Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin Book 4) (2 page)

“And
that
is saying something.” Her father sounded highly cynical. “I was aware of the way she threw herself at you, and would that you had found her to your liking, Stephen, it would have been entirely to my satisfaction. Yet you are still my heir, and despite everything, I am glad of it. I would prefer to hand the reins to a fellow such as yourself, whom I have the measure of, than a knucklehead like Edgar, or worse, an infant.” There was a long pause, and from her perch, Kitty watched with interest as Cousin Stephen colored up in the face of her father’s fierce stare. At least, fierce was how Kitty interpreted it since she’d often been on the receiving end of it. Her father seemed to relax upon a sigh. “One’s children are so wearying.”

Kitty drew herself up in indignation. It was all very well for her father to say such a thing when he was responsible for them all. Responsible for making her mother so unhappy for not marrying her as he’d promised, and condemning Lissa and herself and Ned and the new baby to living half lives—not accepted by the society to which Kitty longed to be a part; not accepted by the villagers who dropped their eyes when she passed as if she did not exist. Or worse, who whispered the word ‘bastard’ in her hearing.

Well, her father might have spent many nights in her mother’s small cottage by the bridge which, Kitty suspected, must mean his wife, Lady Partington, was even more unhappy than Kitty’s mother.

That said, Kitty had heard a few whispers that suggested Lady Partington had found other avenues to console herself. A lover? Kitty wasn’t entirely sure what having a lover entailed though she knew it involved kissing, and she was surprised that a matron of Lady Partington’s age would indulge in such behavior. 

Most of what Kitty had learned about such matters came from Millie, the kitchenmaid, who had a very romantic turn of mind though she buttoned her lips at some of the questions Kitty asked.

Asking Lissa was pointless. Her older sister refused to indulge in such talk. Lissa was quite the proper miss, but Kitty had been dying to find out for months now what it was she’d seen when she and Lissa had been walking home one evening and, fearing a sick cow needed assistance in their neighbor’s cowshed due to the low moaning sounds, had rushed in to find the milkmaid lying underneath the baker’s boy whose breeches were around his ankles. Lissa had dragged her younger sister away and refused to say a word about it, other than that if she ever caught Kitty in such a situation or heard she’d done anything like it, she’d have nothing more to do with her.

When Kitty had taken up the matter with Millie, she’d been told that she would understand when she was visited by the romantic stirrings of her body.

So Kitty remained essentially ignorant, and had to come to her own conclusions as to how kissing while pressing one’s body against another might be a sin, and that if only Lord Partington and her mother hadn’t done it, then she, Lissa, Ned, and the new baby would not be bastards.

The younger man was speaking now. Kitty realized now, of course, that he was Stephen Cranborne, Lord Partington’s handsome heir who’d arrived at the Grange some months before to learn the ropes. “I’m sorry, my Lord, but you must know that my concerns are greater than they were when I counseled Araminta against furthering her unwise acquaintanceship with Lord Debenham, and, in fact, the reason I suggested this walk was to avoid any possibility of being overheard by the servants.” Kitty pricked up her ears. Gossip that had to be kept from the servants was an exciting prospect. It was only through hearing what was not for general consumption, and the secrets of this grand household in which she’d have lived had her father given her mother the ring, in addition to the enduring love he evinced, that Kitty believed she could prosper.

Right now, she saw herself as a dispossessed child with no future prospects other than the unremitting hard work that was already fast ruining her soft hands, for all that she slept every night with gloves on them, having lathered on a rich, ground almond oil concoction for which she’d paid a ridiculous amount at the village fair.

But now her father was talking scandal with his cousin, Mr. Stephen Cranborne, and Kitty needed to arm herself with every bit of possible information that might give her an edge so that her future was not one of complete drudgery. She wasn’t sure exactly how she was going to achieve the lofty aims with which she’d been inspired by the gypsy fortune teller three years before. She’d not breathed a word to anyone, not even Lissa, but one thing she knew was that she was going to leave this sleepy village where everyone looked down at her, and make her name in the world.

“At first, all suspicion centered on Sir Aubrey as the key player in the failed attempt on Lord Castlereagh’s life, but we have credible information that suggests Debenham was involved and attempted to make Sir Aubrey his scapegoat.” He cleared his throat, and Lord Partington muttered,“My own daughter has taken up with a traitor. Married him, in fact.”

