Lady Unveiled - The Cuckold's Conspiracy (Daughters of Sin Book 5)

by Beverley Oakley

Gently but firmly she pulled out of his arms, finishing her speech from the safety of the carpet as she draped her discarded shawl over her nakedness. “Miss Mandelton’s life would be barren and miserable if she learned your heart belonged to another. Believe me, I know what that feels like from experience, and I could not live with myself for thrusting it upon someone else. Certainly not someone as good and deserving as Miss Mandelton.”

  Lady Julia was magnificent in Pomona green. Debenham followed her with his eyes as she danced the minuet which, he was amused to see, included a clearly reluctant Stephen Cranborne in the set. The woman appeared to have no shame after the terrible drowning that had occurred two years earlier. Terrible tragedy, of course, but Stephen Cranborne could thank Lady Julia for the fact that he was now Lord Partington’s heir. Her drunken revelry two years ago had led Partington’s bacon-brained nephew Edgar to a premature death, and everyone knew Cranborne would be a much steadier man in charge.

  That didn’t make Debenham like him any more. In fact, it enraged him to think that the fertile valleys of Cranborne’s lands yielded so much more than Debenham’s sparse and rocky dominions further to the north. No wonder Araminta had chosen to stage her celebration here when they were so comfortably accommodated a little more than two hours from London. She detested his country seat as much as he did, though there were times when he would’ve liked to have banished her there for a few months at a time.

  That said, since she’d done her duty and given birth to young William of whom he was ridiculously fond—far fonder, it would appear, than his wife was—and she had regained the luscious curves which, with her pride and beauty had most attracted him, there were compensations to having her near.

  His reverie was disturbed by the intrusion of an old acquaintance of whom he was not terribly fond. Debenham raised his laconic gaze to the Earl of Barston’s heir whose gaze was fixed upon Lady Julia.

  “She could be mistaken for any one of the debutantes about, eh? Experience to burn, though. Three children in the nursery and a roving eye.”

  It occurred to him that Barston could have been referring to Araminta in a couple of years. The young man went on, “Lord knows how she can get away with this fanciful charade of chaperoning Miss Martindale hither and thither when everyone knows she’s Beecham’s fancy piece.”

  Barston was well known for his petulance when he didn’t get what he wanted. Perhaps he’d had his eye on Lady Julia once. Or perhaps he still did. Debenham had often gambled with him when he’d been in his cups complaining over this or that. He didn’t particularly like the fellow whom he thought a puling namby-pamby boy, so he wasn’t much inclined to continue the conversation until Barston said something that made his ears prick up.

  “A good thing Sir Archie ain’t here to see his wife in the arms of Cranborne of all people.” For the pair were now in a waltz hold and galloping to the corners of their square, and Cranborne was smiling for the first time. “I’d be more than dashed grieved with matters in such a pretty pickle on the home front if I were Sir Archie.” Barston’s hangdog mouth was, as usual, turned down at the corners, his expression more than unusually sour.

  Debenham looked at him inquiringly. The fellow looked like he didn’t need much encouragement to unburden himself. He sent Debenham a sly look and said, “Common knowledge that Lady Julia tricked him into marriage, though she did the right thing and produced twin boys. Seemed she could then do what she liked after that. And she did.” He chuckled. “I was there on the occasion that produced the third son.”

  “Good Lord!”

  Barston shook his head. “No, not with me.” He jerked his head in the direction of Cranborne who, once again, had taken Lady Julia into a waltz hold to gallop into the other corner of their set. “Reckon fate’ll play into his hands, and he’ll be the one to have fathered Sir Archie’s future heir after that awful business with the twins.”

  “What awful business?”

  “Didn’t you hear? They got rheumatic fever not long after the new baby—Cranborne’s, I’d wager a dozen monkeys—was born, for you only have to look at it to see Cranbourne’s nose and forehead. One twin died; the other is unlikely to live past his teens. And if that’s the case, it’s the third son who’ll inherit. Cranborne’s spawn.”

