh, as to that, I am a confirmed bachelor, you know.â
âThatâs not what I heard. I heard that Emily turned you down, so you see you are a marrying man, and just as you get back on a horse when you have a fall, so you must enter the lists of love again, quickly, quickly, not fall into a melancholy because one woman rejected you. I have the highest regard for Emily, but she would not do for you, indeed she would not. She made you too comfortable; you need to find a young lady who leads you a dance and takes you out of yourself.â
Titus felt his anger rising. How dare she come trampling on his feelings like this. First his sister, and now his
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