Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin Book 4)

by Beverley Oakley

  Araminta didn’t like the reference to being guilty of any error. The only reason she was in such an unhappy predicament was because of Lord Ludbridge’s error in leaving her at such an inconvenient time, and evil Debenham’s calculated ploy to trick her into becoming his wife. Yet, it seemed best not to go over this once more since Hetty had gone from quite prickly to remarkably pliable in such a short time, and Araminta needed her sister’s good offices if she were to get what she wanted, and to find the happiness she deserved. Well, tonight at any rate.

  “So you’ll set an extra place for me at dinner?”

  Hetty glanced doubtfully at Araminta’s mid region, her eyes widening as Araminta doubled up once more at another painful spasm. “Dearest, I think you’d be best staying at home tonight. You need to rest. You’re carrying two, and you’re very big. Debenham would be cross to hear you’d sought gaiety when you should be looking after his baby.”

  “Debenham wouldn’t even know. He’ll return at dawn, totally in his cups, and collapse in his own apartments. I daresay he won’t even ask Jem to check with Jane that I’m not dead in the middle of the carpet in one of the rooms which those lazy servants don’t even bother to dust properly. I’ll probably be a skeleton by the time he remembers he has a wife.”

  The thought of how poorly Debenham cared for her compared with the tender solicitude of passionate Lord Ludbridge, brought tears to her eyes and Hetty’s immediate sympathy.

  “Yes, of course I’ll ensure an extra place is laid for you, but I’ll quite understand if you decide at the last minute that you’d rather have an early night.”

  Ignoring the persistent tugs of pain that assailed her, Araminta farewelled her sister with a smile, mentally wondering which of her gowns would flatter her most in her hideous, bloated state. She might have shied away from seeing Lord Ludbridge if he’d given any sense of being disgusted when he’d sought her out in Debenham’s opera box. Instead, she knew she’d won him over with the tragedy of her story. His love for her was pure, and he was no longer prepared to believe those wicked lies about her. Besides, once Araminta was seated opposite him at the table, he’d focus his attention on her lovely face. No doubt he’d struggle to keep his eyes straying from her rather tremendous bosom. At least, that was one small compensation for her pregnancy...her magnificently enhanced bust.

  By the time she was back home and seated at her dressing table, she was so excited by the possibilities the evening had in store that she could barely wait for Jane to answer her summons.

  “Jane! Quickly! Help me to decide what to wear for dinner. No, I do not intend staying in tonight and don’t you start haranguing me, or I’ll think you as bad as Hetty, who only cares about appearances. You should know that once I make up my mind, there’s no way to change it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lord Silverton did not make it his habit to frequent the lower end of town, but he bolstered his reluctance with the knowledge that he had no choice if he was to be anyone’s savior tonight—and that’s what he was determined to be.

  He pulled up the collar of his greatcoat, and pulled down the brim of his low-crowned beaver as he reached the front steps of the house he sought.

  He did not like the idea of being recognized, and feared that his mission to Maggie Montgomery’s would be misunderstood for he had, in fact, never paid for sex. Never had to. He found his pleasures with willing women from various walks of life. He’d had liaisons with widows of his own class, forward misses from the serving classes and several times, an opera dancer. For some reason, women liked him.

  He’d been sorry that pretty Miss Bunting had not returned his regard. She’d have made a very suitable wife, and he’d thought her sweet. But beyond his surprise that she had, in fact, chosen someone else when he’d made clear his intentions and had thought she returned his interest—and several days of feeling less than his usual ebullient self—he didn’t particularly care.

  Now he was mounting the steps of Maggie Montgomery’s establishment, feeling suddenly sheepish. He was glad he’d gone unrecognized by the time the grated door had been opened, and a young girl greeted him and ushered him into the heavily-perfumed interior.

  “I say, Silverton!”

  Silverton was already inside the dim drawing room, being ushered toward a cluster of red-velvet upholstered seats by Maggie Montgomery herself,when he was hailed by the familiar, gravelly voice.

  Inwardly, he groaned as he perceived in the gloom, Lord Debenham. The viscount was lounging on a sofa with a girl on his lap, but he pushed her off when he struck up conversation with his erstwhile colleague. “Can’t say I’ve seen you here before, Silverton. Drowning your sorrows after Miss Bunting’s rejection, eh? So, what are you in the mood for? I can recommend the little dark-haired fairy over there. Daisy. A poppet, ain’t she, except I don’t like to share.”