  Debenham frowned, trying to dredge up the little he knew about Sir Archie, whom he detested almost as much as he detested Cranborne though he pretended otherwise. “I did hear murmurs. It was shortly afterward that Lady Julia took on her self-appointed role of music maestro to young Miss Martindale, wasn’t it?” He racked his brains. Yes, there was a buzz of scandal at the time. Not regarding the dubious parentage of Lady Julia’s third son, but the fact that Sir Archie’s wife had left within several months of the birth to go gallivanting across the country, claiming kinship with either Lord Beecham or Miss Martindale who’d recently lost her family to scarlet fever. He couldn’t quite remember.

  But the upstanding, seemingly celibate Cranborne and Lady Julia? He pretended skepticism though it didn’t take much imagination to wholly believe Barston’s insinuations with regard to Lady Julia whose roving eye was well known.

  “Speculating is one thing, but if you’re so sure, why not confront Sir Archie and make mileage out of it?”

  Barston looked surprised. “Blackmail?” He shook his head. “Sir Archie’s too powerful in government circles for me to want to get my own head lopped off. Nevertheless, I stand by what I say.”

  “On what basis? You sound as if you have proof. How could you if you had nothing to do with the business?”

  Barston looked affronted. “I was a guest of Sir Archie and Lady Julia the night Cranborne stopped by on his way to answer Lord Partington’s summons to size up his new heir.” When he could see he had Debenham’s interest, he dropped his voice as he warmed to his theme. “That was before that knucklehead cousin Edgar or whatever his name pitched up.” He chuckled. “Lord, but that did set the cat among the pigeons. He was a deserter, did you know? The biggest coward who walked the earth, and now Lord Partington was landed with him as his heir. Thanks to Lady Julia, of course, he didn’t last long.”

  He put his head on one side. “Anyway, going back a bit, this happened the night Cranborne was Ledger’s guest and hadn’t yet met Lord Partington. Well, Sir Archie and his good wife had hatched a wager whereby they planned to fleece young Cranborne of a tidy sum, knowing he was off to meet his rich and influential benefactor, Lord Partington, the next day. I should say it was Lady Julia’s plan, for Sir Archie was swimming in the River Tick. Sir Archie was easily led, too, and he set everything up, just as she instructed.”

  “And what was the wager?” Debenham was becoming increasingly interested.

  “It was over a pair of mating spiders. Sir Archie bet that the female wouldn’t devour the male, but Cranborne, being a keen zoologist or whatever you’d call ‘em, pooh-poohed the idea and bet a fortune on it. Course, he had to take a piss at some stage while the rest of us were waiting. That’s when he was detained by the lovely Lady Julia, coming back down the passage. Her role was to distract Cranborne so Sir Archie and I could swap the spiders and declare Cranborne’s theory had failed. Well, Lady Julia detained Cranborne for a very long time, I can tell you. Sir Archie sent me to find them, but I never reported back the true story.”

  Debenham licked his lips. “And what was that?”

  “They were in a storeroom. I could hear the panting and the full climactic glory, though I told Sir Archie they were having a conversation about his grandmother’s portrait.” He shrugged. “Anyway, Lady Julia’s next son was born nine months later.”

  “The son you predict will become Sir Archie’s heir?”

  “Did I hear you mention Sir Archie?”

  Debenham glanced up at the new voice to discover it was Lord Beecham. He shrugged. “Ah Beecham, as you know, I have little liking for the fellow.” His gaze encompassed the room and alighted upon his wife’s cousin. “And, like you, even less liking for our es
teemed do-gooder, Cranborne.” He threw a speculative look at Barston but then shook his head upon a sigh. “Alas, if only it were possible to prove paternity.”

  Chapter 9

  Debenham leaned back against the windowsill and eyed his wife appraisingly after he’d shooed Jane from the room. It was a habit of his to lounge about in her dressing room while Araminta put the final touches to her toilette prior to an evening out. It also happened to be a habit she loathed. Now he brushed his hair back and muttered admiringly, “I’ve always admired you in red, darling.”

  Araminta put her hands to her now slender waist and touched the expensive silk of the gown, for which she still needed funds to pay the dressmaker if she were to continue to enjoy her services. The woman was extremely deft and creative, and Araminta didn’t want the embarrassment of being dunned if Debenham balked at the bills she was going to have to ask him to pay, having exceeded her previous quarter’s pin money.

