Stolen Love (4 page)

It was a moment before Elizabeth could bring herself to answer. "I suppose so, Aunt Mary," she said, turning the page at last. The next dress she showed her aunt had a simpler collar and fewer flounces by half, but it was disapproved of because the shape of the sleeves was expressly designed to waste fabric, surely not something Elizabeth could afford to do. Her next choice was disapproved of on similar grounds.

"Now, this one, Beth. This will suit you." Mrs. Willard put a hand on the page and turned back to a pattern Elizabeth had passed over because it was so plain.

"I don't think so, Aunt Mary." She wanted a dress with flounces and bows, and this one had none. "It isn't even an evening gown."

"Nonsense! It's perfectly suitable. And I saw the most wonderful silk when we came in. It wasn't more than three or four shillings, I'm sure."

"Yes, Aunt Mary," Elizabeth answered dutifully.

So it was that the dress Elizabeth wore to the Villineses was a high-collared gold silk with a plain skirt and bodice without any of the lace, pleats, or braid trim she would have liked. She had saved enough of the dull gold fabric to fashion two tiny bows which she affixed at the sleeves, but except for the ribbon she had carefully sewn around the collar, the dress was exclusive of decoration.

As usual, that evening Mrs. Willard insisted only Elizabeth could help her dress. By the time she was done helping her aunt, she had less than an hour to get ready herself. A young woman had been hired as ladies' maid to the two girls, but it was clear that Miss Lincoln's first duty was to Amelia. When she finally came in, Elizabeth had already put on her dress, and all Miss Lincoln had to do was fasten the last few buttons while Elizabeth secured her hair with a comb. She fastened around her neck a gold chain that had been a birthday present from Mr. Willard. Her mother's wedding ring hung from the chain, and she fingered it as she stood in front of the mirror looking at her reflection. She wished there had been enough of the gold silk left to make a bow for her hair.

"Hurry, Miss Elizabeth," said Miss Lincoln, handing her a pair of gloves to put on. "It's past eight o'clock."

Elizabeth sighed when she saw Amelia's dress, a blue silk that perfectly matched her eyes and was decorated with more than enough bows to have kept several women sewing for a week. When she stood next to her cousin while they waited for the carriage that would take them to Fitzroy Square, Elizabeth sadly thought that she looked all of sixteen years old, and so plain she might as well be wearing a sign that read "Poor Relation."

The Willards were the last to arrive at Fitzroy Square. They followed the butler into the drawing room, where Mr. Villines rose to introduce them to the other guests. Elizabeth curtsied to the gentlemen (who merely glanced at her and immediately returned their attention to Amelia), nodded to the ladies, and felt decidedly insignificant. The elegant attire of the other women made her wish even more acutely that she had been able to manage a bow for her hair. She took a seat near Mrs. Villines and doubted anyone would even notice her.

There were ten guests besides the Willards. There was Mr. R. Robert Smithwayne, who, like a true gentleman, did nothing in particular, and his wife, Annabelle, who devoted her energies to the Smithwayne Foundation for Abandoned Children. The Smithwaynes' two children were Frederick, twenty-three years old and the image of his father, and Jane, and Elizabeth's age and very pretty. The guest of honor was Sir Jaspar Charles, Baronet. He was in his late thirties, and what little remained of his red hair was mostly directly under his nose. His wife, Lady Charles, was wearing red silk and a necklace of blood red rubies to match. Her dark hair was worn in a sweep of curls held up by combs set with rubies to match the necklace. She was still beautiful, and Elizabeth was certain that, had she been so inclined, she might have distracted everyone's attention from Amelia.

The other two guests were unmarried gentlemen. Mr. Beaufort Latchley was a wealthy banker of some thirty-five years who had just come out of mourning for his wife. His hair was a light brown, his eyes about the same color. He smiled often, but the fascinating thing was that he utterly failed to seem cheerful. Several times he leaned back to listen to the conversation with an expression of contempt of his sharp features, particularly when the other unmarried male guest was speaking.

