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

by Beverley Oakley

  That is, as long as he steered well clear of Kitty. So when Octavia suddenly giggled and said, “Oh, I don’t worry about that a moment. I hear that’s what happens in The Happy Wildflower. Miss Neville said it was very good, and I’d love to see Miss Bijou on stage again. Do let’s see it, Silverton.”

  He hoped the horror that swept through him was not palpable. No, he would not, could not see the play in which Kitty was performing to packed houses every night.

  “Not possible. Not a seat to be had,” he murmured and was relieved when she accepted this, though with a little sigh of disappointment. Yet even a vague and innocent reference like Octavia’s, which brought Kitty to mind, revealed how susceptible he still was to her charms, and made it clear how much harder he must try to extirpate her from his mind. That was what he must do. The dozens of letters he’d written Kitty had all been returned with a sweet but short message each time, telling him that their love for each other had nothing to do with the underlying issue of honor and duty, and what they owed Miss Mandelton and their families.

  Silverton shook his head to clear it of these rogue thoughts of Kitty, and racked his brains for something to say that would thoroughly deflect her, in case she returned to the subject. “You dance beautifully, has anyone ever told you that?”

  Her pale eyelashes fluttered in surprise, making it clear that no one ever had, and nor would they, in all likelihood, for Octavia was not gifted with grace and rhythm. Her shyness was exacerbated by her awkwardness, which became more pronounced in social situations.

  “Lord Silverton, you are either completely without perception, or completely in thrall to me if you are able to utter those words without obvious gall.” Her self-deprecating giggle was suddenly rather endearing, and he laughed with her, glad that for the first time he could acknowledge feeling comfortable with shared humor, even if it was over a deficiency of hers.

  “If, however, I looked like that dark-haired young woman in the blue silk over there, whom I perceive, now that we’re closer, is Lady Debenham, I might believe you.”

  “Lady Debenham?” Silverton raised an eyebrow and lowered his voice. “I would far rather my intended bride had your temperament, looks aside.”

  Octavia’s eyes flashed as if she couldn’t believe he’d say such a thing, and she bit her lip. “Scandalous,” she murmured as Silverton clasped her in a waltz hold to dance her to the other side of their square, twisting her head to look over her shoulder at the former Miss Partington. “Lady Debenham looks like an angel,” she sighed. “An exquisite, dark-haired angel.”

  “An angel she is not.” He was about to change the subject, but on impulse added, “And if she perchance invites you into her orbit, I would encourage you to politely decline.”

  Octavia looked at him sharply. “Would you choose my friends for me when we are married, Silverton?”

  “No, no, you mistake my meaning,” he said hurriedly. “I’m simply warning you that Lady Debenham has a way of drawing the unsuspecting into her net. It is easy to be dazzled by such beauty, but her interest is usually dependent on how one can serve her. My caution stands. Beware.”

  Meanwhile, Hetty was traversing the dance floor in the arms of her own handsome husband, uncaring of the looks her graceful sister was, as ever, courting.

  The previous season, she and Araminta had been rivals for the same delicious gentleman, Sir Aubrey. If the rumors were true that White’s Betting Book had listed Miss Henrietta’s chances as so marginal compared with her sister’s, there were more than a few young men who’d lost sizeable sums.

  No, Hetty had been the out-and-out winner, and all this time later she still felt as though she were floating on air.

  The music finished on a dramatic chord, and Sir Aubrey released her. “Dazzled as ever, Lady Banks,” he said with a bow and a fond smile as he rose.

  “And to think that last season you didn’t even notice me.” She sent him a sly look. “It was Araminta who caught your eye on the dance floor.”

  “And you who snared my attention in every other way,” he said with a sly reference to Hetty’s decidedly un-debutante-like nocturnal pursuits.

  Yet she did not blush. “Still waters run deep, and beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I’m sure there are a few more clichés I’ve neglected to mention, all of which could probably be applied to Miss Mandelton over there.”

  “Now there’s an unlikely match.” Sir Aubrey released Hetty’s hand. “Perhaps you should go and talk to her now that she’s been abandoned by her betrothed. She looks a little lost.”

