Miss Araminta was forward and beautiful. He suspected she’d be every bit his equal in bed while her vanity and grasping nature would ensure Aubrey never became too emotionally vulnerable in her orbit. That was a requirement of any future wife of his.
“Good afternoon to you, Miss Partington. What lovely weather we are enjoying.”
After introducing her friend, she boldly fell into step with him, taking his proffered arm and simpering up at him as she agreed on his weather-related pronouncement.
“I did not see you at Lady Develey’s ball.” She fanned herself, adding with a pointed look, “You said you would be there when we met at Vauxhall.”
“Indeed I did.” The memory of Vauxhall made his mouth stretch into a smile that had nothing to do with the pouting beauty before him and everything to do with the extremely satisfying lovemaking he’d enjoyed with the pretty little ladybird who he was initiating into the ways of the world. He did not believe young Harriet was taking him for a fool. Not that it mattered. Business was business. However, if he cared to admit it, his pleasure went deeper than simple release. His Henrietta really was rather sweet.
Which was all the more reason, he thought now, for toying with someone who was decidedly the opposite. Sweetness held far more dangers than all-out brazenness, so with a flourish he said, “Would you honor me with the first dance tonight at the Duchess of Kilmore’s rout?”
With a flutter of eyelashes, Miss Partington made her pleasure clear though her acceptance was restrained and her smile calculating. “Indeed. A gentleman must atone for the disappointment he renders a lady. Ah, but there is my cousin Stephen.”
She summoned her cousin with a wave and Sir Aubrey was surprised by the coolness of the young man’s reception and his pointed tone when he informed Sir Aubrey that he was recently employed by the Foreign Office.
Clearly something didn’t reflect well on Aubrey, judging by Mr. Cranbourne’s darkling look and the censure in his tone when he remarked, “And why, Araminta, am I not surprised to see you here?”
Clearly he meant on Aubrey’s arm rather than in Hyde Park, and Aubrey sensed she’d been warned to keep her distance from him. Aha. So Mr. Cranbourne had conveyed to her the suspicions that surrounded him following Margaret’s death. The fact that Miss Partington had lured him into the shadows for a fleeting kiss a few nights before suggested she enjoyed taking risks. He’d cursed his foolishness almost immediately afterward, for had they been discovered she’d quite likely now be gaily planning their wedding.
Yet would that be a disaster? He’d decided to take a wife this season and minutes ago she was among the candidates.
But he would not be tricked into it.
“What business distracts you from pleasure-seeking, Cousin Stephen?” she asked after saying a cursory farewell to her friend, who’d sought out more receptive pastures. “I see you have only just arrived…and looking so serious too.”
“I was on my way home after a challenging day working at Foreign Office.”
Sir Aubrey affected a sympathetic frown. “With traitors hiding under the most unlikely beds, you’d not know where to start looking.”
Young Cranbourne’s creased brow made clear his remark was not well received, as did his muttered, “We know where to look, Sir Aubrey.” He offered Miss Partington his arm. “Araminta, your mother will be leaving London soon. She expressed the wish only this morning to spend more time with you before her departure.”
Miss Partington inclined her head. “Until we meet again, Sir Aubrey,” said the young minx with a glint in her eye. “You’d better not forget your promise.”
* * * * *
After rounding a bend in the path, Araminta glanced up at Stephen and asked sweetly, “Why, whatever is the matter, cuz?”
Since Stephen had arrived some months earlier at The Grange to learn his duties as viscount-in-waiting, he’d come to know Araminta and her sister well. Although he was a great deal fonder of young Hetty, he felt responsible for curtailing Araminta’s excesses where he could. “You know very well.” He raised an eyebrow and frowned. “Sir Aubrey is up to his ears in the business that led to his brother-in-law’s death, not to mention his wife’s. He may look one of us but his sympathies lie with those who would turn England on her head and spark the kind of revolution we saw only too recently in France. The rumors are rife that he was involved in the attempted assassination of Lord Castlereagh.”
“Then why isn’t such a dangerous man behind bars?”
