Silverton was here? How long had that been his intention? Why had he not written and told her?
She felt ill as the view fragmented before her. Perhaps he’d not wanted to upset Kitty if he’d unexpectedly accepted an invitation to break his journey at The Grange.
And what was this about the reunion Araminta was so desirous of witnessing?
The truth roared into her head. Silverton was about to meet his intended bride here?
For a moment, she truly thought she was about to faint. Why had he not told her?
Of course, self-preservation urged Kitty to stick to her vantage point. Seeing the imminent encounter could only break her heart, but yet, how could she pass up the opportunity to see how Silverton greeted the woman he would soon make his wife?
The soft crunch of gravel beneath the newly arriving carriage whispered soothingly in her ears while her heart screamed in pain. Go! Of course she should go, not be caught eavesdropping like some voyeur. She dropped one hand from the railing, and half turned as the carriage door was opened by one of the footmen who’d been standing by in readiness.
Yes, she should go now!
She took a reluctant step away, ready to descend her own set of stairs and return to the catacombs of corridors that would lead her back to the antechamber by the ballroom. Mr. Lazarus would be highly distressed to find his leading lady absent at such a crucial time, though, of course, the play was not to be held for some time if visitors were still arriving. The actors had been requested to be in attendance for a start time of anywhere from seven to eight o’ clock.
She heard the solicitous voices below her inquiring after the comfort of the first occupant to emerge.
Of course she could not turn away now. With equal reluctance and horrified fascination, she leaned once more over the battlement.
A large waving feather atop a purple velvet toque proclaimed the arrival of someone of great elegance in her dotage. An old woman in a travelling pelisse of brown velvet adorned with heavy roulettes at the hem straightened as she stepped onto the gravel, closing her eyes as she raised her head to the sun.
Kitty ducked at the moment recognition send shock through her. Her breath caught and her knees went weak as her hands grasped at the rough stone wall. Dear Lord, it was old tartar to whom she’d given an eccles tart earlier that day.
Self preservation spurred her to flee but then came the words she knew she ought not stay to hear. Indeed, she wished she’d been far away and so had never heard them: “My dear Miss Mandelton! I’ve been so eager to meet you!”
Trying to recover her breathing, Kitty recognized Araminta’s crooning tones. Araminta had arranged this meeting, she realised. She must have known Miss Mandelton was making her progress from the north and, curious to see the kind of wife handsome Lord Silverton would choose, had invited them both to her birthday house party.
A great sob rose in her throat. This was too painful. She must go now. Kitty shouldn’t watch this. She’d thought she’d persuaded herself that it didn’t matter Silverton was succumbing to duty and taking a wife who’d bear his legitimate children. That she could bear anything as long as he reserved his heart for her. For that was what mattered. Love. Love was, above all, her sole reason for existence. It was what gave her life meaning. She’d not had a particularly loving mother or father. Nash had been her initiation into feeling someone in life appreciated her. The frenzied beating of her innocent heart had been unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and she’d assumed, would be sustained forever. She’d thought she would marry him, but by the time he’d asked her, he’d cheated on her and destroyed her trust.
Her months with Nash paled into insignificance when compared with the deep, primal need she felt for Silverton. She loved Silverton with an intensity she’d not believed possible. He made her complete. He was everything she realized had always been missing from her life.
And he respected her.
But he could not make her his wife. Yes, she did accept that. She’d also pledged she would never even think about that other sphere of his life that could not contain her, as long as he continued to show her the affection he did each and every day.
But just one look. One quick look to see the look in Silverton’s eyes as he welcomed the woman he’d not seen for some months. The woman Silverton had chosen to spend the rest of his life with in respectable matrimony and whom Kitty imagined must therefore be beautiful and self assured, and, quite possibly, haughty and disdainful like so many of her class.
So Kitty leaned over the ivy-entwined barrier sandstone and stared down at the scene below, and found to her dismay that Miss Mandelton was none of those things.
