Page 114 of Thief of the Ton
Lady Betty leaned forward, her expression softening, and sadness flickered in her eyes. “We both know that the clock is your mother’s, and you intend to restore it to its rightful owner—your father.”
“Restore it to its rightful owner?” Lavinia asked.
“It sounds better thansteal, darling. But while I’ll do nothing to stop you, I feel I must counsel you. Be careful of Walton—he’s a dangerous man.”
“He can’t harm me,” Lavinia said, “and there’s nothing more he can do to harm Papa.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I’ll admit that most of Dickie’s old friends were fools—the late Lord Francis was notorious for his lack of intellect. But Walton is a different man entirely—he was sharp enough to ruin your father. You’ll not do anything rash, will you?”
“I won’t,” Lavinia said, “but for Papa’s peace of mind, Walton deserves to be punished for what he did. Even if I cannot punish him as fully as he deserves, I can, at least, do something to restore the balance of justice.”
Lady Betty took her hand. “Darling child—you’re more like your mother than you know. She had a determined streak, and was utterly loyal to your father—as he was to her. Your father has the memory of your dear mother to cherish. Nobody—not even Walton—can take that away from him. Sometimes it’s best to cherish what we have than yearn for more. Letting Walton go will prevent him from having any power over you—it’s best if the man never sets eyes on you.”
“He doesn’t even know me,” Lavinia said.
“You’re the daughter of his worst enemy—for that alone, he would hate you.” Lady Betty caressed her hand. “But, as unpleasant as Walton may be, his son is nothing like him. You have given your heart to a good man, Lavinia. If you wish to be with him, you must do nothing to attract his father’s attention.”
She glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf. “Forgive me—I really must be going,” she said, rising from her seat. “Please give my regards to your father.”
Lavinia rose too, and Lady Betty drew her into an embrace. “Nobody could replace your dear mama, but let me give a mother’s counsel,” she said. “Loyalty to a parent is to be commended, but there comes a time when you must placeyourheart, and happiness, first.”
After seeing Lady Betty out, Lavinia climbed the staircase and entered Papa’s bedchamber. She found him reclining on the sofa beside the window. The sunlight shone on his face, illuminating his soft brown eyes and creased white skin. He turned and looked at her, then held out his hand.
“Daughter.”
She approached him and took it. The skin was dry and paper thin, as if it might disintegrate at the slightest touch.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Papa?”
“I prefer to sit by the window,” he whispered. “I can feel the sun on my face and watch the world outside. Ah—there’s Betty.” He leaned toward the window and raised his hand in salute. “A good friend to me, she’s been,” he said. “Of course, nobody could ever replace your dear mother, but had I been inclined to ask another, Lady Betty would have been my choice—though she’d never have me.”
“She might,” Lavinia said. “I’dhave no objection, if that’s your concern.”
He shook his head. “No. Betty might love me, but she’s not in love with me. She lost her heart to another, years ago. And though I love her as a dear friend, she’s not the person in the world I love best.” He curled his fingers around hers. “That is you, dearest daughter. I may be a feeble old man, but I’m no fool. Nor am I blind.”
She kneeled beside him and placed his hand against her cheek. “I know, Papa,” she said, “and I love you too.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “The ginger jar…”
“What of it?”
“…and the necklace. The sword—and the painting. Did you really think I believed that you’dpurchasedthem all?”
“Papa…”
“I won’t admonish you for attempting to right whatever wrong you believe was done to me. I—” He broke off, his voice wavering, then stared out of the window again, the sunlight reflected in his eyes, which glistened with moisture. “The clock that Lady Betty mentioned—it means nothing to me.”
“Was it not a gift that Mama gave you when I was born?” she asked.
“Was it?” He blinked, and a tear splashed onto his cheek. “I-I must be getting old, for I can’t remember.”
“But Earl Walton—”
“There’s nothing to be gained from dwelling on Walton,” he said. “Your mother married me—lovedme. The clock is an inanimate object, athing. What value can be placed on an object when there’s memories to be had?” He tapped his head. “Walton can never take away what’s inhere.”
He drew in a breath, and his body spasmed with a cough.
“W-water…” He gestured toward a pitcher and a glass beside the bed. Lavinia poured water into the glass and held it to his lips. He clutched her hands, shaking while she tipped the glass up. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, then he closed his eyes and pushed the glass away.
