Page 57 of Thief of the Ton
“Aunt!” Lavinia rose, dropping her shawl on the sofa to conceal the canvas. “Would you like to join us for tea?”
“Not at this hour, child. I never take tea after five, and it’s almost six.”
“Oh dear!” Eleanor cried, leaping to her feet, almost sending her teacup flying. “I hadn’t known it was so late. Mother expressly said she wanted me home by six.”
The distress in Eleanor’s expression tore at Lavinia’s heart, in the knowledge that she’d receive a dressing-down from an unsympathetic mother.
“Shall I walk you home, Eleanor?” she asked. “I can explain to Mrs. Howard that I kept you late.”
“We can do better than that, my dear,” Aunt Edna said. She turned to the footman. “Have the carriage brought round for Miss Howard.”
“Oh, you mustn’t, Lady Yates,” Eleanor said. “I-it’d be too much trouble on my account.”
“Nonsense!” Aunt Edna cried. “The horses relish the exercise. I’m afraid ferrying me back from Lady Thorpe’s wasn’t enough for them. I’ll take no refusal, my dear.”
“Very well, thank you, Lady Yates.” Eleanor draped her shawl around herself and bade Lavinia goodbye.
Moments later, Lavinia and Aunt Edna were waving the carriage off.
“Your friend’s a charming girl,” Aunt Edna said.
“I thought you didn’t like her, Aunt.”
“She’s a little difficult to get to know, certainly, but when she’s overcome her shyness, she’s quite pleasant,” Aunt Edna said. “But she’ll have to sparkle if she wants to secure a husband—especially with that sister of hers outshining her at every turn. It’s a pity she’s not more accomplished. Now—it’s time for my nap before supper.”
Lavinia slipped her arm through her aunt’s and escorted her upstairs. After depositing her safely in her bedchamber, Lavinia retrieved the canvas and retired to her own chamber, where her trunk was almost packed, ready for Lady Hythe’s house party. She lifted the lid and dropped the canvas inside, on top of the empty picture frame she’d placed there yesterday.
She smiled to herself at the thought of the mischief she would make at Hythe Manor, where the Phoenix would strike again.
But, as she folded her undergarments and placed them over the canvas to conceal it from her maid’s inquisitive eyes, Eleanor’s words returned to haunt her.
The fox is always flushed out in the end, and you know what happens then—she’s torn to pieces by her predators.
Chapter Eighteen
Peregrine stared outof the window, watching the other guests arrive, while his valet scratched about in the dressing room next door. Lord and Lady Hythe greeted each guest with the customary aristocratic insincerity, before liveried footmen shepherded each guest inside.
He drew in a sharp breath as a carriage bearing the Yates crest arrived and rolled to a halt. The carriage door opened, and Peregrine caught a glimpse of a gloved hand.
Miss de Grande…
“Lord Marlow, sir!”
Peregrine turned to see his valet holding an array of cravats.
“Do you have any preference for dinner, sir? The cream silk is a little creased, but I can—”
“I’ll leave the choice to you, Lawson.”
“But sir, you always say—”
“I care not which bloody cravat, Lawson!” Peregrine cried.
“Very good, sir.”
The valet arched an eyebrow, then retreated into the dressing room, and Peregrine returned to the window.
Miss de Grande stood beside the carriage, while their hosts greeted her aunt. She dropped her reticule and, before a footman could retrieve it, crouched down and picked it up. Her aunt snapped at her in a sharp, crisp voice, and she nodded, slumping her shoulders.
