Page 126 of Thief of the Ton
“Perhaps you’re tired from your exertions earlier this morning,” Papa said.
Lavinia’s stomach clenched and she dropped the spoon, which clattered into the dish.
“My—what?”
“I felt a little better this morning, so I went out to take the air before breakfast, and I happened upon the stables. Samson looked like he’d been ridden hard, and his saddle had been left in the stall, covered in mud.” He eyed her with disapproval. “I told Bates to deal with it, but I’m surprised you didn’t ask him yourself.”
“I-I didn’t want to wake him.”
Papa resumed his attention on his breakfast. Lavinia took her seat and poured a cup of tea, and they ate in silence.
After a while, Papa spoke.
“A midnight ride is dangerous.”
She glanced up. “A what?”
“Do you take me for a fool, daughter? The mud on the saddle was caked dry, as if it had been there for hours. Where the devil have you been?”
What could she say? Papa was the one person in the world who didn’t deserve to be lied to.
“I should have known.” He sighed. “You’ve been to Marlow Park to see Walton, haven’t you?”
She recoiled at his insight. “H-how do you know?”
“I saw it in your eyes when Lady Betty said Walton was in England. Was there a particular reason for your going?” He leaned back and folded his arms. “It’s unlikely to be a social call in the middle of the night.”
“No,” she said, gritting her teeth. Her arm flared with pain as she reached for her teacup. “It wasn’t.”
He stared at her for a moment. “You hate Walton as much as I, don’t you?”
“Yes, Papa, I do.”
“And his son?”
Her heart fluttered at the thought ofhim, and she looked away.
But Papa was too sharp. He leaned across the table and took her hand.
“H-he’s not like his father, Papa,” she said.
He stroked her hand. “Perhaps I’ve been too harsh. Lady Betty admonished me for it. My own father was a cad, so I’m the last person who should wish to see the son suffer for his father’s sins.” He smiled. “I recall the bright boy who came to visit when Walton and I were friends, before your dear mama passed away…” He gave a wistful smile. “He always used to take care of you. Most boys would have chased you away. At that age I’d never have wanted a younger child—let alone a girl—trotting around after me. But he was a better child than I—perhaps he’s grown up to be a better man, also.”
He placed a kiss on her hand. “You can speak the truth, Lavinia,” he said, “and you can trust me to listen. You’ve been a good child—you’ve weathered our hardships better than I’d hoped, been a friend to Lady Betty when others would have scorned her. Perhaps I should trust you—though I would caution you not to get hurt.”
Had the pain in her arm not been so intense, she’d have laughed at the irony.
Then he patted her hand again. “No matter,” he said. “I take it your foray into the night was unsuccessful.”
“I-I don’t know what you mean, Papa.”
He tutted in the affectionate manner he used to when she was a child. “Now, what did I say about trusting me with the truth, child? Do you think I believed your story about havingpurchasedthose pieces that adorn my bedchamber? Houghton would never have sold the necklace—and I overheard Mrs. Bates gossiping about the theft of Lord Hythe’s painting.”
“You did?”
“She has a niece in service at Hythe Manor,” he said, frowning. “Gossip travels below stairs as well. I didn’t know my daughter was a thief.”
Overcome with shame, she withdrew her hand. “Forgive me, Papa.”