Stephen shook his head as he studied her serene profile. “Lord, but you can be provoking, Araminta. Everything I say to make clear Sir Aubrey is not a man to trifle with—much less associate with—only makes him more of a candidate for your attentions.” He broke off, his expression clearing as he saw Hetty and Sybil advancing toward them at a leisurely pace. Under his breath, he growled, “You’d be advised to take a leaf out of your sister’s book. At least she is wise enough to heed my cautions.”
“Hetty does not receive the kind of attention that gives her the opportunity to disregard your cautions, Cousin Stephen,” Araminta replied as her cousin greeted the pair who were now upon them.
“Ah, Hetty…and Sybil! My dear, is it wise for you to be out at this advanced stage?”
He halted as the girls turned curious looks upon him. Of course his concern was not usual for a young man and they would never understand the deep feelings he felt for their darling, sweet mother. Feelings which, he was glad to say, were reciprocated. A great welling-up of affection made it hard for him to act as propriety demanded but he resisted the urge to kiss her.
Laughing, she stroked his shoulder. To outsiders it would be the affection of a matron for her husband’s cousin and—until her child was born—heir to the estate of which she was mistress.
He cleared his throat, enjoying her touch but not responding to it. They were in a public place and he was always mindful of protecting Sybil’s reputation. Sir Humphry only condoned their clandestine love on the basis they were discreet. “I fear Araminta has been consorting with Sir Aubrey, a dangerous man as I’ve told you. A mother’s caution may perhaps hold more weight than a mere cousin’s.”
The lovely Sybil raised her eyebrows. “Do you really believe him so dangerous, Stephen?”
“Perhaps Sir Aubrey is unfairly maligned, Cousin Stephen,” Hetty suggested.
Araminta patted her sister’s arm and said with a smile, “For once I’m in complete accord, Hetty.”
“Not you too.” Stephen was surprised at the combative glint in Hetty’s eye. “Pray tell, what might you know about Sir Aubrey and his proclivities?”
“Proclivities?” she repeated faintly. “I…I’ve met him a couple of times and he seemed…very nice.”
“Yes, he is very nice, isn’t he, Hetty?” Araminta looked approvingly at her sister. “You should have heard the pretty compliments he paid me on my silk dress and how it matched my eyes when he brought me champagne at Lady Knox’s ball.”
Stephen noticed Hetty’s blush and felt sorry for her. Beside Araminta she’d always be eclipsed. That said, he knew which sister he’d prefer. Hetty was utterly charming. Sweet and self-effacing, and though she’d never be a beauty…
He halted the reflection and sent her another appraising look. Hetty’s color and complexion were much improved since she’d come to London. In fact, she looked blooming.
Changing the subject, he said, “Let me escort you home, ladies. And then perhaps I might impose and stay to enjoy your company as you prepare for this evening. It’ll remind me of the happy times I spent as one of the family at The Grange.”
Chapter Seven
It had always been a source of tension that Araminta and Hetty had to share a lady’s maid. That is, Araminta objected strongly to having to share. Hetty didn’t mind.
This evening Jane was busy with the tongs and sugar water as she created a becoming coiffure for the younger Miss Partington. She was a relatively new addition to the staff but her amia
bility, discretion and the fact she was as adept with a hairbrush as ensuring peace reigned in the Misses Partingtons’ dressing room made her popular with most of the household.
With eyes closed, Hetty surrendered to Jane’s ministrations and dreamed of Sir Aubrey with mixed feelings. Her current situation could not continue, she knew that. Exposure was a constant threat and she was a fool for courting discovery. Secretly she hugged the hope that she might supply the information Sir Aubrey needed to exonerate himself. Yet Hetty knew her ability to succeed in this arena was as unlikely as spinning straw into gold.
Araminta was pacing. “Are you nearly finished?” Her gusty sigh cut through the hitherto pleasurable silence. “I, too, have to present myself at Lady Kilmore’s ball and I am the eldest.”
Calmly, Jane countered, “I’d a’ tended to you first, Miss Araminta, had you bin here. But since your sister were already at her dressing table it were only good sense to start on her toilette. Don’t she look a right picture tonight? Reckon the London air agrees with you, Miss Henrietta.”
Araminta grunted. “Well, if I’m to receive an offer I must be where I’ve said I’ll be. Sir Aubrey is a busy man.”
