The Theft Before Christmas by Cheryl Bolen Page A

known she abhorred anything to do with those nasty Frenchies.
    Owing to her mother’s strictures, Charlotte had never before used rouge. But today she would. Very subtly. It wouldn’t do to look like a doxy.
    A moment later, she had located the French rouge. Throughout her childhood, she had watched with fascination as her mother applied it. Charlotte had always thought it enhanced a lady’s appearance. If used subtly.
    Moving even closer to the looking glass, she began to apply it. Her first attempt was too obvious. She wiped it off, then reapplied less than half the amount she’d first used. It was astonishing, really, how natural it looked the second time. Except that mousy Miss Huntington never in her life had natural rose in her cheeks.
    Now that she did, she thought she looked a bit older. But as she peered at her reflection, she decided these clothes would not do. She had put on her warmest dress because her room had been so cold. As it was sure to be outside.
    The blue pelisse! Papa—the only man who’d ever told her she was pretty—preferred her to wear blue. Because it matched her eyes. She would just put that over the woolen dress she wore, and she would refuse to take it off.
    After donning the blue merino pelisse and stuffing her hands into the ermine muff Mama had sent her for Christmas, she started for Colonel Bond’s house. She was still trembling. She felt wretchedly disloyal to Lady Daphne for going behind her back like this, but she could not allow her to go through with her scheme to steal a Michelangelo from the Prince Regent. Why she and the captain could be transported to Australia! Or even worse. Crimes against the Crown were punishable by . . . oh dear, by death!
    We must stop them.
    Just because the aristocrats were all off at their country houses for Christmas did not mean the Capital had stilled. Nothing could be further from the truth. Once she got off the quiet lane where the Drydens resided, the streets were alive with the rattle of wheels and the clopping of hooves. On Vauxhall Bridge Road, many poorly dressed men were hawking ’ot nuts , and an assortment of equally as ragged onlookers peered into the windows of a print shop.
    Mama had told her never to look when a crowd gathered there because they were sure to be attracted by sights unfit for a maiden’s eyes. Which only increased Charlotte’s curiosity. If it weren’t imperative that she hurry to Colonel Bond’s, she might have stopped today. She was beginning to enjoy her liberation ever so much.
    Except for this frightfully nasty business with Lady Daphne and the captain.
    As she drew close to the colonel’s house, her heartbeat roared. What if he’s not there? He had told them when he left them the previous night he would await their summons.
    She came up the steps to the door and paused. She drew in her breath, then knocked upon the shiny black door with a trembling hand.
    To her surprise, his servant did not answer the door. The colonel himself did. That was when she remembered that he'd given his man a Christmas holiday.
    “Miss Huntington?”
    She burst into tears.
    He came to put an arm around her and steer her into his house. “Whatever can be the matter? Has something happened to Lady Daphne?”
    “It’s the most dreadful thing.” Sniff. Sniff. “I didn’t know what to do.” Sniff. Sniff.
    “Dear, dear. Do come into the drawing room. There’s a fire to warm you. You shouldn’t have been out on such a beastly cold day.”
    He pulled a chair up in front of the fire, and after she sat, he pulled up another chair for himself and spoke to her in a gentle voice. “Pray, Miss Huntington, you must tell me what is the matter.”
    “I didn’t know what to do. That’s why I’m here. I knew a man of your worldly experience would know how to handle it. I am afraid Lady Daphne will be executed.”
    His eyes rounded.”My dear lady, have you taken leave of your senses?”
    She began to wail.
    He patted her back.