Page 16 of Thief of the Ton
“I was up before dawn,” Lavinia said. “The sunrise was glorious.”
That, at least, was the truth.
“Before dawn?” Mrs. Bates cried. “A young lady shouldn’t go about riding in the dark. There’s brigands on the roads, and you hear such dreadful tales of coaches being set upon.”
“Brigands?” Papa glanced up. “What’s this about brigands?”
Lavinia rushed to his side. “Nothing, Papa,” she said. “I went out for a morning ride, that’s all.”
Papa’s eyes widened. “You ventured out alone—on Samson?” He shook his head. “Oh no—that simplywon’tdo.”
“I can handle myself,” Lavinia said. “If you’re concerned, I’ll take your pistol.”
“Sweet Lord—don’t let your aunt hear you say such a thing! She despairs of you enough as it is. If she knows you’re carrying on like a hoyden, she won’t take you to London next month.”
Good.
Lavinia resisted the urge to voice her opinion. Papa set such store on her having a successful London Season, and she didn’t have the heart to disappoint him—not when he’d been looking increasingly frail of late.
The last thing she wanted was to distress him when he’d suffered so much at the hands of others. His spirit had been broken by his enemies, and, whatever it took, she would devote herself to restoring what she could before he departed the world in which he’d been treated so unjustly.
And I took the first step last night.
Papa waved a hand at Mrs. Bates, who exited the dining room, her husband in her wake. Lavinia placed her shoulder bag and its precious contents on the breakfast table, then sat beside him. His blanket slipped to the floor, and she retrieved it, then tucked it over his lap.
“Lavinia…” He nodded toward her bag. “Your aunt would have a fit if she saw that on the table,” he said. “You’ll need better table manners if you’re to grace the dining rooms of London.”
“I’ve something for you,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Would you like to see?” She reached inside the bag, pulled out the object inside, and placed it on the table.
At first, Papa’s expression showed confusion. Then recognition shimmered in his eyes and he leaned forward.
“Surely that’s not…”
He glanced up and met her gaze.
She nodded, then picked up the little ginger jar. “Check the maker’s mark on the bottom.”
Papa leaned forward, hands outstretched, as if reaching for his lost love. Lavinia placed the jar in his hands, and he sighed, caressing the smooth surface, tracing the lines of the dragon painted on the belly of the jar.
Moisture glistened in his eyes. “I-I don’t understand,” he said. “Where did you…”
She averted her gaze before responding. “I’ve been corresponding with a merchant in London—with Lady Betty’s help.”
“B-but, how?” Papa’s gaze remained fixed on the object as he turned it around in his hand. “How could you afford it?”
“I-it…” She hesitated. “It didn’t cost much.”
Papa let out a snort. “It’s worth a small fortune.”
Lavinia’s heart jolted in her chest—did he suspect her? Even the dullest wit would be able to work out the truth…
Then he leaned back in his chair and sighed. “That bastard Francis paid a pittance for it. Though why he’d sell after all these years…”
Lavinia placed a hand on his arm. “Papa, the Lord Francis you knew died two years ago, and his heir, the present incumbent, wasn’t the seller.”
In that, she’d spoken the truth. Lord Francis hadn’tsoldit to her.
Papa arched an eyebrow. “I wonder when Francis sold it, if you didn’t purchase it fromhim?”