The pair of dainty half-boots that touched the ground and the neat body dressed in a plain, dark green traveling gown with little embellishment were, Kitty saw, her best attributes. For the face that peeked out from beneath the poke bonnet was pale. Too pale for beauty. In fact, her complexion looked leeched of color. The nose was small but slightly too sharp for conventional beauty which, had her eyes been more compelling, might have been overlooked. Her brows were so pale as to be not even in evidence from this distance, and her manner was timid. She seemed to withdraw in fear as Araminta moved toward her.
No, Miss Mandelton was not a beauty.
But then, Kitty had already perceived this when she’d returned her little dog and had decided that a pleasing and kind manner were far more attractive traits than bold good looks.
She thought she would be ill.
Why had she not held fast when she’d counseled herself that it would be best if she never met the future Lady Silverton?
But they’d already met.
This was the young woman who would usurp Kitty’s position. Miss Mandelton looked like she had never received a kind word in her life the way she smiled tremulously as Araminta prattled her welcome. Kitty doubted Miss Mandelton had ever said an unkind thing to anyone, either. And it was that very timidity that would tug at Silverton’s heartstrings. Silverton, who couldn’t abide hurting anyone’s feelings.
This timid creature with her passive ways would have everything for which Kitty had longed her entire life: a loving husband—for indeed Silverton would grow fonder of his wife as she produced the children who would carry on the family line—and a family.
All her life, Kitty had longed to be part of a legitimate union with a husband who would be proud enough of wife and children that he would want to show them off. Not keep them secretly in the background, as her father had done to Kitty and Lissa and Ned and now, no doubt, the new baby.
And, as Silverton would have no choice but to do with Kitty and any children they might produce.
A great sob rose up in her throat which she choked back as she heard Silverton’s voice carry over the cool, quiet air, “Octavia, my dear girl. You have come at last.”
Kitty strained for any nuance that might suggest his true feelings—delight, perhaps. But there was just the warmth he might reserve for a familiar family friend.
The reflection gave Kitty no comfort. Miss Mandelton was going to marry Silverton and Kitty was not.
Her last sight of him before she turned away was as he gripped the young woman’s hands in both of his, his tone bolstering, confidence boosting; while Miss Mandelton responded, stammering with overt gratitude that it was indeed good to see him, too.
For, of course, Silverton was her knight in shining armor.
He’d come to her rescue just at the right moment before she was condemned to a life of lonely obscurity, a spinster, never knowing the joys of a loving husband and adorable children.
All those creature comforts which Kitty had craved her entire life.
And which, she now realized, she would never know.
She’d managed to stop sobbing by the time she returned to the fold, as Mr. Lazarus termed the overcrowded antechamber which housed their motley array of props and costumes.
In fact, she was quite dignified as Jennie rushed forward to give her a
strident serve as to how she’d abandoned them all, for Lady Debenham had just been in to inform them they’d be expected on stage in just under an hour as the last of their guests had arrived.
However, Jennie’s ire had turned to enthusiasm as she’d gone on to tell her that Lady Debenham had invited the actors to participate in the dancing for an hour after the performance.
“’Er ladyship’s mama didn’t like ‘er suggestion one bit. Said it was not respectable, but Lady Debenham would ‘ave ‘er way.” Jennie cocked an eyebrow. “Reckon she ‘ad her feelers out for our Bert. Wants to dance a gavotte with our ‘andsomest feller.” She giggled. “She’ll be jealous when Bert kisses the leading lady on stage. Lady Debenham’s got a reputation for being fast and loose, but she don’t care. What’s the bet she’ll be so bold as to ask Bert to partner her to make that old sourpuss Lord Debenham jealous?”
Kitty couldn’t care less what Araminta did or who danced with whom. She shook her head wildly. “I’m not dancing with anyone,” she muttered, aware of Jennie’s surprised gaze following her before the redhead shrugged and went off to gabble her excitement to someone else.
