Page 112 of Thief of the Ton
Her world—and her body—had changed forever.
How would she survive without seeing him again?
Gravel crunched outside, heralding the approach of a carriage. Moments later, Mrs. Bates opened the breakfast room door.
“Lady Betty’s here, sir.”
Lady Betty swept through the door in a flurry of bright blue silk. “Thank you, Mrs. Bates,” she said. “Dickie darling, I’msosorry I’m late.”
“I’ll fetch a fresh pot of tea,” Mrs. Bates said, “and more toast.”
“There’s no need to trouble yourself,” Lady Betty said.
“But you must try some jam,” Mrs. Bates said. “We had a good crop of raspberries this year, and it’s my best jam yet, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Then I’ll be delighted, Mrs. Bates, thank you.”
“Do sit, Lady Betty,” Papa said. “I feel most uncomfortable with a lady standing in my presence.”
Lady Betty smiled and took a seat at the table. Then she drew out a paper from her reticule.
“Ah—theLondon Daily.” Papa extended his hand.
“Yesterday’s edition, I’m afraid,” Lady Betty said, “but you might want to take a look at page seven—the Court and Social.”
Papa flicked through the paper, then stopped, his gaze wandering over the page. He drew in a sharp breath and looked up.
“Good God!” he cried, and Lavinia flinched at the blasphemy. “That bastard Walton’s back in town—strutting about St James’s Palace as if he hasn’t a care in the world!” He gritted his teeth. “It says here that he arrived in London last week, and attended court. Then, after a brief visit to his country estate this week, he’ll be leaving England and intends never to return.”
Papa placed the paper on the table. “Well, I for one, will not mourn his leaving the country.” He glanced toward Lavinia. “Perhaps he’s taking that son of his with him.”
Lavinia drew in a sharp breath at the stab of pain in her heart. Then she glanced toward Lady Betty, who gave her a smile of reassurance.
“I have it on good authority that Walton is leaving on his own,” Lady Betty said. “Ah, Mrs. Bates, how kind,” she added as the door opened once more and Mrs. Bates entered with a tray. She placed a fresh teapot on the table, together with a plate of toast and a dish of jam, and left the room.
Lady Betty leaned forward and resumed. “Lady Edgington says it’s the talk of London.”
“What is?” Papa asked.
“That Earl Walton has returned to England because he fears he’s the Phoenix’s next victim.”
“The Phoenix?” Papa asked. “You mean the thief who’s been causing such a furor—at least, according to Edna? Why the devil would a series of thefts induce that bastard to return to England?”
“I hear that he’s concerned about one item in particular,” Lady Betty said. She glanced at Lavinia and met her gaze. “A Louis XVI mantel clock.”
Papa let out a low cry. The teacup slipped from his fingers and fell onto the saucer, shattering on impact.
“Oh!” Lady Betty said as hot tea splashed onto the tablecloth. “Mrs. Bates—Mrs. Bates!”
The door opened, and Mrs. Bates rushed in. “Bless me! What’s happened, your lordship? Oh, look at you—you’re shaking.” She rushed toward Papa and took his hand.
“Stop fussing, woman!” he growled.
“I’ll fuss as much as I see fit, sir. You must take the greatest care of your health, particularly given your constitution. I knew you shouldn’t have gone to London, yet you would insist upon it. The journey might be a short one, but the roads are not well cared for—the ruts and bumps would jolt a person so. Not that I’m blaming Lady Betty, now. No—Lady Betty has your best interests at heart, but you were very persuasive, and she had no choice but to indulge your whims. But it’s just like my Joe. When he has his heart set on something, nothing will deter him, and the easiest path is to placate him, then admonish him later when the consequences of his actions fall upon him. Men are all the same when they insist on something. Stubborn as oxen, they are. Now…”
“Spare me, woman, in the name of the Almighty!” Papa said. “I’ll do whatever you command, provided you desist from speaking. Why do women chatter on so? It’s all nonsense—everything they say is nonsense.”
Lady Betty rose. “Do you really want to speak so disparagingly of our sex, Dickie darling, given that you’re outnumbered?”