“Sir Aubrey, is it, Miss Araminta?” replied Jane, raising one eyebrow. She pursed her lips as she continued to sweep the bristles through Hetty’s tresses.
Hetty found it easier not to betray her distress if she kept herself very still through the taunting of seemingly a thousand gargoyles who leered at her from the recesses of her brain. If Araminta regarded Sir Aubrey as a suitor, what chance did Hetty have?
Naturally she’d never expected in a millennium that Sir Aubrey would make her an offer…
But she certainly had not expected Araminta might waltz away with such a prize.
It had happened with Cousin Edgar but she would not…no, she would not allow it to happen with Sir Aubrey.
When Jane threaded the silver fillet through her finished coiffure, Hetty rose, holding up the masquerade mask she was to wear that evening, fluttering her eyelashes as she tried for a tone of gaiety.
If Sir Aubrey was pursuing Araminta, as her sister claimed, perhaps Hetty could gain greater insight into how matters really stood if she were in the guise of a king’s consort from the previous century.
Straightening from a deep curtsy to affect a very uncharacteristically seductive sashay about the room, she said airily, “Tonight I shall enjoy watching you cast your lures, Araminta, but perhaps I will surprise you and snare the game from under your nose.” Her gurgle of laughter was as much prompted by the ludicrousness of her managing such a thing as fear of Araminta’s power.
Not surprisingly, Araminta, now occupying the dressing table stool as Jane worked on her hair, considered Hetty’s words barely worthy of a response. Opening one eye she said lazily, “Whatever game you snare will only be on account of the fact that you’re in masquerade.”
Before Hetty could respond, Jane quickly intervened. “You both look ravissement.” The French adjective was incorrect and spoken with a strong East London twang, but Hetty appreciated Jane’s peacemaking attempt. Impulsively she put her hands on Jane’s shoulders and pulled her into a twirl. Her spirits had bounced back. Tonight she would shine. Beside Araminta she’d never thought that possible, but tonight they were equals. Hetty’s glossy brown ringlets would be looked upon as favorably as Araminta’s raven tresses by some men, surely? She was another creature beneath the mask and the layers of makeup, hoops and petticoats.
Another creature who could reinvent herself in whatever form she desired.
“You’ve made me into a beauty, Jane, and I may just succeed where Araminta does not. What do you think?”
Clearly uncomfortable, Jane stepped out of her grasp and bent to pick up a dropped hairpin from the floor. “You’d best both beware of that Sir Aubrey,” she said with a shrug. “Fancier fish to fry’s all I can say.”
Araminta opened her eyes. “Oh, do tell all, Jane!” She affected a hushed whisper. “How many wives has he locked away in his tower?”
“Can’t rightly say, miss, only my…that is, a young man what I know told me ‘bout him.”
Araminta put her head close to the looking glass to inspect the fall of a ringlet from her temple. “Out with it, Jane, if you want to keep your job beyond Christmas.”
Jane affected concentration in reordering the silver boxes and bottles lined up on the girls’ dressing table. “Sorry, but I ain’t one to gossip, miss,” she whispered. “‘Specially when it might cause harm.”
“He’s dangerous?” Araminta’s eyes gleamed. Hetty wasn’t surprised. She would have dropped the subject but her sister, jumping up and gripping Hetty’s hand, demanded, “You’re duty-bound to protect us, Jane. I promise your young man, whoever he is, will be safe.”
It was only after prolonged interviewing that Jane conceded her admirer Jem was her source and that he happened to be valet to Lord Debenham.
Hetty’s mouth dropped open. “Your young man is Lord Debenham’s valet?”
Araminta sent her a sideways glance. “Are you sizing Lord Debenham up as your future husband, Hetty? He’s very dashing, of course, but hardly the type who’d look your way, I’m afraid, dearest.”
The magnitude of what she’d learned just now was too much for Hetty. “You are so unkind, Araminta,” she declared, grasping her skirts as she made for the door. “I have no interest in Lord Debenham.”
“That’s as well.” Araminta returned her attention to her reflection. “I’ve heard he’s a very dangerous gentleman. Just like Sir Aubrey. Best to steer clear of them both.”