  Silverton gave a considered nod as he lowered himself into a chair. Debenham must be half corked. He didn’t usually talk like this, but Debenham was a strange man. He liked things on his terms, and was likely to become as prickly as a hedgehog if he felt he was being snubbed. It was one of the many odd characteristics Silverton had included in his reports to the Foreign Office over the past year.

  So Silverton grunted and replied, “I don’t like to share either.” He felt reluctant to put his desires into words when Maggie sidled up to him with a large brandy and a simpering smile. “Here you are, Lord Silverton. Now, what else takes your fancy? We have Brenda over in that corner. She’s quite new and already very popular with the gentlemen.”

  Nash cast his gaze over a somewhat gaunt young woman with very pale hair and skin. She returned his look with a knowing gaze, and Silverton turned away. “I’m in the mood for a fresh country lass,” he said, hating the way the words sounded.

  “Not my taste,” Debenham remarked, leaning over. “A bit of polish, I say, never goes astray.”

  “A country lass. Well now, we have Susan. She arrived only last week. Barely broken in and, like Brenda, already so popular with the gentlemen—”

  “Dorcas comes highly recommended. Is she available?”

  “I’m afraid Dorcas is with a customer.” Mrs. Montgomery looked regretful. “I do think you’ll like Brenda, though.”

  Silverton appeared to consider this. “Perhaps I’ll finish my drink and wait for Dorcas.”

  “She might be some time, my Lord. What about—”

  “No, Lord Debenham and I have some catching up to do. I’ll while away a little time and then see.”

  “As you wish.”

  With an inward sigh, Silverton raised his glass to Debenham. He could have thought of better companions, but perhaps this was fortuitous. He usually saw Debenham when he was in his cups with his fellow radical miscreants, and while their plots to turn the country upside down were being hatched. Not that there’d been anything of a serious nature that Silverton could report. Too many agendas, wild ideas, and incompatible personalities. Debenham liked to bully; Buzby was easily offended and quick to anger, and Smythe had too many crazy ideas.

  Silverton suspected they’d lost focus after the whispers they were implicated in the attempted assassination of Lord Castlereagh. Others had taken the rap for that, and Debenham was protected by his status, but the rumors had persisted.

  Silverton knew they’d been frightened when the missing letter rumored to have been written by Sir Aubrey’s late wife before her suicide had reappeared. In fact, it had been produced by Miss Partington, who had burned it one evening in a supper box at Vauxhall—the evening she admitted spending with Lord Debenham, which had led to her being forced to wed the villainous viscount in order to salvage what remained of her reputation.

  There the matter might have ended had Silverton not been contacted several months later by a colleague, Sir William Keane, on the evening of Sir William’s departure from England for a posting in Constantinople, saying that the real letter had been recovered. Lady Debenham had in fact burned in the supper bo
x at Vauxhall while Debenham’s secretary, Ralph Tunley, was purported to have in his possession the real one. On its own, however, the letter was not sufficient to provide the evidence the Foreign Office needed to bring the suspected radicals, traitors, and would-be assassins to trial though it was vital to the case they were trying to build.

  Finding sufficient evidence was Silverton’s job though it appeared that, these days, Debenham was more interested in reversing his parlous fortunes than toppling the government.

  Daisy sashayed over to Debenham’s side and skimmed her fingertips the length of his arm. Their eyes met, and Silverton could feel the heat between them. Briefly, he wondered how Lady Debenham was spending her evening. She’d been large with child when he and Kitty had visited not long before. Debenham was a man of strong appetites and little tenderness. Silverton felt a touch sorry for the haughty beauty, who was no doubt used to being feted as a rarity and now was relegated to the shadows.

  “My Lord, Dorcas is now available if you’re still of a mind, though there are lots of other lovely girls who would be only too pleased to ensure you have a...memorable evening.”

  Silverton rose, ignoring her last comment. “Miss Dorcas? I’m most interested to meet the young lady,” he murmured. He thought it best to sound salacious, and then wished he hadn’t. It really didn’t sound too good to his own ears.

