Page 83 of Thief of the Ton
“Are you sure I’m not inconveniencing her?” Peregrine asked. “Or Lady Yates?”
“Her ladyship is resting. Miss de Grande is in the parlor upstairs—if you’d like to follow me?”
The footman led the way out of the morning room to a parlor at the end of the hallway on an upper floor. Then he knocked on the door and pushed it open, announcing Peregrine’s arrival.
Two young women occupied the parlor. Perched on the edge of their seats, backs straight, bodies stiff—they bore an air of guilt.
Peregrine bowed. “Miss de Grande,” he said. “Thank you for admitting me.”
She rose, then dipped into a curtsey. “Lord Marlow—a pleasure, as always. You know Miss Howard?”
“We’ve yet to be formally introduced,” Peregrine said, “though I had the pleasure of seeing her at the Houghtons’ ball, of course.”
Miss de Grande gestured to her friend. “Eleanor—may I present Lord Marlow?”
Miss Howard colored and rose, a little unsteadily. Then she lowered herself into a curtsey, her gaze fixed on the floor.
“Delighted to meet you, Miss Howard,” Peregrine said, offering his hand.
She took it. “Thank you.”
“I’m already acquainted with your sister, of course,” he said. “Miss Juliette—a charming, elegant young woman.”
Miss Howard stiffened, then withdrew her hand. “Lavinia, I must be going,” she said. “Mother will be expecting me.”
“But Eleanor—”
“Please!” Miss Howard glanced toward Peregrine.
“Of course.” Miss de Grande nodded toward the footman. “Wilkins, Miss Howard wishes to go home. Would you send for her maid? Then, perhaps, see if my aunt is awake?”
“Very good, miss.”
The two young women embraced, then the footman escorted Miss Howard out.
Peregrine drew in a deep breath. His time had come.
Miss de Grande gestured to a chair. “Please, sit, Lord Marlow.”
“So formal?” he asked. “Will you not call me Peregrine, now we’re alone?”
“My aunt may come at any moment.”
“You’re quite safe from me, I assure you.”
She returned to her seat, stopping to adjust the lid of the basket beside the sofa.
“Don’t tell me you’ve succumbed to Society’s greatest vice?” he asked.
She glanced up, a spark of fear in her eyes. “Vice?”
“Needlework.” He gestured toward the basket. “Did you not once say that the pursuits of an accomplished lady were the greatest vice of all, for they perpetuated a patriarchal Society?”
She let out a sigh. “I believe I did.”
“May I see the fruits of your sin?”
She placed her hand on the basket and shook her head. “The basket contains the work of another.”
