Page 40 of Thief of the Ton
As ifshewere a paragon of virtue!
Ride me like an Arabian stallion…
Wasn’t that what she’d cried out while the lecherous Mr. Moss rutted her from behind? Perhaps if her infidelity were discovered, she’d be shown up for the hypocrite she was.
Lavinia entered the study, but instead of sitting at the pianoforte, she approached the writing desk.
It was time for Lady Francis to receive a little private correspondence.
Sitting at the desk, Lavinia pulled out a piece of paper, dipped a quill into the inkpot, and began to write.
My dear Lady Francis,
While it is not my wont to impugn a lady’s honor, I find I must write to express my admiration for the extraordinary level of stamina you displayed not a fortnight ago at your country seat. Your turn of phrase was particularly enlightening.
“Ride me like an Arabian stallion, Mr. Moss!” Such an instruction to a lover is to be remembered. And, while the cuckolded husband was blissful in his ignorance, you must agree that ignorance in a gentleman is not to be borne. I understand your ladyship is most distressed at the loss of a particular item of porcelain. But, perhaps, if you indulge in a little nighttime sport, it’s no wonder that items of a fragile nature are at risk of being broken.
A ginger jar from the thirteenth century, procured by your husband’s late father, is just such an item. As is a lady’s reputation. Were it to become known that Mr. Moss indulges in nighttime equestrian activities, not to mention the identity of the mare he mounts, the readership of theLondon Dailywould be furnished with a subject of gossip for the season.
If, however, Lord Francis were to be made aware of the mishap that occurred when his wife accidentally smashed the vase, and how deeply she regrets her attempts to persuade him that she was a victim of the infamous Phoenix, then the readers of theLondon Dailyneed never know what it was like to observe a lady being ridden by an Arabian stallion.
I remain your most humble servant.
Yours,
P
Lavinia finished with a sketch of a bird rising from the flames. Then she folded the note and tucked it into her reticule.
Just in time. The tap-tapping of her aunt’s cane echoed in the corridor outside. She slipped across to the piano stool and ran her fingers up and down the keyboard, playing a few scales. A shadow appeared at the foot of the door, and Lavinia opened the music book and began to play a Bach canon—the one piece she’d been able to master. Shortly after, the shadow moved and her aunt’s footsteps faded into the distance.
Neither Aunt Edna nor Lady Francis—nor, for that matter, Lord Marlow—would get the better ofher.
Chapter Thirteen
“Lady Springfield andMiss de Grande!”
The footman announced Lavinia and her aunt as if they were being presented at court.
Sitting on a chaise longue in a room furnished in shades of blue and gold was a tall, thin woman dressed in a gown of dark blue silk, her hair piled atop her head in a mass of curls. Next to her sat a young woman in a plain gown of white muslin, her hair fashioned into a pale shadow of her mother’s elegant style. Her curls seemed to have already come undone, with loose tendrils either side of her face, almost completely concealing her eyes.
The younger woman would, by Society’s standards, only ever be described asunremarkablein appearance. But, to Lavinia, Eleanor Howard was intelligent, charming, and the most interesting creature in the whole of London. Appearance often belied the truth—and no more so than in the Howard family. Eleanor’s younger sister, Juliette, had all the appearance of an angel, and her beauty was lauded among Society. Yet she had the temper of a viper.
Mrs. Howard rose. Then she frowned at her daughter. “Show some manners, child!”
Eleanor stood, her cheeks flaming.
“Mrs. Howard, how kind of you to invite us to tea!” Aunt Edna cried. Then she glanced at Eleanor. “And Miss Howard, of course. But where is dear Juliette?”
“My youngest is dining at Lord Fairchild’s tonight, as Lady Irma’s friend,” Mrs. Howard replied. “Lady Arabella Ponsford has also been invited—such acharminggirl! I’m excessively proud of dear Juliette.”
Eleanor flinched, but Mrs. Howard, seeming not to notice, continued. “Of course,we’vebeen invited to Lady Houghton’s ball next week. Eleanor is delighted, are you not, Eleanor?”
Eleanor mumbled a reply, looking anything but delighted.
“We’ve been invited also,” Aunt Edna said, taking a seat. “Lady Irma would make a fine friend for my niece, considering they’re of a similar rank.”
Lady Howard’s smile slipped at the oblique reference to her inferior status.