  “No doubt that is why you gifted me such an exquisite pearl choker when William was born. It would have gone very well with this gown, don’t you think?” She raised an eyebrow to reinforce her meaningful look. “You told me you needed it only temporarily to settle a few accounts, and that it would soon be returned to me. But weeks have passed. When do you suppose you might follow through on your promise?”

  Debenham chuckled. “So impatient, my love. And a scenario frighteningly similar to the strange disappearance of your ruby and diamond choker which has never been adequately explained. You’ll get your choker back, but I do have other priorities. Namely, protecting my good name. Some of those gentlemen with whom we conversed so amicably tonight would see me at the end of a noose, including your charming cousin, Stephen Cranborne, don’t you know?”

  Araminta turned her head away. She knew her Cousin Stephen wanted to discredit her husband, and if the consequences weren’t likely to be so dire for her, she’d happily have helped him.

  The unfortunate fact was that Cranborne’s mission to discover the letter she’d thought she’d burned was making life extremely difficult for Debenham and, in turn, for Araminta.

  Well, if Ralph Tunley really knew where it was he should give it to her brother. Her darling Teddy would be only too pleased to hand it over. Many times, Araminta had toyed with the idea of telling Debenham that his secretary, Ralph Tunley, possessed the letter that had the power to severely handicap Debenham in public life. But it was too dangerous to put it so plainly. Debenham would punish Ralph; not that Araminta cared particularly for Ralph. In fact, it was highly distressing, if not horrifying that Teddy’s own brother should have allied himself with a governess, an illegitimate governess—Araminta’s own half-sister, Lissa. She really was going to have to do something to nip that little romance in the bud. Perhaps she could reveal Ralph’s suspected duplicity—though not if it threatened Teddy’s love for her.

  “Cousin Stephen would never see harm come to his own brother-in-law. No, he’d never be so duplicitous,” she murmured.

  “Ready to drive the knife in the moment I make a wrong move.” Debenham chuckled. “Ah, but that is the way of survival. Stephen Cranborne truly believes he will best me, but I assure you tonight was very profitable in ensuring that if anyone is bested, it won’t be me.”

  Araminta made her voice light as she affected more interest in the fit of her gloves. “And how do you plan to effect that, my love?” It was important to discover her husband’s plans if she were to be successful in doing her part in the background. Poor Debenham truly thought he was clever, but the truth was that in addition to being a gambler and a womanizer with an overinflated sense of his gifts, Araminta was going to have to work hard to ensure he didn’t fall victim to hubris. Of the two of them, Araminta was the one who really knew how to manage people to best effect.

  He stroked his whiskers. “How do I plan to effect that? In fact, this very evening the most extraordinary information has just come into my possession.”

  “Information? You intend to blackmail someone?”

  He looked mildly shocked before his facial features assumed their habitual sneer. “Blackmail is such a distasteful word, but as it’s unkind to speak in riddles, let me just say that the dangling before a personage of the strong suspicion of their past demeanors in order to extract something of value could be termed blackmail.”

  “Debenham, speak plainly. What is this information you’ve discovered?” Lord, but her husband could be exasperating.

  “So you can inadvertently reveal it to the world? No, dearest Araminta. I’m happy to speak in generalities but not specifics. Suffice to say that I have heard of a great scandal that could rock the entire foundations of society. Curious, eh?”

  That was putting it mildly. “You’re teasing me, Debenham. Who does this scandal involve?”

  “I shan’t tell you. In fact, I’ll be honest and say that my informant hasn’t given me sufficient information to act upon beyond saying that it involves a child. A child who is to become heir to a great estate to which he is not entitled.”

  Araminta dropped the pearl earring she was about to hook through her lobe. Robbed of air, she could only raise her eyebrows. All the strength seemed to have seeped from her limbs, and she had to sit down at her dressing table once again.

  “Why?” He asked the question for her, seemingly unaware of her horror. “Because, of course, the child was sired by the faithless wife’s lover. Now there is just the matter of proof.”

