Page 100 of Thief of the Ton
Hythe colored. “I acquired it at auction, some years ago. I-I thought Lady Hythe might appreciate something pretty, but she wasn’t much fond of it—you know what women are like.”
Bought at auction for two shillings—just like the stolen ginger jar. That seemed too unlikely to be a mere coincidence.
“Can I see the painting?” Peregrine asked.
“Very well,” Hythe said. He gestured to the footman. “You there! Make sure the Lely portrait is restored to its rightful place on the wall.”
The footman bowed, then Hythe led the way out of the gallery and up a small flight of stairs, to a parlor in a side wing of the house. Peregrine wrinkled his nose at the odor of damp. Most of the furniture was covered in sheets, save a table by the door, which bore a thin layer of dust.
Hythe strode toward the wall at the far end of the room that was covered in paintings, inspecting each one until he stopped short beside a miniature silhouette.
“The blackguard!” he cried, pointing to the miniature. “He’s stolen it!”
“What do you mean?” Houseman asked.
“The painting was there the last time I saw it—Iswear it!”
Peregrine plucked the miniature from the wall. “You recognize this?”
“Yes, it’s ours,” Hythe said, “but I don’t recall seeing itthere. It’s usually set on the table—see where the dust’s been disturbed?”
“Then it’s not a fake,” Peregrine murmured. He turned it over in his hand to inspect the back, then froze. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I believe we have unearthed the true theft.”
“What do you mean?”
He held up the miniature.
Houseman let out a low whistle, while Hythe swore.
Tucked inside the frame, at the back, was a piece of paper—with a drawing of a bird rising from the ashes.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The waters ofthe Serpentine glistened in the afternoon light, tiny diamonds dancing across the surface. Standing beside Lady Betty, Lavinia watched a pair of swans glide downstream. She drew her shawl around her shoulders and sighed.
“You seem a little melancholy, Lavinia darling,” Lady Betty said. “Is something amiss? Your father’s health is much improved. He’s certainly well enough to weather the journey when you return to Springfield Cottage.”
“I know,” Lavinia said, “and I’m looking forward to returning home. It’s just…”
“You’ve grown fond of the town,” Betty said.
“A little.”
“Or perhaps”—Lady Betty moved closer and lowered her voice—“you’ve grown fond of London’s residents—one in particular?”
“I-I don’t know what you mean.”
“Ofcoursenot, darling,” Lady Betty said, her eyes twinkling. “I quite understand your reluctance to declare a liking for him, given your father’s aversion toward him—or rather toward his father.” She placed a light hand on Lavinia’s arm. “There’s no sin in beingfondof someone, you know. Lord Marlow’s nothing like his father.”
“You knew Lord Marlow’s father was Earl Walton?” Lavinia asked.
“Everybodyknows it. I’m surprisedyoudidn’t.”
“How could I be expected to know?” Lavinia asked. “His name is Marlow—not Walton. I spoke to him of Earl Walton several times—of how the man betrayed Papa, and how much I detested him. Why didn’t he tell me then that Walton was his father?”
Lady Betty slipped her arm through Lavinia’s. “My poor, dear child—isn’t it obvious?”
“Not really.”