  Maggie Montgomery preceded him along a short corridor from the drawing room, and then up a flight of stairs. Rooms led off another long corridor, and he heard the sound of pleasure echoing from within. Much of it must be feigned, he decided.

  When Mrs. Montgomery opened the door to a small bedroom, he was struck by the utter forlornness of the young girl who sat on the pink satin coverlet at the end of a large bed.

  “Dorcas, Lord Silverton has a special desire to see you. Do treat him well.”

  Even Silverton heard the threat in the words, and was sensitive enough to discern the split second of utter weariness that weighed down the girl, before she turned with a forced bright smile upon her ruddy countenance.

  “Wot a pleasure, m’Lord. Thank yer, Mrs. Montgomery. I’ll make sure ‘tis an evenin’ ‘e won’t forget.”

  She rose from the bed, and again Silverton sensed the effort it cost her. He stood at the doorway and smiled back at her. She was a pretty girl with soft brown hair and large, soulful eyes. He had the impression she’d lost weight suddenly, and that it didn’t suit her as much as the soft curves of the country lass Kitty described.

  With a pang, he imagined Kitty and Dorcas sharing their excitement when they’d first met at Mrs. Mobbs’s, and he shuddered at his little friend’s feelings if, and when, she learned of the horrors Dorcas had endured since they’d parted.

  “Wot’s yer pleasure, m’Lord?” She was going through the motions, pushing up her breasts as if for his perusal as she half reclined on the bed.

  “Don’t.”

  She looked surprised, then crestfallen as she sat up. “Yer don’t like ‘em, m’Lord?”

  “Sit up, Dorcas.”

  A flash of fear crossed her face at his serious tone, and Silverton realized she might interpret his lack of interest for something more sinister. A cruel streak.

  “I’m not here for you to pleasure me.”

  Dorcas flashed a frightened look at the walls, as if they might have eyes. “Don’t matter wot yer want o’ me, or don’t, m’Lord, yous goin’ ter ‘ave ter pay, all the same.”

  “I know that. Perhaps you’d care to accompany me on a walk.”

  “Can’t do that, sir.”

  “If that’s my pleasure, you’re paid to serve me.”

  “Ain’t allowed ter leave the premises, m’Lord.”

  “What, never? Surely you get a half day on a Sunday, Dorcas? Are you not free to meet whomever you choose on a Sunday?”

  She toyed with the skirts of her gaudy primrose and lavender sarcenet gown, then rose and took a step forward as if she were curious or confused as to his motives. “Wot yer talkin’ ’bout, m’Lord? I ain’t neva leavin’ ‘ere ‘cept in a coffin.” She clapped her hand to her mouth and then said in a louder voice, “Let me give yer a good rub down, m’Lord. Take the tension from yer bones.” As she drew closer, she put her mouth to his ear. “I don’t know wot yer come ‘ere fer, m’Lord, if it ain’t ter get yer money’s worth out o’ wot I can give yer, but don’t talk ter me o‘ leavin’ this place cos it ain’t neva goin’ ter ’appen. ‘As someone ‘eard ‘bout the depraved depths I sunk to? Are yer ‘ere on their orders? If so, I won’t an’ can’t live wiv the shame, an’ I ain’t neva goin’ ter be redeemed. Hell is where I’m goin’ ter, an’ no mistake. ’Sides, I signed a contract. Ain’t no way I’ll pay me way out o’ that afore I’m already in me grave.” She thrust out her chest and drew in a shuddering sigh before adding in a more robust tone, tinged with resignation, “’Ere, m’Lord, yer must be ever so ‘ot in yer coat.”

  Silverton gripped her wrists and she froze, staring into his face with sudden panic. “Please don’t ‘urt me, m’Lord.”

  “Hurt you? Good lord, I’m not going to hurt you,” he responded, appalled. “Please, Dorcas, I want to help you. I’m here because a friend has asked me to help you.”

  “A friend? I ain’t got no friends.” Terror welled in her eyes. “Me family...? Oh lordy, do tell me they know nothin’ ‘bout wot I’ve sunk to?” She tore out of his grasp and almost staggered to the window, whispering over her shoulder, “If yer ain’t here fer wot most gennulman want, then please let me be. I can’t talk ter yer like this, m’Lord. Mrs. Montgomery an’ ‘er son, they won’t like it. It’ll be bad fer me.”

