Page 97 of Harpy of the Ton
She opened her eyes to see her daughter standing before her, her body vibrating with excitement. Then a hard object was pressed into her hands.
“Look!”
It was a brooch—an enormous ruby set in gold with delicate filigree work around the edges. She held the brooch up, and light reflected off the planes of the gem, which seemed to pulse with life—blood red with deeper tones in the center.
She’d never seen anything so magnificent. It must be worth a fortune!
She turned the brooch over in her hands, her gut twisting as she spotted the letters etched into the gold.
A.P.
What was the name of the doxy at the Royal Oak—that one she’d seen Lawrence with? Amelia, Sophie had said.
“Mama, what’s wrong?”
She glanced up to see three pairs of eyes watching her. “Where did you find this?”
“In Papa’s study,” Roberta said. “Hidden in his desk. But I know where the key is.”
“Roberta!” Bella cried. “It’s wrong to steal.”
“You think Papa stole it?”
“No—I meantyou. You can’t go into his study without permission.”
“I was only looking for money for Jonathan’s spectacles. Why do you think Papa hid it? Is it a gift for you, Mama?”
“It can’t be,” William said. “Mama’s name doesn’t begin with A. It’s for someone else.”
The ruby winked malevolently at Bella, and she handed it back.
“Put this back where you found it, Roberta,” she said, “and don’t mention it again—not to your father, and certainly not to me.”
“We could sell it. It must be worth—”
“Justdoit!” Bella said. “Why must you question everything?”
Roberta flung the brooch to the floor and ran from the parlor. William pulled a face and ran after his sister. Jonathan burst into tears.
Bella pulled the boy into her arms. “I’m sorry, sweetheart—I didn’t mean to shout at your sister. I know she was only trying to help. Please don’t worry. I’ll get your spectacles—whatever it takes.”
“W-will you ask Papa?”
“No,” Bella said, gritting her teeth. “I’ll find something else to sell.”
She lifted her hand to her necklace, fingering the thin gold chain. She had no recollection of it, but Lawrence said it had belonged to her since childhood.
She glanced about the parlor—at the items she had no memory of. Nothing in it belonged to her. Even her gown had belonged to Sophia. Only her petticoat was hers—she’d been wearing it when they fished her out of the river. But she could hardly sell that.
The necklace was the one link to her past. But no matter how much she’d willed her memory to return, it remained out of reach.
Maybe the past was best left buried.
She thought of her husband—and the doxy at the inn.
Sometimes it was best knowing nothing.
Chapter Thirty-One
