Page 24 of Thief of the Ton
She glanced about the parlor. The ginger jar she’d appropriated from Lady Francis’s bedchamber was not on display.
“I wonder, Lavinia, dear,” Lady Betty said, “might you favor me with your company in a little sojourn about the garden before I depart? I believe your poor papa would like a little respite from my chatter, and I recall your saying in your last letter how beautifully Mr. Bates was tending to the rose garden. Perhaps you’d permit me to cut a bloom or two, to brighten up my home?”
“With pleasure,” Lavinia replied.
Betty adjusted the blanket on Papa’s knees, then led Lavinia out of the parlor and into the garden.
“I hope to see you while you’re in London,” Lady Betty said, “though I’d understand if you’re unable to visit. Your aunt might not approve.”
“What—of my calling on a titled widow?” Lavinia laughed. “Outwardly, at least, Aunt Edna must acknowledge your rank.” She glanced toward the cottage, then lowered her voice. “Have you found someone to make the necklace?”
“When have I let you down, darling?” Lady Betty replied. “The necklace proved to be a little challenging, with the rather unusual design. But I know an excellent craftsman on Hatton Garden who owes me a favor.” Her eyes glittered with mischief. “I tell all my gentleman friends to pay him a visit before returning to their wives. His pieces adorn some of the finest necks in thehaute ton.”
“And…the painting?”
“That’s proving problematic. My acquaintance can fashion a frame, but the artwork itself requires a considerable degree of talent, an excellent memory, and an eye for detail. When a painting is in a private collection, it’s more difficult to replicate without attracting attention.”
“A frame would suffice,” Lavinia said. “Perhaps, when I come to London, we might seek out an artist together.”
Betty arched a beautifully plucked eyebrow. “That painting is well known among experts who can spot a fake immediately.”
Lavinia approached a rosebush and focused on the blooms. “I’ve no intention of procuring a perfect replica,” she said. “It only needs to fool the untrained eye.”
“You seek to deceive? Of course, forgery is prevalent among Society. A titled family struggling with the upkeep of their estate will often sell their treasures, replacing them with replicas. Sir William Moss—do you know him?—has had replicas made of all his wife’s jewelry, and sold the originals to fund his profligate lifestyle.”
“Such as patronizing you?” Lavinia asked.
“Oh, darling!” Lady Betty laughed. “I’m wealthy enough in my own right, and am much less of a strain on my lovers’ resources than the gossips think. Besides, I mustlikemy lovers, at least. Sir William thinks too much of himself. His son—Heath Moss—seems to think his prowess is determined by the number of men he cuckolds. I hear he’s carrying on with Lady Francis.”
Having caught the couple in questionin flagrante delictotwo nights ago, Lavinia opened her mouth to agree. Then she closed it again. The less Lady Betty knew about the true extent of her exploits, the better.
“I’ve no intention of making money,” Lavinia said. “I know it’s unlikely that we’ll return to Fosterley, or retrieve what we lost—but if I can provide Papa with replicas of the most beloved items, then they’ll bring forth the memories that he tries to cling to. Memories of Mama.” She let out a sigh, and her breath caught at the memory of her mother—the gentle, fragile creature on whom she and Papa had doted.
A warm hand took hers, and Lavinia turned to see Lady Betty’s brown eyes focused on her.
“Dickie’s lucky to have you as a daughter,” Lady Betty said. “You’re the light of his life, and the image of your dear mother. If she were alive, she’d be so proud of you. It breaks my heart that you’ve been motherless for so long.”
Her voice caught, and Lavinia took her other hand. “You’vebeen a mother to me, Lady Betty.”
“Dear child!” Lady Betty cried. “Your Aunt Edna would object to hear such a thing.”
“Aunt Edna!” Lavinia scoffed. “There’s more to motherhood then enforcing rules, and if you were to marry Papa…”
“Oh, darling!” Lady Betty cried. “If I married Dickie, it would do him—and you—no good. I value my freedom too much.”
“You’d counsel against matrimony?”
Lady Betty nodded. “Do you believe in soul mates, Lavinia?”
“Soul mates?”
“Someone without whom you are incomplete—someone who can never be replaced. My Maddock, God rest his soul, was my true mate. He loved me despite my faults, and though it’s been nearly twenty years since his passing, I miss him still.”
Lady Betty slipped her arm through Lavinia’s. “Of course, darling, if you’re as fortunate as I to meet your soul mate, then your heart will thrive.”
“Is that likely?” Lavinia asked.
“Oh yes, darling. He’s out there somewhere—you just need to find him. Perhaps you’ll discover him in London. Now, I’ve taken a fancy to those blood-red roses by the sundial, if you’d permit me to take one.”
