Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin Book 4) (19 page)

“Mrs. Mobbs! Why, did she offer to rescue you, Dorcas? She must know you were tricked and hate it here.”

Dorcas shook her head. “She were very regretful an’ said she ‘ad no idea, but that a contract signed were bindin’ fer life. But she said she liked ter ‘elp where she could, an’ she was goin’ ter ‘elp Sally by takin’ ‘er to Wiltshire where she’d be looked afta an’ a nice family ‘ad bin found fer the babe so Sally could come back an’ continue workin’ fer Mrs. Montgomery an’ it would be like the babe ‘ad neva ’appened.” She shrugged. “So I s’pose Mrs. Mobbs ‘as goodness in ‘er ’eart, though I wish she’d a known ‘bout Maggie Montgomery’s plans afore she let me take a position wiv ’er. Now, we’ve talked much too much an’ me next customer will be waitin’. Yer go an’ enjoy yer life, miss, an’ forget all ‘bout me. I’m dead ter the world.”

Kitty tried to persuade her once more, but finally she had no choice but to leave the way she’d come; her heart as full of woe as Dorcas’s. Fortunately, there was no difficulty in slipping out of the house, dressed as a servant, and when she saw Lord Silverton waiting for her around the corner, she hurried over.

“She won’t come, my Lord, and I must hurry back to Nash, but you have been ever so kind.” She brushed his cheek with her fingertips and smiled, a warm inner glow suddenly permeating her.

Silverton found a hackney for her, and not long afterward Kitty returned to her little house where she found Nash waiting for her, reading the paper in an armchair in the breakfast parlor while he helped himself to grapes.

“Why such a sad face, my sweet?” he asked, but Kitty couldn’t give him the truth. No, she felt she had to continue her playacting because that was the way to please Nash, who didn’t like Friday-faced damsels cluttering up the place, as he’d told her when she’d been sad once before.

So she brightened up, changed into a night-rail of the sheerest lawn, which satisfied him no end, and did what a good mistress did to please her protector.

Then, in the morning she went to the theater, rehearsed for the show that evening, and felt that she’d not stopped acting for a full forty-eight hours.

D
ebenham glanced up from his newspaper and raked his enquiring gaze over Araminta’s traveling attire. “And where do you suppose you’re going?” The breakfast sideboard had been reset since Araminta had broken her fast three hours earlier.

“Home.” Araminta raised her chin and prepared to do battle. This was one fight she could not afford to lose. With chilly recrimination, she added, “You’ve been nowhere to be found for two days and two nights, Debenham. I thought you’d had your throat sliced by footpads.”

“Would you have shed tears, my dear?”

Araminta did not smile. “Of course. And will you shed tears if I am gone for but a week to see my mama, who can counsel me on how to be as good a mother as she is? Surely you’d not deny me a mother’s care in my advanced state? After all, you cannot bear the sight of me, much less to touch me.”

Debenham’s lip curled, but he did not deny it. “And how do you propose getting there?”

“Why, I’ll take the carriage and send it back. That was my intention since the carriage was to be at my disposal under the terms of our arrangement. You can come and fetch me. You know how Mama adores you.”

Debenham laughed. “Oh, my dear. I did not think you possessed wit and irony as well as beauty.”

“There’s a lot more to me you’ve yet to find out, but the truth is, I’m weary of lumbering about London like this. I want some country air. The physician who attended Mama when she gave birth is highly recommended, and he can be with me in a trice, if necessary. However, Mama preferred the offices of the midwife who lives not far. I shall be in good hands.” She was prepared for a fight over the location of where the baby should be born, but fortunately, Debenham merely shrugged and toyed with his coffee cup. His eyes looked more shadowed than usual, giving him a particularly piratical appearance. A pirate who’d been partaking of a ruinous amount of rum, and was all but dead on his feet. Araminta wondered hopefully when he might drink himself into an early grave.

“You’d better be. You might no longer be the beauty I married, but it’s my heir you’re carrying.” He drained his coffee and reached for a fig. “How many more weeks before your ripe and luscious body will again be mine for the taking?” He answered his own question. “Four weeks before the baby is due, and then another two to wait after that. I am all impatience, my dear.”