No, if Mr. Lazarus hadn’t purloined her at that moment, she might have picked up her skirts and simply bolted right out of the room and never come back.
How could she have found herself in the midst of such a nightmare?
Chapter 7
Lissa dubiously eyed the garment that lay upon the narrow metal-framed bed wedged beneath the tiny casement window. She supposed she should be feeling grateful at not having to share a bed with one of the household servants. And she should, of course, be hugely appreciative of the fact that Lady Julia had, she said, seen fit for Lissa to act as Lucinda’s chaperone for the night so that Lissa ‘could enjoy some high society’.
Of course, that was so Lady Julia might have free rein to enjoy herself without having to keep an eye on Lucinda. A more pliant charge than Lucinda might have been trusted to behave with decorum, but Lucinda was a wild card. Lissa knew that as well as Lady Julia.
Feeling ill, Lissa donned the plain evening gown that served for any event that required a greater attention to dress than dinner en famille and walked, very slowly, along the corridor to knock upon Lucinda’s door.
The young girl’s face was flushed when she opened it, and Lissa thought how pretty she looked in a blue and cream piped gown with puffed sleeves and heavily-embroidered roses at the hem.
“Wasn’t it fortunate I packed this?” Lucinda remarked, skimming her waist with her hands before offering the back of her head for Lissa’s perusal. Often, Lucinda utilized any opportunity to belittle her governess, but clearly, tonight she was too excited at the prospect of shining in high society and seemed to want Lissa’s approval regarding the fall of her ringlets.
After being reassured that Lucinda’s ringlets, and indeed Lucinda herself, had never looked better, the young girl gripped Lissa’s wrist as they began their progress toward the ballroom and begged, “Please keep as much of an eye on Lady Julia as you have to on me. You know what she’s like when she’s had too much Madeira.”
Lissa smiled. “Well then, I promise to keep as strict an eye on her as I’ve promised her I shall keep on you.” Lucinda’s grin elicited the first feeling of camaraderie she’d felt for the girl. But then the girl’s mouth drooped, and she was once again the pouting adolescent that bored and frustrated Lissa by turn as she asked, “And what about Lord Beecham? He showed no interest in ensuring I was properly supervised?”
“Lord Beecham leaves such matters to the mature women in his household and trusts you will not embarrass him.” Lissa should not have added that piece of information in the schoolmarmish tone calculated to set up Lucinda’s bristles. Immediately her charge pulled away and marched up the corridor, and Lissa wondered why she was so bad at pandering to an adolescent’s precious dignity. But then, she hadn’t seen Ralph in two weeks, and their enforced separation was taking its toll. He was, she knew, busy working on some business for his employer as Lord Debenham was trying to negotiate the sale of some land in Buckinghamshire, no doubt to settle some gaming debts.
Ralph was using the opportunity to pry deeper into his employer’s contacts. Perhaps he’d find something conclusive that built on the letter his cousin—who was both his lover as well as being Sir Aubrey’s wife—had penned intimating his criminal involvement not just in the Lord Castlereagh affair. Perhaps there was other evidence which supported his involvement in the grubby pamphleteering which had led to two members of the House of Lords taking their own lives.
There were so many instances of alleged misconduct which pointed to Lord Debenham, yet nothing conclusive had ever been established. Maybe Lissa would be the one to supply the evidence he was involved in a plot to discredit Princess Caroline of Brunswick, the Prince Regent’s wife, who evoked such violently mixed feelings among the populace and peerage.
Lissa knew this was something very much on Ralph’s mind. If he could only prove that Lord Debenham had a hand in any of these matters, he would be rewarded for his services to the Home Office with a more senior role in their hallowed echelons.
He might even be rewarded with a salary or sinecure that would enable him to do as he’d declared so ardently to Lissa was his greatest dream—be in a position to marry her.
First, of course, was the nightmare that confronted her—negotiating this evening without being exposed. Would it even be possible not to attract the observation and consequent outrage of her father, not to mention any others in the area who might recognize her?
