The Mysterious Governess (Daughters of Sin Book 3) (11 page)

When she had a moment to spare, she scribbled a note, which she entrusted to the boot boy, waited a few moments before she snatched her cloak, then hurried the two blocks to where her half-sisters lived. Araminta was not smiling when she greeted her beneath the apple tree.

“What do you suppose might have happened if someone had intercepted that note?” she demanded.

“Is Jem going to live?”

“You risked my reputation to ask me that? Besides, why should you care?”

“Because I met him and liked him, and because of you—
us
—his life was put in danger. Of course I should care! I see you’re going to a masquerade.”

She stared at Araminta’s Spanish dancing girl costume, trying unsuccessfully to withstand the spasm of envy that, she feared, was plain for the other girl to see.

Araminta looked smug. “Tonight is very special. I intend a certain gentleman to make me an offer.”

“Lord Debenham?”

“Good Lord, no. Not after what I saw in that letter! No, Sir Aubrey. Although his reputation is somewhat tarnished, Sir Aubrey will have me to thank for restoring glory to him.”

Lissa gasped. “I thought you didn’t have the money to obtain the letter?”

Araminta looked uncomfortable. “Hetty has gone behind my back and somehow acquired the letter...but she won’t have it for long.  I intend to retrieve it tonight. Lord knows what she was about, thinking he might look at her twice if she was the one to triumphantly brandish it in front of him. Now I really must go, while you no doubt have your governessing duties to attend to.”

She turned, saying over her shoulder, “Your concern is really most touching, but I’m sure Jem will be quite all right. He’s not dead, at any rate.”

***

L
issa dashed back to the Lamont household and had reached the first landing when a hand darted from seemingly nowhere and landed on her shoulder. She squealed and Cosmo stepped into the light, laughing. She hated his habit of accosting her from the shadows.

“Methinks only someone with something to hide could be so all-aquiver. What? Been to see your lover, have you? Well, that’s of no account to me, as long as you abide by our agreement.”

She shrugged off his hand and started to climb the stairs again, ignoring him, but he called her back.

“Clara is putting the girls to bed. I’ve told everyone you’ve been given the evening off to seek a remedy from your aunt.” At her open-mouthed shock, he went on, “That’s because you’re coming with me.”

She drew back, frightened, as he made to reach for her, and instantly the sneer on his face told her she was unwise to make her distaste so clear.

Before she could ask his meaning, he repeated, “You’re coming with me to Vauxhall Gardens. It’s a masquerade, the perfect opportunity for you to do those lightning sketches you’re so good at, since you’ll be in disguise like everyone else.”

Excitement mixed with trepidation, for although Lissa had been envious of Araminta minutes before, the idea of being anywhere in close proximity to Cosmo was terrifying.

“My reputation—” she began, but he scoffed.

“Really, Miss Hazlett, you’re a governess, that’s all. Mama has an ancient domino rig-out she wore to a masquerade ball last century. The old-fashioned gown and cloak will fit you with room to spare. No one will ever know it’s you, and I’ll see you’re served ham so thin you can see through it and partake of all the Bristol Milk you desire. Don’t you want to know how the other half
really
lives?”

Lissa thought she heard resentment in his tone, for he was only a few steps farther up the social ladder than she was, looked down upon by those whose portraits he painted. His money was not inherited.

Her final, faint objections were made to his retreating back. However, when a little later she returned to her bedchamber and saw, lying upon the bed, a voluminous domino and a sculpted mask adorned with black feathers, she could not deny her excitement. Despite its antiquity it did offer Lissa the anonymity she needed. She whisked it up and saw that it came with voluminous pockets she could tie about her waist, enabling her to easily access her sketchbook. If she’d been wearing the narrow fashions of the day she’d have had to carry a reticule.

Of course, she should feel angry that Cosmo had given her no choice but to dance to his tune, but a night of rubbing shoulders with the haut ton, doing sketches for which she’d be paid, eating and drinking things that were not governess fare, did not come her way every day.

Clara appeared in the doorway rubbing her eyes, and Lissa quickly tossed the Domino upon the bed and stood in front of it.

“Master Cosmo said as you’d gone to visit your aunt.”

“I’m leaving shortly,” Lissa said quickly. What a rare opportunity to be granted a reprieve from her work. One arranged by the difficult-to-please young master who’d had it sanctioned by the rest of the family.

Nodding, Clara turned and left her in peace while Lissa dreamed of the excitement ahead of her tonight.

She would make the most of her freedom and she would do what Cosmo required of her, but she would not be at Cosmo’s beck and call all evening. Not when he’d neglected to pay her for all her sketches, as promised.

There were difficulties. Lissa had no hope of changing, indoors, without any of the family or servants observing her in costume, and Cosmo was virtually breathing down her neck the moment she tiptoed out of the schoolroom with the ensemble hidden in a hessian sack.

He took her to a tavern and directed her to small room, where she hurriedly donned the costume. The domino was a princess shape, made of black brocade, with a Watteau plait with cape, voluminous hood and wide sleeves. It was large and long enough to slip over her own dress and hide it completely.

