he frowned at the sickly figure, the woman’s skin the color of parchment, the eyes sunken deeply into her skull, the wispy white hair like clouds of chiffon framing a gauntly skeletal face. The woman looked positively emaciated and on the verge of tumbling into the tomb, he decided, and now remembered the same woman as he’d seen her last.
At the ball he’d been invited to as a guest of Rostislav Mamykin himself.
She’d been the life and soul of the party back then, a slender, beautiful woman of indefinable age, the epitome of health, well-being, and ageless class.
With a pang of concern, he noted the difference between the woman he’d briefly made the acquaintance of, and the sickly person in the bed before him. As he noted Glynis’ gaze of concern, he realized with a rising sense of unease that he’d had a hand in this. Though still not entirely convinced, it dawned on him that he might be responsible for the fate that had befallen the beautiful Lady Lydia Fox.
He plopped down on one of the visitor’s chairs, his eyes riveted not so much on the mother, but more on Glynis.
Her lovely face, the wisps of blond gently dancing around it, was bent over Lydia, and the look of deep sorrow in her eyes was very real.
And very touching, he decided.
He might be an insensitive cad, quite self-absorbed and indifferent to the fate of others, but even he had to admit that the scene unfolding before his eyes was touching to a degree.
He sat, effectively stunned, staring at mother and daughter for five long minutes before he found that in that short space of time, he’d not only accepted responsibility, but had started to question if relieving the woman of her pearls had been such a good idea after all.
When he compared Lydia Moorhouse to the woman for whom he’d stolen them in the first place, Laila Mamykin, Rostislav’s umpteenth wife, a spoiled and rather huffy female he didn’t much care for, he decided in a sudden moment of clarity that, even though the money had been good, he’d perhaps made a terrible mistake.
He now remembered that seeing Lady Fox, and more specifically the pearl necklace adorning her neck, he hadn’t given much thought to the consequences of his actions, figuring she had plenty more jewels where those came from. He’d never known the importance the pearls held for the woman, nor could he have. For him, jewels were merely pockets of money, the emotional value some people attached to them a mere hindrance to his work. A distraction. He was cold and calculating that way, and it was only now, for the first time in a long career, that it dawned on him that perhaps gems represented something more to their owners than mere money.
Glynis kissed her mother’s brow, the woman hardly stirring, and he frowned to himself. If he really was going to get those pearls back, he would have his work cut out for him. He hadn’t lied before. For him— especially for him—the mission was an impossibility. But then he gazed upon Glynis’ face, at the expression of sadness reflected therein as she caressed the old lady’s cheek.
No matter, he thought ruefully. It had to be done. He had to rectify this mistake he’d made, and try to salvage something from the wreck he’d inadvertently caused.
With bemused concern, he saw that perhaps for the first time in his life, he was developing a conscience.
How quaint.
And how unfortunate.
CHAPTER 12
Glynis entered the parlor and sank into one of the upholstered chairs. Spending time with Mummy could be emotionally draining. Daily care had been left to a nurse, but she still handled a lot of the details personally. At first, her father had done most of the work, but the emotional stress had been too much for him. Watching him bend under the strain, she’d taken over, deciding that she didn’t want to lose both parents.
Dad had done a great job, but now he needed to think of himself. If he were to work himself into a decline, there would be no one left in this
At the ball he’d been invited to as a guest of Rostislav Mamykin himself.
She’d been the life and soul of the party back then, a slender, beautiful woman of indefinable age, the epitome of health, well-being, and ageless class.
With a pang of concern, he noted the difference between the woman he’d briefly made the acquaintance of, and the sickly person in the bed before him. As he noted Glynis’ gaze of concern, he realized with a rising sense of unease that he’d had a hand in this. Though still not entirely convinced, it dawned on him that he might be responsible for the fate that had befallen the beautiful Lady Lydia Fox.
He plopped down on one of the visitor’s chairs, his eyes riveted not so much on the mother, but more on Glynis.
Her lovely face, the wisps of blond gently dancing around it, was bent over Lydia, and the look of deep sorrow in her eyes was very real.
And very touching, he decided.
He might be an insensitive cad, quite self-absorbed and indifferent to the fate of others, but even he had to admit that the scene unfolding before his eyes was touching to a degree.
He sat, effectively stunned, staring at mother and daughter for five long minutes before he found that in that short space of time, he’d not only accepted responsibility, but had started to question if relieving the woman of her pearls had been such a good idea after all.
When he compared Lydia Moorhouse to the woman for whom he’d stolen them in the first place, Laila Mamykin, Rostislav’s umpteenth wife, a spoiled and rather huffy female he didn’t much care for, he decided in a sudden moment of clarity that, even though the money had been good, he’d perhaps made a terrible mistake.
He now remembered that seeing Lady Fox, and more specifically the pearl necklace adorning her neck, he hadn’t given much thought to the consequences of his actions, figuring she had plenty more jewels where those came from. He’d never known the importance the pearls held for the woman, nor could he have. For him, jewels were merely pockets of money, the emotional value some people attached to them a mere hindrance to his work. A distraction. He was cold and calculating that way, and it was only now, for the first time in a long career, that it dawned on him that perhaps gems represented something more to their owners than mere money.
Glynis kissed her mother’s brow, the woman hardly stirring, and he frowned to himself. If he really was going to get those pearls back, he would have his work cut out for him. He hadn’t lied before. For him— especially for him—the mission was an impossibility. But then he gazed upon Glynis’ face, at the expression of sadness reflected therein as she caressed the old lady’s cheek.
No matter, he thought ruefully. It had to be done. He had to rectify this mistake he’d made, and try to salvage something from the wreck he’d inadvertently caused.
With bemused concern, he saw that perhaps for the first time in his life, he was developing a conscience.
How quaint.
And how unfortunate.
CHAPTER 12
Glynis entered the parlor and sank into one of the upholstered chairs. Spending time with Mummy could be emotionally draining. Daily care had been left to a nurse, but she still handled a lot of the details personally. At first, her father had done most of the work, but the emotional stress had been too much for him. Watching him bend under the strain, she’d taken over, deciding that she didn’t want to lose both parents.
Dad had done a great job, but now he needed to think of himself. If he were to work himself into a decline, there would be no one left in this
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