It was the reason Lissa had chosen to wear her dullest clothing and adopt a hairstyle that was as demure and unflattering as possible.
Four hours. If she could just survive four hours—one of which would be taken up watching a play that would, fortunately, enable her to fade into the background—then she could insist it was time for her young charge, who was of course not yet out, to go to bed.
Head down, she led Lucinda to several chairs at the end of a row, hoping to attract no interest. However, the audience seemed too busy gossiping with acquaintances they’d not seen since being in London, which was probably but days ago since pleasurable indulgences were all these people seemed to live for, she thought uncharitably.
She was unnerved to see Lord Ludbridge seated next to Araminta and quickly looked away, praying neither would see her, though of course that would not be possible. Lady Debenham’s enthusiastic welcome had included an invitation to Lord Beecham to stay the night, but her tone had cooled when she’d seen his companion. Lissa wondered if they’d be sent on their way, poste haste, once their vehicle was repaired. Lady Julia seemed immune to shame or embarrassment, though Lissa was well aware that she courted opprobrium at every turn. Not only was there that bad business with Edgar, Lord Partington’s late heir, but she was a married woman in company with a single man and his charge. She wondered how that had been explained.
But while Lady Julia had her own embarrassment to contend with, there was Lissa’s own awkwardness in dealing with Araminta. She’d not seen her half-sister in some months, and of course Lissa was responsible for a number of sketches made during the fateful night at Vauxhall Gardens. This had deepened the investigation into Debenham’s affairs and led, indirectly, to Araminta being pressured—so Lissa had heard—into marrying the villain.
Ought Lissa to feel some responsibility, guilt, or even sympathy for her half-sister?
Watching the self-composed beauty seated several rows away, she reassured herself that neither Araminta nor Lord Ludbridge would be likely to acknowledge her. Lissa would be an embarrassment to them on so many counts—for what she knew, what she had done, and what she was.
It was this last part that rankled.
For her entire life, Lissa had been conscious of the way others judged her on account of her parentage. Now she was sitting here in the midst of her worst nightmare, and there was nothing she could do.
Her throat felt dry, and sh
e licked her lips as she glanced about her. Once she’d ascertained where her father was seated, she’d do her best all evening to keep her head low and out of sight.
As for Lord Debenham, he was the main reason she’d not pleaded a megrim and kept to her room. Lissa felt in her pocket for her sketchbook. Her job was to produce lightning sketches detailing the associations between people of interest to the Home Office. They wanted evidence of all the personages with whom Lord Debenham conversed in any manner that suggested clandestine matters were being discussed. Her sketches of Debenham at Vauxhall in company with Buzby and Smythe had indicated that he was in deep with men who were strongly suspected to be radicals involved in more than just grubby pamphleteering and possibly counterfeiting. If Lissa’s sketches could bear that up or find evidence of, perhaps, Spencean associations, she would be lauded for a job well done.
And it had been a long time since Lissa had been lauded for anything.
Kitty waited in the wings, terror and anticipation making her lightheaded and nauseous. Her costume would not be sufficient to disguise her from those who knew her best—namely, her father. Her name would be another shock. Silverton would not be best pleased that she was under the same roof as his future wife. In the same room. What’s more, Miss Mandelton might well recognize Kitty and engage her in conversation before Kitty got the opportunity to slip away.
She dashed a tear from the corner of her eye as she angled herself behind the curtain in order to get a view of the audience. There he was. Her beloved Silverton. How commanding and dashing he looked. Yet also kind and personable. Her breath hitched in her throat as she watched him smilingly converse with Miss Mandelton, who was sitting on his right side. The fact that she was so plain made the reality of what Kitty faced so much bleaker. Miss Mandelton’s sweetness and vulnerability would appeal to Silverton’s chivalry. How could he bear to tear himself in two?
Lady Unveiled - The Cuckold's Conspiracy (Daughters of Sin Book 5) Page 6