Page 47 of Thief of the Ton
“You have my word, as a gentleman.”
Her shoulders slumped a little, as if she were about to shed a burden.
“I had a note from—himyesterday.”
“From the Phoenix? How do you know?”
“At the bottom was”—she gestured toward the drawing in his hand—“that.”
Peregrine nodded. “I take it the contents of the note are the reason why you’d prefer the world to believe that the vase wasn’t stolen?”
She nodded. “I would have sent for you yesterday, but we were at Lady Fairchild’s for dinner.”
Which, no doubt, explained why Lady Francis had drunk a little too much of Lady Fairchild’s wine, and was suffering from it now.
“Do you have the note?” he asked.
“I burned it—I trust you’ll understand why. But you have my word that it was fromhim.”
Her meaning couldn’t be plainer.
The Phoenix was blackmailing her into silence. Clearly the ruffian wasn’t above dishonor—as much as Lady Francis wasn’t above a little extramarital indulgence.
“Then,” Peregrine said, seeing the path clearing in his mind, leading toward his quarry, “we can assume that the Phoenix is among your acquaintance. Lord Francis said you discovered the vase missing during a house party. Might he be one of the guests?”
“My closest friends? I hardly think they’d be so treacherous. It must be one of the servants.”
“Unlikely, given that he’s struck elsewhere,” Peregrine said. “A servant has not the means to travel. But it could be a guest you admitted at an earlier date, perhaps?”
“I cannot inquire further, Lord Marlow,” she said.
“Then letme. If you’re able to provide me with a list of all your guests for, say, the past three months?”
She nodded. “I can write the names down for you now, if you like,” she said. “I have my journal upstairs, if you’d excuse me while I fetch it?”
*
An hour later,Peregrine sat in his study, poring over a list of members of thetonthat anyone wishing to enter into High Society would give their right arm to befriend. There were over sixty names, including the delectable Miss de Grande and her aunt, as well as Lord Thorpe, the Duke and Duchess of Westbury, and the duke’s sons—his natural son. Mr. Drayton, and his heir, Lord Ravenwell. Lord and Lady Houghton, who were hosting a ball next week, were there, as were Lord and Lady Hythe—to whose house party Peregrine had been invited.
“One of you is the Phoenix,” he said, “and I’ll not rest until I’ve discovered who.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Over here, Lav!”a voice cried.
Lavinia’s heart leaped with joy as she caught sight of her friends. Henrietta stood at the edge of the ballroom, Eleanor sitting beside her.
She navigated her way around the dancers who were indulging in a gavotte that was a little too lively for her tastes. In fact, Juliette Howard had tripped over the hem of her gown twice—though whether that had been a deliberate ploy, Lavinia couldn’t tell. Juliette had, each time, fallen into the arms of the Duke of Dunton.
Could Juliette be any more obvious in her quest to bag a titled husband—no matter how repugnant he was? How could such a creature be related to the quiet, gentle Eleanor?
As Lavinia reached her friends, Henrietta pulled her into an embrace.
“Dear Lavinia! We’d hoped to see you tonight, didn’t we, Elle?”
Eleanor nodded, and Lavinia sat beside her. “I see your sister’s displaying her intentions toward the Duke of Dunton.”
Henrietta let out a laugh. “Juliette Howard cares not who she cleaves herself to, as long as he’s a duke!” She snorted. “She was eyeing up Whitcombe earlier, as if he were a prime fillet of streak she wished to sink her teeth into—wasn’t she, Eleanor?”