Hetty hesitated by the door. She didn’t want to know what this Jem might have to say about Sir Aubrey, for she’d not believe it. Sir Aubrey was kind and gentle and passionate, all at the same time. He’d stroked and kissed her, made her feel fiercely desired then looked at her with a fondness that could not be feigned.
However, the possibility she’d felt earlier that she could in fact inveigle Sir Aubrey into some kind of legitimate union lay in shreds if Araminta was serious about making him a conquest.
She faced her sister fiercely, determined for once to have the last word. “Not if I’m to keep an eye on you, Araminta, and see you don’t do something rash.”
“I suppose you must find something entertaining with which to occupy yourself while you wait to be asked to stand up to dance.”
Hetty nearly collided with the door as it was opened and the measured voice of her beloved mother resonated through the tense atmosphere.
“Why, Hetty, you look beautiful—though a little flushed.”
Hetty flung herself into her arms, making the most of the brief comfort afforded by Lady Partington’s embrace before she was set aside, her mother’s affection now tempered with justified suspicion as to her elder daughter’s behavior. “I hope you’ve not been suggesting to Hetty she won’t be every bit as successful as you, Araminta.” Lady Partington’s gentle face was almost forbidding. “Hetty’s kind and sweet nature count for a great deal when a gentleman weighs up all factors pertaining to the long future he must share with the woman he chooses for his wife.”
Hetty wished she’d included something that alluded to Hetty’s improved looks.
Her sister, now sitting on the edge of the bed, showed no sign of contrition. “I was only cautioning Hetty as it appears she’s set her cap at Lord Debenham.” Araminta’s smile became cloying. “Without being unkind, Lord Debenham is quite simply out of her league, just as Sir Aubrey is—and besides, Sir Aubrey has made his interest in me clear so I’d hate to see Hetty wounded or, worse, regarded as a failure by the end of the season. If Hetty would only consider Mr. Woking—”
“Will you desist from this idea that I would consent in a thousand years to accept an offer from Mr. Woking?” Hetty cried, stamping her foot.
Araminta stopped with a look of exaggerated surprised before giving a couple desultory claps. “Bravo, Hetty. So you are capable of a spark of passion. Perh
aps there’s hope yet.”
“Enough, girls!” Lady Partington stepped into the center of the room, holding one hand up for silence as if the girls were squabbling infants. “Pray tell me more, Araminta. Are you interested in this Sir Aubrey about whom I hear such unsavory rumors?”
Araminta displayed her pretty white teeth in a most ingenuous smile. “Mama, you’ve told me never to take rumor for the truth else half the ton’s reputation would be in tatters. Why, if an otherwise eligible gentleman is considered unsuitable purely on account of a rumor, closer association must be the final arbiter.” She cleared her throat delicately. “Certainly it must be in the absence of evidence to convict.”
A small gasp escaped Jane and Lady Partington swung ’round. “And what do you know about all this, Jane?” she demanded.
Miserably, Jane toyed with the now-cold curling tongs. “I know the young man wot’s valet to Lord Debenham, ma’am, and he said summat that made me afeared o’ Sir Aubrey.”
Hetty held her breath and hoped her expression didn’t give her away as Jane went on. “Afeared of Lord Debenham too, only I weren’t sure if I should say, seeing as how Miss Araminta is so taken.”
“Well, that’s dropping me in it!” Araminta hissed as she rose and took a turn about the room.
Hetty struggled to keep her expression bland as her mind whirled with possibilities. It could not be true. Sir Aubrey had explained everything.
She heaved in a breath, forcing herself to hold on to the conviction that Sir Aubrey had been unfairly maligned. The alternative was too awful to contemplate. She could not risk losing herself to a villain, a reprobate.
The trouble was, she acknowledged with a little moan she tried to stifle, she already had.
Lady Partington arranged the folds of her dress around her as she lowered herself carefully onto the bed, stroking her large belly. “In the interests of my daughters’ welfare, Jane, I must ask you to tell us everything you know.” Concern furrowed her brow, replacing the fond maternal look she usually affected at such times. “You have my word there will be no repercussions for you or for your young man.”
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