“I’m sorry, my Lord.” Stephen Cranborne sounded truly regretful. “I received the information from the Foreign Office. Debenham is being watched, together with a number of his close companions, Lord Silverton, Lord Smythe, and a lowly shoemaker known as Buzby.”

“And how am I to receive Debenham? With suspicion or with the due regard it is only right I show my new son-in-law?” Kitty’s father clicked his tongue, and she craned her neck through the leaves in an attempt to glimpse his face. How exciting to be witnessing this moment.

“We have no evidence so that will make your task easier,” Stephen Cranborne said. “The men deny knowing one another, but a skilful sketcher has provided irrefutable evidence of a meeting between the three several weeks ago.”

“Indeed? And they could be recognized?”

“The artist has rendered likenesses that are truly remarkable. I do not know who he is, but am informed he is now working for the government.” He exhaled on a sigh. “The fact Araminta is now married to Lord Debenham is a grave matter indeed.”

Kitty heard her father groan, and peeked through the branches once more. She wanted very much to see up close the man Lissa told her was the heir apparent—in place of their own brother who’d had the misfortune to be born on the wrong side of the blanket. Cousin Stephen, she’d heard from Lissa, was very handsome. She’d heard more whispers than that, though. Kitty prided herself on being very clever at ferreting out information, even when everyone said she was too young and needed to be protected from life’s scandals. Young Stephen Cranborne was rumored to be engaged in a liaison. A very unsuitable and dangerous liaison though Kitty did not know with whom.

Was
he as dashing as Lissa had painted him? He must be if Araminta had wanted to marry him when he was heir—which was before her cousin Edgar had unexpectedly turned up on their doorstep to displace him, and then after Edgar had drowned while out boating with that aforementioned highly unsuitable houseguest, a certain Lady Julia Ledger. Sir Archie Ledger was, as could be expected, none too pleased to learn that his wife had been dragged out of a pond where she couldn’t seem to explain what she was doing with Lord Partington’s now late heir at such an hour.

Ah yes, but the gossip of those who had too much leisure time was a constant source of interest to Kitty, who liked to transport herself to another world whenever possible since her own life was so dull and constrained.

Leaning perilously low to catch a view of Cousin Stephen, Kitty was gratified by what she saw. He
was
a handsome young man. His thick, dark-blond hair framed a striking face with a strong nose and sensitive mouth. Kitty always took an extra interest in men’s mouths. It was not something they were usually commended for. Square jaws and well-built physiques—which Cousin Stephen also had—yes, but the descriptions Kitty most often heard never mentioned mouths. Since Kitty had secretly observed the kiss between a milkmaid and her lover, and heard the woman remark upon the man’s ability to do such “magic” with his mouth, she’d been fascinated. The man she would take as her husband must have a mouth that could do magic, too. She shivered with excitement. This had indeed been borne up by the gypsy fortune-teller.

Gripping the branch, Kitty leaned a little farther forward. To observe so closely the man at whom Araminta had thrown herself, but who, it was rumored, appeared to prefer the attention of his benefactor’s wife, Lady Partington, was too much to resist.

But so was the tree branch’s ability to hold her weight. With a sudden earsplitting noise, the branch gave way, disgorging Kitty into the air and sending her tumbling into a heap onto the soft earth right at the feet of her father and Cousin Stephen.

“Dear God, what is this!” Her father’s horror rather matched Kitty’s own as she straightened, dusting down her dirt-soiled skirts and leveling a pained and beseeching look upon her pater. He would not forgive her easily for this, she knew.

“I’m sorry, Papa. I know I’m forbidden to come onto the grounds, and I know you’re justifiably angry. I can’t explain my actions. I only know that I had to hide when I heard your voice.”

His expression was apoplectic. For a moment, he seemed lost for words until he thundered, “How dare you eavesdrop on your elders’ conversations. You will be severely punished for this. You understand?”

Kitty felt the tears threaten. She was always so bold in her own imaginings, and yet her father could reduce her to a trembling wreck. He held absolute sway in the small household by the village bridge where he was like a towering colossus, yet here, master of these magnificent grounds, he was like a demi-god.

Cousin Stephen, beside him, seemed more curious than outraged. He had a kind face, she decided. She was definitely bolstered by the fact that he seemed far less concerned by having a trespassing eavesdropper tumble into his midst than her father.