“You are not the only one of us anxious for an end to this torture, Debenham,” Araminta said over her shoulder as she turned into the passage, and she wasn’t only referring to the baby. “Hurry along, Jane! At last, we can leave London.”

To Araminta’s relief, she didn’t encounter further resistance. Debenham clearly found her repugnant when she was breeding, while her absence would give him greater rein to indulge in his other proclivities. Araminta had no doubt that he played fast and loose when he could. Well, two could play at that game. It was extraordinary that only a week after expelling the little creature who had blighted her life, she felt so well. Women were supposed to lie on their backs for a whole month, but she’d had no choice but to maintain the fiction she was still carrying...well, supposedly, Debenham’s heir. Of course, she’d been a little weak and wobbly on her feet immediately afterward, but at least padding her stomach with an enormous cushion meant she could claim fatigue from her apparent advanced pregnancy, and lie down to rest frequently—and not have Debenham paw her constantly, like in the early days of their marriage.

Now she just had to bamboozle her mother.

***

W
hat a joy it was to be home. Araminta was so excited at her newfound freedom, it took all her willpower not to run up the front steps, and into her waiting mother’s arms. Instead, she made a show of laboring up each step, assisted by the postilion and Jane.

“Araminta, my dear! Why, you took us by surprise!” Her mother beamed. “We weren’t expecting you for another hour at least. Come, let us get you into your bedchamber and comfortable. You must be exhausted after that long journey.

“Don’t touch me...careful, I’ll be quite all right. Jane can help me!” Araminta held her mother at arm’s length, covering her large belly protectively as she offered her cheek for a kiss.

Then, slowly, they headed for Araminta’s room, one of the parlormaids having rushed ahead to pull back the covers for her afternoon rest.

“Araminta!”

Araminta, who was being helped into bed by her mother, swung around at her sister’s voice. “Hetty? What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t you get my note? I left the day after my dinner with Lord Ludbridge.” Hetty, who stood in the doorway looking as large as Araminta, smiled serenely. Pregnancy obviously agreed with her, Araminta thought sourly as Hetty hurried forward, prattling away as usual. “It was on a bit of a whim, really, as the gentlemen got it into their heads to do some hunting on Lord Mowbray’s estate north of here. It was decided to put me off at The Grange, en route, and they’ll pick me up when they return in a week or two.”

“Sir Aubrey and...and Lord Ludbridge? They’ll be coming back here in a week?”

“Or two. Yes, won’t that be nice? And...I take it Debenham isn’t coming?” There was relief in Hetty’s voice when she got the confirmation she was obviously hoping for.

Their mother settled herself in a chair by the bed and looked between the girls with a serene smile. “So, it’ll be me and my beautiful daughters: Araminta and Hetty. Just like in the old days. Oh, and Celia, of course,” she added with a smile at a loud, lusty cry issuing from upstairs. “How lovely that all the babies will be so similar in age. Oh dear, I think I should attend to her.” She rose, excusing herself at the door before reminding the girls of the time their father would be home and expect to dine.

Araminta thought it quite shocking her mother should have a child in her dotage. And that she wasn’t leaving all the work to the nurserymaid. Lord,
she
didn’t intend breeding when she was forty. In fact, she didn’t intend breeding ever again, and with the innocuous looking little seeds, the Queen Anne’s Lace, Mrs. Mobbs had given her, she certainly hoped that would be the case.

But, one step at a time. Hetty reached out to pat her belly, but Araminta drew back. “Please don’t!” she said sharply. “I do hate it!”

“Of course, dearest.” Hetty sounded indulgent rather than put in her place, which was irritating, and Araminta drew the bed covers up to her neck. She hoped Hetty didn’t intend staying too long.

To her dismay, Hetty lowered herself onto a seat by the window and gently patted her stomach. “I’m surprised you’ve left London with so much going on, but it’ll be so much pleasanter, just the two of us, like in the old days. Sir Aubrey wants to have my portrait painted as soon as I’m back in town.”

“Who will do that? The fine portraitist everyone is talking about? Mr. Lamont?” Araminta asked without thinking, and her sister gave an exclamation of horror. “He’s a vagabond who did some sketches he most certainly should not have. I don’t know the details, but he has a most unsavory reputation, and I don’t know how he’s still gallivanting about with an unsullied reputation.”