  Hetty loved her husband’s unexpected many kindnesses. Poor Miss Mandelton was standing near the window embrasure looking decidedly uncertain of herself, she noticed, so with a smile and a nod at Sir Aubrey, she crossed the room to her side.

  Following the direction of her gaze, she saw that she was staring at Araminta, whose gown of blue sarcenet clung to her curves with all the allure of the risqué French beauties in the fashion books Hetty used to pore over longingly.

  But she was no longer jealous. She had Sir Aubrey’s love and loyalty, and a beautiful son in the nursery. There was nothing else she wanted.

  “My sister is very lovely, but she is not always known for her kindness. Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Mandelton?” she asked.

  Miss Mandelton jumped, as if she’d been caught out in a terrible crime. “I’m very transparent, aren’t I? But when one looks like me, you can imagine why I’d be a little envious.” She sent a self-deprecating look at her bony body, angular and flat-chested, then touched her hair. The heat from the ballroom had caused it to go frizzy about her face. “Lady Debenham is beautiful. She must have many…friends.”

  It struck Hetty that Miss Mandelton must be lonely. “Not many at all, because she’s not very nice most of the time. But the gentlemen like her well enough, it appears.” She smiled. “Do you have a friend here tonight?”

  “Only Silverton. He’s always been my friend. I don’t have brothers or sisters, you see.” She paused. “His mother is my dearest friend. I help Lady Silverton with her charity work on the estate.”

  Hetty forced a smile. Hardly an auspicious reason for marriage, she thought, wondering if Silverton were marrying for love or expediency. Regardless of how pleasant Miss Mandelton was, it did not augur well for him to be marrying for the latter.

  She was about to make some appropriate response, when she saw Miss Mandeton’s gaze focus on a young man with curling dark hair and a pallid complexion staring pointedly at the exquisite Araminta. He was in a darkened corner, and Araminta was passing within a couple of feet of him, yet although he stepped out in front of her, she made a point of not acknowledging him as she detoured past him.

  Envy and despair marred his features. Hetty, of course, had once known these emotions well; she hoped she’d managed to control them more effectively than poor Mr. Woking, whom she’d never liked but for whom she now felt rather sorry. “The cut direct,” Hetty muttered. “Araminta is famous for it. Ah! But he persists. A devil for punishment.”

  They watched as for some seconds the young man spoke earnestly to Araminta, his gestures suggesting he was upset. Araminta tossed her head and began to walk away, but he followed, taking her arm and drawing her into the darkened corner where he continued to gesticulate as if he had a torrent of passion to express.

  Octavia was clearly fascinated as she watched the young man stalk across the ballroom following his obvious dismissal, weaving his way in and out of the crowd, his brow thick with distress.

  “My sister was once betrothed to young Mr. Woking,” Hetty told her, then laughed at Miss Mandelton’s shock. “Yes, I think Araminta rather desperately felt she needed a marriage offer, and when he proposed, the timing was right. She quickly regretted it though, and reneged on the poor gentleman who has never recovered, it would appear. My feeling is that he made rather a lucky escape.”

  “A lucky escape? Why, your sister is the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen.”


  “Hardly reason enough to marry her, though.”

  Miss Mandelton’s lips parted. “You made a good match. I’ve seen the two of you,” she blurted. “You and Sir Aubrey seem so suited. His eyes follow you everywhere.” She blushed furiously, and Hetty felt ridiculously gratified.

  “It nearly went horribly wrong. My sister wanted to marry Sir Aubrey. It’s hard to imagine he actually chose me.” She touched Miss Mandelton’s sleeve. “There’s no telling what dictates a gentleman’s heart, is there? And you and Lord Silverton are obviously very well-matched.”

  She’d thought to bring a smile to Miss Mandelton’s face, but the young woman looked even more downcast. “I hardly know him,” she confessed. “He was the best friend of my brother, Tom. But then Tom died and Silverton sort of…inherited me.”

  Hetty floundered. “The greatest love flourishes from friendship, I’m told.”

