Oh, to live with such a clear purpose. “Can you at least tell me on whose authority you do those things?”

He wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brow.

“There’s a lady inside, Miss,” the younger man holding the other end of the couch offered.

“Inside?” Her pulse accelerated a few more beats per minute. Of course, she’d known the furniture came from inside the residence, but the mental image of some strange woman giving orders to hired men in her own living room sent her stomach plummeting.

Vic jogged up the front steps and through the ceremonial entryway, taking fleeting note that nothing there had been displaced before she turned toward the grand staircase. Another pair of men came toward her carrying an ornately carved end table she’d never been overly fond of, but she didn’t have to like her mother’s furniture to care that someone was making off with it. She practically sprang up the large marble stairs. As she approached the first-story landing, she passed another man who carried only a small statue of Athena.

“Where’s your supervisor?” she barked, and he nodded over his shoulder.

She bounded up two more stairs and into a formal sitting room. Looking left, then right, she didn’t see any more removal employees. She didn’t see anyone at all. Childhood games of hide and seek had taught her one of the downsides to living in such a large estate was that one could end up running in circles all day without encountering the person they sought. The best course of action often involved staying put and, given that her family’s belongings all seemed to be flowing down the stairs, this seemed as good a place as any to make a stand.

At least all the remaining furniture seemed in its place. Not that she would know for sure, as she didn’t spend much time here. Mostly the room was set up for official tours. She certainly wouldn’t want to sit on any of those fancy chairs, or . . . her gaze fell on an old umbrella rack in the corner. She didn’t have to know the space well to know the walking stick standing upright in the bin didn’t belong there. She picked up the staff and suffered an untimely bit of nostalgia. Her grandfather had carved the wood with a silver knife while she sat beside him and listened to her grandmother read.

Her grandmother.

Her eyes darted around the room until they fell on the bare patch of wall where her rapier should have hung. Her blood boiled. None of the furniture had been personal, and even the prospect of a stranger running roughshod over her home didn’t compare with the rage she felt at the thought of anyone touching that sword.