“You will return home this instant, and you will not be allowed outside for a week unless it’s to do the errands demanded of you, do you understand?”

Her father, purple with rage, spoke with difficulty. An image of Hetty and Araminta, his natural-born, cosseted daughters, both of whom had scandalized society and brought shame upon the family by eloping with dangerous, unsuitable men, appeared before her. They were much the same age as she, and yet they did not suffer the myriad ignominies Kitty did every day. They had fine clothes paid for by their father, while Kitty got their castoffs. They got to dance the night away at London’s grand balls and rub shoulders with dukes and duchesses every night of the week, while Kitty rubbed her mother’s chilblains.

All the painful indignities of her eighteen years rose up to give her the courage to say, “I will not, Papa, for I am going to London. Yes, I’m going to London to become an actress, and even if you lock me in my room for a week you cannot keep me there forever. I am weary of this life where I’m nothing, looked down upon by all the villagers. I won’t do it any longer! When you next hear of me, it shall be as the celebrated actress, Kitty La Bijou, and all London will be talking of me as the most beautiful, talented woman in the country. Yes, you might be scandalized, but at least I will be appreciated by
somebody
.”

K
itty glanced up at the flaking wooden door in the laneway and then down at her fashionable fuller skirts—well, they were fashionable last year, and she was not, after all, trying to compete with society but with the other hopeful actresses who sought to land the lead role in this production of
Romeo and Juliet
. Unlike her mother or Lissa, Kitty wasn’t good with a needle and thread, otherwise she’d have worked magic and turned her gown into the height of fashion.

She’d been delighted when Lissa had proudly spurned it. If the beautiful, discerning Araminta considered it too ‘last season’ and had discarded it, then Lissa would not wear it either. Besides, she’d declared, why would she need fine gowns when she was merely a governess to the Lamont family in London? Serviceable serge and cotton would do well enough while she was proving to the world that she was a more worthwhile creature than the cosseted Araminta and Hetty. At least, that’s how Kitty interpreted her sister’s indignant response.

Kitty, by contrast, was more than happy to wear Araminta’s castoffs. They would serve her well in the theater where she was confident she’d meet her heart’s desire—the gentleman whom she’d know with the exchange of a single smoldering, impassioned look. This scion of the nobility would pluck her from her lowly status, recognize her worth, brand her his, and ultimately make her his wife. It had all been prophesied, and Kitty was looking forward to lording her newfound status over Miss Araminta Partington, whom she was determined would not only notice her, but desire above all to swap places.

For now, Araminta did not even know Kitty existed.

But she soon would.

And when Miss Kitty La Bijou was a name on everyone’s lips, she’d find Lissa, who was so unhappy in her London job, and loathed lazy Mrs. Lamont who believed herself so much grander than she was, and spoiled Miss Maria, who was embarking upon her first season with all the airs of a duchess ‘though she’d be lucky to snare a clerk,’ according to Lissa. Kitty would also like to teach a lesson to Mr. and Mrs. Lamont’s son, Master Cosmo, who, Lissa had written, wanted Lissa to paint portraits for him of society personages which he then passed off as his own.

Lissa’s last letter, however, had been very mysterious. She’d left the Lamont household to live with a dressmaker where she continued her sketches, from what Kitty could gather, though how she could keep body and soul together in such employment was a mystery.

The strangest thing was that Lissa had left no forwarding address.

Not that Kitty was relying on staying with Lissa which, of course, would not have been possible anyway. She’d already forged a plan having made her presence known to Mr. Lazarus, the director of
The Taming of the Shrew
, which was doing a number of performances in their little village before it went to the next county. Mr. Lazarus had looked her up and down in a very appraising way, Kitty thought. He’d then invited her to sit down and offered her biscuits and Madeira, something she’d never tried before and which made her feel quite lightheaded, and at the end of a very heartening conversation, he’d given her a very stylish London address where she could find lodging. She knew it must be stylish because Mr. Lazarus was a very smart gentleman, if a touch flamboyant with his green felt hat and loudly-patterned waistcoat. But he was the man in charge, and he decided who would act in his plays and which actresses would take a lead role, their ticket to fame and glory. So when he smiled his very white smile, and smoothed his sideburns in evident satisfaction at the well-put-together package Kitty had tried to present to him, she knew she’d surmounted the first obstacle.