The Honorable Ripton Rutherford was twenty-five, and he had first provoked Mr. Latchley's scorn just after the Willards' arrival when he commented it had taken his valet nearly a hour to tie his cravat to his satisfaction. In spite of his professed difficulty, Ripton was the picture of sartorial perfection. It had to be allowed he was quite the best dressed man present and no doubt the handsomest one. His blond hair, which he had in great abundance, was brushed away from his forehead, and he was the possessor of the bluest eyes Elizabeth had ever seen in anyone besides her cousin. Ripton Rutherford was Nicholas's best friend, and on that account alone Elizabeth was prepared to like him.

When the meal was announced, it was Frederick Smithwayne who took Elizabeth to the table. "Goodness, you're tall!" he exclaimed when she stood beside him, eyes level with the top of his head.

"I'm sorry." She shrugged. Her aunt's prophecy was coming painfully true.

"Nothing to be sorry for. It isn't your fault. Mr. Rutherford"—Frederick nodded at him— "ought to have been the one to take you in. He's tall enough for you."

Elizabeth was not surprised when Frederick turned his attention to Amelia after he had shown her safely to her seat. She sighed, looked down at the table, and was pleasantly surprised to learn the dreadful years spent at Miss Langford's School had at last proven not to have been a complete waste of time. She knew what to do with every utensil in front of her.

Sir Jaspar sat to Mr. Villines's left, and as the first course was brought in Mr. Villines signaled to the butler that the dishes should first be presented to Sir Jaspar, who seemed to relish slowly uncovering them as each arrived. He took a small bite of each, chewed reflectively, and, since the Villineses's cook was French, nodded to indicate he should be given a larger portion. By the time the food was on Elizabeth's plate, it was considerably cooler than it had been when Sir Jasper sampled it. Not until one of the soup courses did the baronet finally begin to talk about something besides the food.

"Lady Charles and I have just returned from a tour of Europe," he said. "And I must say, I am glad to be back in England."

To hear him tell it, the whole of the Continent was nothing but inadequate service and dunderheads who would not understand the queen's English.

After all of Mrs. Willard's exclamations about the consequences of meeting someone with a title, the baronet was a decided disappointment. Even considering the man in the best possible light, Elizabeth was convinced boredom was the most likely consequence of meeting Sir Jaspar Charles. It was hard to understand why an elegant woman like Lady Charles had married him.

Lady Charles smiled indulgently when Sir Jaspar began telling of their adventure during a tour of a winery somewhere in France. He had very nearly been attacked by a rat the size of which was beyond description in mixed company. "Put me off French wines for nearly a week!" he marveled.

It was, all in all, a well-balanced group. Jane Smithwayne was almost as quiet as Elizabeth, speaking mostly to her brother and once or twice with Mr. Latchley. Though she did not often join in the conversation, she listened earnestly, a habit Elizabeth found flattering and soon resolved to cultivate herself.

As the meal progressed, Elizabeth kept a careful eye on Mr. Rutherford. Besides impressing Amelia, his aim seemed to be to infuriate Mr. Beaufort Latchley—probably because Mr. Latchley seemed equally intent on attracting Amelia's notice.

It was sometime between the vegetables and a mutton that managed to reach Elizabeth before it was cold that Mrs. Smithwayne took advantage of a brief silence to bring up her favorite subject. "A solid foundation in religion would prevent poverty, I am convinced of it," she said. "A true Christian is never poor. Parents who refuse to instruct their children in the proper moral grounds are truly the greatest evil in the world."

"My dear woman," drawled Ripton Rutherford, "the greatest evil in this world is a valet who takes an hour to properly tie one's cravat."

Mr. Latchley snorted and scornfully lifted the corner of his mouth.

"Mr. Latchley—" Ripton glanced in his direction. "I've no idea how long it took to tie your cravat, but evidently it was not nearly long enough."

"I am quite satisfied with my appearance, Mr. Rutherford."

"Yes, quite. I might have guessed."

"I submit to you, ladies," said Mr. Latchley, looking directly at Amelia, "that we have before us an example of the greatest evil in the world. A gentleman whose first concern is the state of his clothes."

"Well, now, Mr. Latchley, do you mean to say one ought not be concerned with one's appearance?" asked Sir Jaspar, who spent upward of eight hundred pounds a year on his wardrobe.

"No, Sir Jaspar," answered Mr. Latchley. "Only that one should not be concerned with it above all else."

Lady Charles interrupted just as her husband was taking a breath to answer Mr. Latchley. "I understand that while we were gone there was another robbery. The Mayfair Thief, I believe they are calling whoever is responsible?"