  Miss Mandelton gave a rather helpless shrug. “I feel out of my depth here in London. I wish I could go home, but I can’t. If I don’t take this chance to marry, I will never get another.” Her mouth trembled. “And I keep telling myself how lucky I am. Silverton is such a nice man.”

  Hetty’s drew in her breath sharply. She glanced about her, afraid they might be overheard. “But you don’t love him?” she whispered.

  Miss Mandelton shook her head, staring at Hetty with an expression close to panic. “I like him very much. But that’s not the same thing, is it?”

  Chapter 13

  The days seemed endless to Lissa. After the horrors of the night spent at The Grange, followed by the equally horrendous journey home during which Lady Julia and Lord Beecham had literally bristled with hostility, she’d thought she’d relish days of uninterrupted dullness.

  But now Ralph was just like the old Ralph she’d fallen in love with—brimming with enthusiasm for the task at hand. He didn’t seem to notice that Lissa was becoming increasingly lackluster. When she asked him if there was any special task she ought to be performing—after all, she’d been placed into Beecham’s household for a reason—he’d just chucked her under the chin and told her that the greatest good she could do was to stay safe. Stay safe because Ralph was gathering evidence that he was sure would implicate Debenham in a range of unsavory dealings, and once Debenham was dealt with, then he and Lissa could be married.

  The last time he’d said that, Lissa hadn’t responded with the same enthusiasm she’d mustered on the first few occasions, and Ralph had asked, concerned, “Dear heart, you do still want to marry me, don’t you?” To which, of course, Lissa had replied in the affirmative, since that’s what she wanted more than anything.

  What she wanted only slightly less was for some kind of excitement in her life. Lucinda was surly and clearly unhappy. She showed Lissa the minimum of respect. She showed Lady Julia even less respect, so that was something she supposed. Lord Beecham was forever berating his ward, demanding that she address her piano teacher with civility; to try that curtsey as she took her leave ‘one more time.’ Yet even he seemed out of sorts these days with Lady Julia, who was now a regular overnight guest. As for Lady Julia, her forced brightness was most definitely at odds with the general gloom of the household.

  On yet another evening, while Lucinda played a few desultory tunes at the piano, and Lady Julia and Lord Beecham appeared to be engaged in yet another of their quiet but heated discussions, Lissa picked up the pencil and sketching pad that lie upon the table in front of her, and idly began to draw. She hadn’t drawn in months, though she instructed Lucinda in pen and ink sketches, which were not very good, but which Lucinda proudly brandished in front of Lord Beecham from time to time in the hopes of some praise, no doubt.

  Lissa wondered why the girl tortured herself. Granted, Lord Beecham had a certain autocratic bearing which might be appealing to a naïve and inexperienced girl. But at nearly forty, he was far too old for her, and his nature was not overly sympathetic. A hopeful spirit like Lucinda’s would shrivel up in no time. Lissa was charitable enough to acknowledge that Lucinda was not a bad girl. They simply did not rub along well together, though perhaps the environment had more than a little to do with the general malaise Lissa was sure they both—all—suffered from.

  At a jarring chord, they all looked at Lucinda, who blushed fiercely but kept her head down.

  Lissa wondered how she’d fare when she was presented. She could be pretty when she was animated, but that rarely happened these days. Her corn-colored hair was dressed simply, and her gown was plain as befitting a girl not yet out. Really, Lucinda wouldn’t turn heads, Lissa decided, quickly sketching the forlorn expression on her face before turning her attention to Lord Beecham.

  Certainly, his face was handsome enough though the vertical lines in his cheeks, and his bristling eyebrows, would see him age into a venerable, if not rather frightening, gentleman.

  Lady Julia was the beauty of the gathering, though Lissa wondered where the attraction was beyond that. Or if it did. Lord Beecham seemed increasingly irritated by her these days. Now the pair was muttering something together in rather vexed tones about a child. She caught the name of Lady Julia’s son whom Lissa had heard was not well. There’s been no mention of Princess Caroline lately. No mention of anything worth passing on to Ralph. She felt superfluous. At least in her detested position at the Lamonts there was some tension and excitement, even though Cosmo Lamont had tried to imprison her, if not worse, which was why she’d been so careful to ensure her talent for drawing was not discovered by her current employer who might seek to exploit it, just as the odious Mr. Lamont had done.

