Page 26 of Becoming Lady Dalton
Viola glanced at him, questioning. Piers patted her hand.
“It’s nothing. More lost jewelry. There appears to be a rash of it lately.”
“Lucky for me, I have nothing of great value to lose.” Viola grinned as if yesterday afternoon’s visit from Reed hadn’t rattled her in the least. “I shall enjoy my evening as planned. Would you like to go to the orchestra level and watch from the back? I doubt we’ll find seats, but I love this play. I’ve read it so many times over the years.”
“Your parents educated you well,” Piers commented.
“Hardly,” Viola replied acidly. “They were very good at instructing us in reading, writing, and art. Arithmetic was never my mother’s strongest area, but she adored music, as did my father. Then, of course, after I married…”
“Yes?” Piers prompted when she trailed off. His curiosity about this part of her life gnawed at him. They settled into the back of the orchestra seating, leaning against a wall. The usher frowned, but Piers slipped him a shilling, and the man let them stay.
Viola leaned close and spoke low under her breath, though her gaze remained glued to the actors on the stage.
“There wasn’t much to do in the country. We had four books. A Bible, the collected works of Shakespeare, a collection of poetry, and a rather tedious tome about Greek history. Matthew adored the myths. I about wore the pages thin with rereading Shakespeare and poetry. I cannot tell you what a joy it is to have access to a library, theaters, and museums. I shall never grow weary of London, Lord Dalton. No matter how many jewel thieves are at work.”
In the upper balconies, there was a rustle of commotion. Piers glanced up to where the Kilpatrick women dangled their bosoms over the edge and spotted a gap where Miss Lowry and Lady Margaret had been. He’d be hearing from Evendaw for leaving his sister's side.
“Thief!” came a shout. The actors on the stage continued their performance despite the outcry. Beside him, Viola ignored the interruption. Piers wished he had her calmness, but an uneasy cool finger of air made the hair on the back of his neck rise. But nothing came of it. There was a hush and a flurry of activity, and then … silence. The commotion had nothing to do with them. He settled closer to Viola, watching enthrallment flicker over her face.
“I could spend the rest of my life watching you take in city pleasures,” he whispered against the shell of her ear. Viola shuddered imperceptibly, and for once, she neither rebuked him nor pulled away. A burst of applause marked the scene ending, she met his gaze, and Piers was lost in the maze of yearning he found there.
“There you are! Dalton, I’m highly put out at your extraordinary rudeness in abandoning my sister this evening.”
Piers closed his eyes, breaking their gaze. The moment was lost. Viola straightened, sketched the barest curtsey and sidled away as if they hadn’t stolen a moment away from their companions for the evening—leaving him alone to face Evendaw’s wrath.
“I meant to speak with you, chum,” Piers managed through gritted teeth. “I don’t believe the Kilpatrick girls are suitable companions for an impressionable young lady of refinement like Lady Margaret.”
Evendaw’s brows knit together like two fuzzy caterpillars meeting over the bridge of his nose. “I quite agree, Dalton. Which is why Miss Lowry has decided to accept my offer to stay with us this holiday season. She has become fast friends with my sister over the past week and has no one here to celebrate Christmas with.” Evendaw fairly glowed at his own generosity. “I’ve given her my word that we shall treat her like family.”
Piers wondered at the source of Evendaw’s abrupt interest in the odd American woman. Even for a man ostensibly happy in his marriage—and for all Piers could tell, Evendaw was the picture of marital contentedness—Miss Lowry would be a temptation. If Evendaw had ever so much as held a door open for a lady without an eye to self-advancement, Piers would eat his cravat. Pin and all.
“Don’t you find it odd that a young woman of apparent wealth is traveling abroad without so much as a chaperone?” he asked.
Evendaw scoffed. “England is hardly the continent, and she has had the Kilpatricks for chaperones since she set foot on English soil. Not that they qualify as anything but a sideshow attraction. Their bosoms alone are worthy of a carnival, never mind their personalities. It’s like nails on a slate listening to them talk.” Evendaw shuddered. “It’s charity to take in Miss Lowry.”
Piers decided the schoolyard grudge he’d held against the man wasn’t entirely warranted. “You’re a good chap. Let’s go and retrieve them from the Kilpatrick box of iniquity before their reputations are sullied beyond recognition, shall we?”
“Indeed.” Evendaw clapped a hand over his shoulder. Though Piers was taller and well-muscled, his companion’s physical heft landed in a blow. “Since we’re speaking of reputations, Dalton, I expect you to cut ties with that Cartwright widow. After her sister stole Briarcliff right out from under his bride’s nose—right at the altar, no less—everyone knows she’s after money. You’re courting Margaret now. If you embarrass my sister or my name, I’ll see to it you suffer the consequences. Understood?”
Piers remained silent as they made their way up to the second tier. Unease snaked around his midsection. He imagined his cravat was trying to strangle him. When they were about to enter the Kilpatrick box, Evendaw paused.
“I asked, Dalton, whether you understand.”
“Of course.”
Yet Piers knew the difference between a question and a command.
“Bring them back to my box for the second half. I expect you not to leave this time.”
Piers nodded. His throat worked as he swallowed a caustic retort, then he bowed.
14
Inside,the air was hot and stifling and reeked of the young women’s clashing perfumes. Or, perhaps they all wore the same overpowering scent. Either way, it made his eyes water. Despite the gloom, Piers immediately picked up on Mr. Kilpatrick’s frown. His frantic beating of his pockets alerted Piers to the fact that something was amiss.
“Is everything all right?” Piers asked.
“My pocket watch is missing. It was here a moment ago. The chain must have snapped. Help me find it,” the old man pleaded. “It was my father’s, and my grandfather’s before that. If you ever wonder where my daughters get their brass, it’s straight from their grandmother. She forced my papa’s hand in moving to America by melting down his pot still.” Kilpatrick chuckled. “She sold it for money to go to America, but she had that watch made as a reminder of the still that started the Kilpatrick family legacy. It’s a family heirloom. I must have it back.”
