The Theft Before Christmas by Cheryl Bolen

Author:Cheryl Bolen [Bolen, Cheryl]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Historical, Romance, Regency, Historical Romance, Holidays, Mystery & Suspense, Romantic Comedy, Regency Romance Mystery
Amazon: B00F86N1WA
Barnesnoble: B00F86N1WA
Goodreads: 18654417
Publisher: Cheryl Bolen
Published: 2013-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

Miss Huntington once more started down the stairs but decided if she were going to see the colonel, she must make herself more presentable. She hurried back to her bedchamber and peered into the looking glass. How would a man of the world like Colonel Bond perceive the mousy Miss Huntington?

She did look awfully pale. Unbeknownst to Mama, Charlotte had nicked one of Mama's old French rouge pots after Mama made it 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.

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