“He’s a friend of Debenham’s,” Araminta said crisply, for though she despised her husband’s way of life and most of his friends, she was not prepared to hear Hetty criticize either.

Hetty rose and went to the window and looked out. “That doesn’t surprise me. I heard Debenham was thick as thieves with a painter whose reputation had been blackened by some recent scandal. Goodness, but this baby makes it hard to settle sometimes.”

“Good Lord, Hetty, where do you hear such things?” Araminta asked, ignoring her sister’s reference to her discomfort. Hetty should try and live, for just five minutes, with the trials that afflicted Araminta every day and she’d never grumble again. “How do you think I like to hear criticisms against my husband?”

Hetty turned and regarded Araminta with no trace of her usual girlish levity. “Cousin Stephen told me,” she said quietly. “And regardless of how a woman feels about her husband, she must know what the world is saying about him if she is to keep him—and just as importantly, herself—safe.”

Araminta was about to dismiss this with a scoffing laugh, but the tightness about Hetty’s mouth and the intensity of her look made her decide otherwise. There was an unfamiliar worldliness in her speech that made her take notice.

“Is there something behind your meaning you are trying to convey in words and tone far too subtle for my understanding, Hetty?” Araminta shifted her bulk, shifting beneath the coverlet and checking that the straps which held the padding in place against her body, were tight enough. She was going to have to be very careful to get through the next three weeks without detection. And just when she’d thought that was going to cause her the greatest challenge, Hetty had to add to her trials with talk of something even more unpleasant in which Debenham was involved.

Hetty rubbed her lip as she clearly pondered her words. “Debenham is being watched closely by...various important people. I know Mr. Lamont is one of his associates who is under deep suspicion.”

“Yes, well, he’s been commissioned to paint that flash-in-the-pan actress, Kitty La Bijou. I can’t believe that green boy Lissa works for has come so far. He’s nothing more than a strutting popinjay. Anyway, the gossip sheets are full of it. I will concede that Mr. Lamont is all hot air but fancies himself the cream of the crop and, yes, he is one of Debenham’s friends, but Debenham laughs about him behind his back, don’t you know?”

“I’m sure Debenham laughs behind the back of a lot of people to whom he is quite civil in person, because he finds them quite useful but, yes, although there does appear to be a cloud hanging over Mr. Cosmo Lamont; that sketch he did of Debenham that sits on your dressing table is an uncanny likeness and quite remarkable.”

“The one where he looks so disreputable, and he’s lounging with a cheroot in his mouth?”

“Don’t you think it a very clever likeness? By the way, do you know that Miss Hazlett no longer works for the Lamont family? Something happened, and I don’t believe they remain on good terms. Cousin Stephen hinted to me that Mr. Lamont was involved in something all but criminal, which is why he’s being watched.”

Araminta gave a gusty sigh and turned the topic. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know what has happened to our half-sister. Lissa seems to have disappeared. No gratitude after all I did for her. Not that I want to be reminded of what harm she does to our reputation just by her mere existence. To think that Papa could....” She left the sentence unfinished, and shuddered instead to give meaning to her words.

“She’s never to be mentioned in poor Mama’s presence,” Hetty said, lowering her voice. “Mama seems so happy these days. I don’t want to see her cast into the dismals with talk of Papa’s...other family.” Hetty opened her mouth to continue, paused, then stared straight at Araminta as if deciding whether or not to speak until Araminta said irritably, “Do say whatever it is you’re afraid is going to shock or outrage me, Hetty. It’s something else that is less than flattering about Debenham, isn’t it? And clearly you’d enjoy revealing it, only you have to pretend otherwise.” She huffed out a sigh. “Go on, then. Tell me.”

Hetty looked taken aback, Araminta was glad to see. Always trying to play the good-hearted sister, she thought uncharitably.

“I’m sorry you think that, Araminta,” Hetty said, a touch tartly. “Well then, I shall get to the point. Debenham is being watched due to the activities that have made him a person of interest to the Foreign Office. I think you must know that I speak of the letter you tried to burn. I overheard Stephen speaking about it at dinner to Papa a little while ago.”

“Then they are trying to make more of this ridiculous claim by your husband’s late wife about Debenham plotting with the Spenceans!” Araminta bridled. “Well, the letter’s burned, and as far as I know, there’s nothing else to suggest my husband is anything but as honest as the day is long.”