  Silverton advanced and put a hand on her shoulder. Gently, he turned her back to face him. “Please just come with me, Dorcas.” He tried to inject the necessary reassurance into his tone, but she was like a trembling rabbit, staring between him and the door as if she feared she’d be set upon by either.

  “Can’t, m’Lord. Can’t ever,” she muttered. “Yer don’t undastand what yer suggestin’.”

  “I want to help,” he said, pushing down his frustration. But it was clear that Dorcas was never going to go willingly with him. Eventually, with a sigh, he put his money on the dressing table and left.

  Chapter Twelve

  Araminta had ignored the growing pains in her belly for as long as it took to get herself dressed, with Jane’s help, occasioned by Jane’s perpetual grumbling.

  “Yer can’t go, m’lady. It ain’t right in yer condition,” her stubborn maid kept saying.

  “I’m a married woman who can do what I please, and I won’t have a servant telling me what to do.”

  “An’ all alone?” Jane went on, as if she hadn’t heard Araminta. “Madness, that’s wot ’tis! Wot if summat ‘appens while yer in the carriage? Wot if the babe decides ter come, then?”

  Araminta held up the exquisite diamond and ruby necklace Debenham had given her as a wedding gift. “What do you think of this, Jane?”

  “Yer going ter wear that ter go ter yer sister’s fer dinner? Ter impress Miss ’Etty? Or per’aps it’s Sir Aubrey yer want ter impress?”

  Araminta might have swung around in fury on any other occasion. But the wretched baby was so active, and she needed to take her mind off her misfortunes, so she managed to exercise a higher than usual degree of tolerance. “I can’t imagine why you’d say such a thing, Jane. No, there is another guest who will be there. Someone far more interesting than Sir Aubrey.”

  “Well, I don’t fink yer should go, m’lady. Not wiv Sir Aubrey there who’ll be lookin’ at yer belly an’—”

  “And what, Jane?” This time, Araminta did round on her, her voice a low snarl, though not before deciding against the necklace and instead wearing only the matching dangling earrings in her lobes. It had been less than six months since Debenham had presented them to her, together with his mother’s diamond and ruby necklace on her wedding night and, by god, Araminta felt she’d earned them. Let Lord Ludbridge ad
mire the way they made her eyes sparkle. Perhaps the jewels might help fund a future together. Life wasn’t all about money and riches, and if Araminta could escape her dreadful marriage to Debenham with a few small sacrifices, she’d do it.

  As she gazed at her reflection, she imagined fleeing to France with handsome Teddy. How romantic if the jewels Debenham had given her could fund a few years of them living together in a charming chateau. Then, as soon as she’d heard that Debenham had drunk himself into an early grave, she could return to England and resume her rightful position in society. As Lady Ludbridge.

  “I ain’t goin’ ter say it again, miss, in case the walls ‘ave ears, but I reckon yer know wot I mean.”

  Araminta rose quickly, sweeping over to the bigger, rectangular looking glass that hung above the fireplace. She looked beautiful. Exquisite. As long as no one cast their gaze below her breasts, they’d think her the most stunning and desirable woman in the world. Lord Ludbridge certainly would.

  “I heard my carriage pull up outside the front. Come, Jane. I may as well stay at Miss Hetty’s tonight. Tell Jem to let Debenham know—if he ever returns—though I doubt he’d be remotely interested.”

  She didn’t care about Debenham. As she labored down the stairs, excitement skittered up her spine. In a few more weeks, the wretched baby would be out, and she could start afresh and as she meant to go on. She’d be free. Free to have the life she deserved.

  Ensconced inside the carriage, she wrapped her furs more closely about her. The journey was not long. She’d not confirmed with Hetty that she’d come, so she would be a delicious surprise for Lord Ludbridge. She thought with delight of the passionate light in his eye when he’d last regarded her. Poor man, he’d imagined her lost to him. Not that he hadn’t deserved it. His appalling behavior in abandoning her at her most critical hour ought to be punished. But tonight, she’d find a way to communicate that his patience since would be rewarded. Her entire body shivered in anticipation at the thought. She would reward him in a way that would satisfy the desire of any lovelorn, red-blooded male.