"Yes, Lady Charles," said Frederick Smithwayne, eager to show off his knowledge. "It happened at Lady Stinforth's ball."

"The Mayfair Thief?" repeated Amelia.

"Yes, Miss Willard." Beaufort Latchley turned to look at her. "The name is of fairly recent coinage."

"The police have only now come to the conclusion that the same man must be responsible for several daring thefts," Ripton added. "There were three or four robberies last year. And, it is suspected, quite a number before then."

"Do you know," said Lady Charles, "a very peculiar thing happened when we were in Paris. Madame de Nouillier lost a very valuable sapphire brooch at a masquerade ball." Mr. Willard and Mr. Villines interrupted their discussion of agriculture in the shires in order to listen. "She claimed it was stolen by a mysterious gentleman whom she was unable to identify, his features having been covered with a black mask. She gave us to understand he lured her onto a secluded balcony and there relieved her of her brooch."

"Lured her my eye!" said Sir Jaspar. "What's a respectable married woman doing following someone out onto a balcony, I should like to know."

"You forget, she is French, Jaspar, and she had argued with the count not ten minutes before."

"And what difference does that make?"

"Well, no matter." She waved a hand. "Madame de Nouillier was overheard to say she would have cried the alarm much sooner had he not kissed her quite so skillfully just before disappearing with twenty thousand francs' worth of her jewelry."

"Is that what the Mayfair Thief steals? Jewels, I mean?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes, but only the most expensive ones," said Ripton. For some reason Elizabeth immediately conjured up images of caskets filled with precious stones hidden away someplace, most likely in the secret room of a moldering castle tower. "He is a thief of the most discriminating taste. Ladies are said to be mortified if their jewels are not stolen by the Mayfair Thief."

"Whom did he so honor this time?" asked Lady Charles.

"Lady Stinforth herself," Mr. Latchley replied.

"She had her hair arranged in a most dramatic fashion," Ripton broke in. "Unfortunately it also prevented her from feeling her tiara being removed until it was too late."

"Fifty thousand pounds, gone in a flash," said Frederick Smithwayne.

"How simply horrible!" Amelia looked appropriately frightened.

"Did she not see who took her tiara?" Elizabeth asked.

"She claims she saw only a glimpse of him as he melted into the shadows."

Mr. Smithwayne bristled. "You romanticize a common criminal, Mr. Rutherford."

"Surely he is no common criminal, Mr. Smithwayne. He is a gentleman criminal. Perhaps even a noble one."

"A gentleman does not go about snatching other people's property, I can assure you of that," said Sir Jaspar. "And as for a nobleman…" He sniffed. "Why, the very idea is preposterous!"

"The Metropolitan Police believe the man must be a gentleman. He seems to move about society easily enough."

"You know quite a lot about him, Mr. Rutherford," said Beaufort Latchley.

"I admit I follow his career rather closely." He lifted one shoulder.

"Is there some particular reason for that?" Mrs. Willard asked.

He shrugged again. "I admire the man."

"Admire him!" exclaimed Sir Jaspar, Mr. Smithwayne, and Mr. Willard all at the same time.

"I admire his courage and his cunning."

"His misplaced courage and his low cunning, you mean," Mr. Villines put in.

"La!" cried Lady Charles. "I wish I had not brought up the subject."

"Surely it is time to change it," Mrs. Villines said.

"I expect the ladies are wondering whether they will mysteriously lose their jewels before the night is over."

Lady Charles looked at Ripton reproachfully. "Tell us," she said to her husband, "about the Van Dyck you found in Geneva."

Elizabeth was sorry to have the subject changed. She wanted to hear more
about the Mayfair Thief. It was certainly a more interesting topic than the painting Sir Jaspar had bought while touring Switzerland.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough, even without further discussion of the Mayfair Thief, and when the men rejoined the women after the ladies had left them to their cigars, Amelia entertained them by singing six of the seven French songs she knew. She would have sung the seventh had not Mrs. Villines then suggested a game of cards. Mr. Rutherford was Elizabeth's partner, and the two easily defeated Mr. Smithwayne and Mrs. Villines. The evening ended with everyone feeling his time had been well spent. Even Elizabeth was inclined to think London might be much more pleasant than she'd a right to expect.