Page 52 of Thief of the Ton
Eleanor spoke in barely a whisper, as Lavinia followed the man with her gaze.
Then she noticed it.
Of course!
He was the man in the portrait—or rather,dozensof portraits—in Eleanor’s sketchbook.
“Heavens!” she cried. “The likeness—it’s extraordinary. If you know him, Eleanor, why didn’t he acknowledge you?”
“W-we’ve never been introduced.”
“But the sketches—they…”
“They were drawn from memory, not from life.”
“And you have an interest in the subject?”
Eleanor sighed, stretching her long fingers. Then she smoothed her skirts. “He’d never look at someone likeme.”
“Then it’s his loss,” Lavinia said. “But if you’ve yet to be introduced, that can be remedied. I could ask Lord Marlow to introduce you?”
“No, please—I couldn’tbearit.”
Eleanor’s voice, usually devoid of emotion, had lifted in pitch and was filled with distress. Lavinia placed a hand over her friend’s. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Eleanor—but I now see the extent of your talent. If you can draw such perfect likenesses of someone to whom you’ve never been introduced, that leaves me in no doubt as to your ability to replicate that painting.”
Eleanor nodded. “It’s finished. I can bring it over next time I come for tea.”
“Excellent,” Lavinia said. The music struck up again, and a number of couples filled the dance floor, including Lord Marlow partnered with Miss Houghton.
Lavinia smiled to herself. Perhaps he’d offered to dance with her as consolation for his friend referring to her as beinghorse-faced. Though, she had to admit, the young lady’s face was a little on the long side, and her teeth a little too large—all the better to chew hay with.
But with his attention fixed on his partner, Lavinia was, at least, free from his observant gaze. After ensuring that Eleanor would be content on her own, Lavinia rose to her feet and sidled toward the door. This time, she was determined to succeed in her quest, and nobody—not even Lord Marlow—would stop her.
Chapter Sixteen
There it is!
Nestling on a cushion of red velvet, tucked away in the back of a drawer, together with a number of other boxes, was the necklace.
Mama’s necklace.
Lady Houghton’s dressing room was filled with boxes of jewels. Gaudy trinkets, most of them—overly bright colors, overly large stones, row upon row of pearls, each necklace showier than the last.
Lavinia had almost given up hope, until, after searching in the sensible places that a prized necklace might be, she began looking in the least likely locations, such as an underwear drawer, where all manner of interesting items were to be found.
Lady Houghton clearly had a laudanum habit, which, given that the bottles were tucked away among her silk drawers, Lord Houghton knew nothing about.
As to her other habit…
Nestled among Lady Houghton’s stockings was a wooden item resembling part of the male anatomy. Not that Lavinia had seen a man’s…but Samson had once displayed something similar when Cousin Charles’s mares were in season.
She’d resisted the temptation to inspect the wooden piece—heaven knew where it had been. By now, she’d been absent from the ballroom for almost half an hour. She couldn’t rely on poor Eleanor to furnish Aunt Edna with excuses forever.
She plucked the necklace from its velvet cushion and held it in her hands, feeling the weight.
“Hello.”
Smiling, she ran her fingertips along the metalwork, tracing the outline of the jewels, until she reached the central emerald, which felt almost warm to the touch, as if it were alive.