  “Goodness!”

  Lady Julia’s exclamation coincided with Lissa’s realization that she had been entirely unaware of the fact that her picture was exposed for all to see who might rise at that moment and pass by. Which was exactly what Lady Julia had done.

  “Beechy, look at this!”

  “Please, I really would prefer not to—” Lissa soon realized it was useless to try to exert her will when it opposed Lady Julia’s. The page nearly tore clean out as Lady Julia tugged the sketchbook from Lissa’s hands and brandished it in front of her paramour. “Do you see the way you looked at me? There it is! Plain to see. As if I were— No, I shan’t even say it!” She spoke rapidly, under her breath, as if unaware that both Lucinda and Lissa were staring at her.

  Lord Beecham took Lady Julia’s arm and tried to draw her back, clearly aware of their audience in a way Lady Julia was not.

  “After all I’ve done for you!” Lady Julia cried, her voice rising. “I came to your aid when you were at your wits’ end over what to do with your ward. You wanted to dispose of her in some school for ladies, but it was her mother’s dying wish that she become your ward, and that you should find some suitable female to help ensure the girl didn’t entirely disgrace the family name when she was presented.”

  “Julia, stop—!”

  But there was no stopping Lady Julia now she’d started.

  Lissa saw that Lucinda had gone pale and was gripping the back of the sofa as she stared from Lord Beecham to Lady Julia.

  “Oh, you were only too happy to find an excuse to have me here when it suited you. I’ve done more than my share of dirty work for you. And I’ve tried, believe me. I’ve tried to instill some feminine graces into that girl, but she is obstinate and obdurate. She offers me no respect. Not that she offers her governess any either. Eyes only for you, Beechy.”

  Lissa heard her young charge’s gasp, before the pale-faced girl pushed past her and ran from the room.

  “That’s enough, Julia!” Lord Beecham thundered. “Where is the respect you owe me? And the thanks for taking you in when your husband was no longer to your liking? Or did he cast you out? That the truth, really, isn’t it? Well, you can leave now! Miss Hazlett!”

  Lissa took a step back, her heart hammering. She should have heard nothing of all this, of course, and now could only be at fault for being in the wrong place when tempers were at snapping point.
There were just the two of them now, and Lord Beecham was pointing his finger at Lissa as if he were about to give her a piece of his mind.

  “Miss Hazlett!” he repeated, his face apoplectic. Lady Julia seemed to have upset him more than was warranted, although something like this had been brewing since the day they’d returned from Araminta’s party. Suddenly, it seemed he didn’t know what to say. “Go upstairs and do what you have to in order to placate that wretched child!” he finished lamely. “And don’t let me hear another word about tonight.” His shoulders slumped as he turned to the sideboard where she heard him draw the stopper from the whiskey decanter. Lissa didn’t wait to hear the liquid splash into the glass.

  She hurried from the room as fast as she could and up the stairs, pausing outside Lucinda’s room. Muffled sobs could be heard. Lissa knew what it felt like to be unwanted. Of course, she should go in and offer what comfort she could though the girl would push her away and make it even clearer how much she despised Lissa.

  With a sigh, Lissa carried on up the passageway to her own room.

  With a final feather in her headdress, Kitty was resplendent and ready. The giggles of the chorus girls on the other side of the curtain had risen to a crescendo. They were nearly onstage while Kitty had another five minutes before her debut.

  Taking a deep breath, she glanced about her dressing room. The multiple bouquets of hothouse and garden blooms ought to have eased her pained heart, but only exacerbated its torment. A moment ago, when she’d been fully in her character, she’d been able to put aside the pain of being Kitty La Bijou, celebrated London actress. Or just Kitty Hazlett, unacknowledged daughter of Lord Partington. A hard and unyielding man, who believed his illegitimate daughter had none of the rights of his nobly-born offspring, and therefore no right to marry into the strata of society from which he’d effectively barred her through his own selfishness.