  Araminta’s world swam before her eyes. She couldn’t look at Debenham. He was playing with her. Waiting for her to ask the question before he launched into a fierce and bitter diatribe as he threw her past behavior into her face. So he knew, then, that William was not his? Dear God, what would happen now? If he didn’t kill her, he’d make her life a living misery. He’d cast her out, and she’d be shunned. Ridiculed.

  “So…you know then?” she whispered between dry lips. He was stringing her along, enjoying watching her squirm. Soon he would confront her with her crime. Araminta couldn’t bear it. She tried to hold back the tears. Debenham would make the most of her agony. He was cruel at the best of times.

  He sent a thoughtful look through the window. “To tell you the truth, I’m not entirely certain of the specifics,” he murmured as he chewed his lip. “The seed was sown tonight after someone intimated that such a scenario had occurred within our ranks. My plan, my dear Araminta, is to discover all the sordid details beyond all reasonable doubt, and then reveal it to the world—or else claim a great sum for my silence.”

  There had been no pleasure in dancing this evening amidst lavish surroundings. In fact, Lissa considered the night she’d been forced to spend under her father’s roof the most painful of her life.

  Everything had been contrived to rub salt into the wound, reminding her of what might have been hers had justice prevailed.

  If Lucinda had been difficult, Lady Julia had been a nightmare. A hideously embarrassing nightmare as she’d tried to flirt with Stephen Cranborne, of all people.

  Thank the Lord Lissa had finally escaped after having to spend just the one night in that poky little attic room. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Lord Beecham had insisted they were the first to leave. Perhaps there’d been a scene, for Lady Julia had sulked the entire journey home while Lord Beecham had glowered out of the window.

  And now, at last, Lissa was here in Ralph’s lodgings Mrs. Nipkins having obligingly left to visit her sister for the evening, enabling two clandestine hours for her to be with the most wonderful, clever, enterprising young man in the entire world.

  The moment she’d walked into the kitchen, he’d seated her on his lap. Now he was brushing out her braids while he told her about a play he’d seen the previous week, and for the first time in weeks, Lissa was laughing.

  Of course, it was dreadfully tempting to be a good deal more sinful, and indulge in kisses that might get out of control with Mrs. Nipkins out of the way, but both of them had discussed the dangers and come
to the conclusion that if they were to marry with their reputations intact, they must make very sure that no scandal attached to their names. It was one thing to be alone when that was courting disaster by its very nature.

  Lissa closed her eyes as she raised her face to the low ceiling and the enjoyment of the moment rolled through her. Ralph was the only person who could make Lissa laugh. He made her forget her troubles and her dissatisfaction with life. She’d hoped her new posting with Lord Beecham would provide her with excitement to make up for her lack of marital prospects in the meantime, but everything had been so dull, peppered by horrible interludes like spending the night at The Grange.

  In the midst of laughing at Ralph’s account of two barristers who’d nearly come to blows outside his office, they both jerked upright at an urgent series of knocks at the door. Cautiously Ralph rose, and barely had he turned the knob than the flimsy barricade was thrust open, and Kitty burst into the room and quite literally into Lissa’s arms.

  “What’s happened? Is it Mama?” For that was the only calamity Lissa could imagine causing such angst in her little sister.

  Kitty was sobbing so loudly it was some time before they were able to get anything coherent from her. Lissa pushed her down into a chair while Ralph rustled up a cup of tea from the kettle boiling over the hob, with a detour to fetch his brandy.

  “It’s not Mama,” she finally said when she could talk. She raised her head and sent Lissa a baleful stare.

  Immediately, Lissa understood. Her lover. “Oh, then he’s tired of you already,” she remarked as sympathy drained from her. This was the first time Kitty had visited her. For her sister to have tracked her down, she’d have imagined the reason to have been of the utmost calamity. Though she supposed it was when one’s main means of support was suddenly taken away.

  “No need to use that tone. I know you disapprove, but the fact is, I ended it!” Kitty faced her sister furiously. “Yes, I ended it after I met Miss Mandelton and realized I’d have to share Silverton. Like Mama. Even though I love him more than life itself.”