With pretended nonchalance she returned to Cosmo’s side and, in silence, they travelled in a hackney to the Gardens.

“I have two commissions I must complete tonight,” he told her as they walked side by side through the throngs of revelers wearing all manner of outlandish and fantastical garb. “Make sure you stay near, but in the background, and make your drawings as quickly as possible.”

Lissa was not going to be ordered about in such a cavalier fashion. The delicious aroma of roasting pig reminded her of how hungry she was, and there was also Cosmo’s promise of refreshment and fun to compensate for the work she would do for him—in addition to the payment of a third of what he received. “I would like something to eat and drink, first,” she said in a manner that brooked, she hoped, no refusal. “You took me away before supper, and I’ve had nothing since luncheon. I can’t sketch without food.”

He stopped to stare at her, as if she’d uttered an outrageous impertinence, but Lissa did not flinch before his jutting brow. Cosmo was a bully but not so stupid he didn’t understand when it was unwise to court a falling-out. Without a word, he resumed walking, shouldering his way through the crowds to the refreshments tent after finding her a seat at a table where she could wait in view of him.

The food was delicious. She’d never enjoyed such rich and exotic flavors, and the atmosphere was intoxicating. The night was young and it was not fully dark, but the drink was flowing. Lissa saw women throw back their heads, eyes shining with promise, and young men transformed into gallant swains in their quest to strut their manliness before their lady loves. It was like being part of the theatre itself.

On the other side of the rotunda she saw Araminta and Hetty,
both
dressed as Spanish dancing girls, flanking their cousin Stephen. In their wake trailed a couple of country-looking misses dressed as shepherdesses and a young man in a cassock whom Lissa took to be their brother.

The country cousins looked as Lissa felt: as if they’d never encountered such a place. By contrast, Araminta appeared used to this kind of lark as she sauntered with confidence along the busy thoroughfare. Her confidence was in contrast to Hetty’s obvious discomfort at being dressed in the same garb as her flamboyant sister. Lissa was in no doubt that Araminta had chosen the Spanish dancing girl’s costume. She wondered if Hetty knew of her sister’s plan to obtain the all-important letter before she could present it to Sir Aubrey, and she hoped an opportunity would arise whereby she could warn her.

Whatever revelations might be the outcome, both girls apparently had a decided preference for Sir Aubrey, and little wonder. Lord Debenham was terrifying.

By the time she and Cosmo had finished their meal, darkness was closing in and the shadows were lengthening but a large waxing moon shone a golden glow upon everything. Lissa leaned back on her bench and stared into the gloom. Araminta, she saw, had returned to listen to the orchestra, but of Hetty, there was no sign. Which one of them, she wondered, had the hitherto secret letter?

Her preference was that Hetty should be the unlikely victor and find love in Sir Aubrey’s arms, if that was what she truly wanted. Araminta had shown the greater boldness but Hetty was, Lissa was certain, the more deserving.

If Lissa were required to melt into the shadows and slyly do Cosmo’s bidding with pencil and paper, perhaps she could find a way to help Hetty.

“Who are we to sketch?” Lissa asked as Cosmo pushed aside his plate. Araminta had just disappeared, swallowed up by the crowds of revelers on the Serpentine Walk. Lissa frowned. She was sure she’d not seen her in company with her Cousin Stephen. Or any of her cousins, for that matter.

“I have a commission from Lord Smythe’s wife to render her husband’s likeness for a small charcoal etching, with which she wishes to present him as a surprise. She asked me to observe him without his knowledge, which is of course ideal.”

The idea, which had pleased him a moment before, now appeared to have a caveat, Lissa feared, judging from the sudden downturn of his mouth. It was only after a little prodding that he finally confessed.

“Lady Smythe is holding a ball on Thursday night, to which I’d hoped to be invited so I could present her with the sketch. But no offer was forthcoming. I shall therefore deliver it to her tomorrow. She may be only too pleased to show it off during her entertainment later this week and thus I can garner more commissions.”

Lissa nodded. A quick sketch of Lord Smythe should not prove difficult. “And the other?”

Cosmo looked evasive. Then Lissa realized it was embarrassment. A gentle breeze ruffled his light brown curls and he looked for a moment terribly young and not the cruel employer and manipulator she knew him to be. “Mr. Crossing believes his wife is...er, being unfaithful, and has planned an assignation with her lover in a supper room here tonight. He wants me to sketch her with whomever she is with.”

Lissa clutched the folds of the domino at her throat. “That’s spying. We can’t possibly! No Cosmo, I won’t do it.”

“It’s a commission worth three times the usual money, and yes you will.” No longer did he look young and vulnerable. “My ability to render an uncanny likeness with just a few pencil strokes has been highly acclaimed.”

“You mean
my
ability.”

He ignored her. “This could become a lucrative business if you are canny enough to carry it off. Or will your nerve or talent fail you tonight? Mr. Crossing is justified in wanting to know if his wife is true. You’d not condone deceit, would you, Miss Hazlett?”

Cosmo knew how much Lissa wanted the money and gave her no opportunity to object further as he pulled her to her feet. “Goodness, I believe that is Lord Smythe heading past the orchestra in the company of two other gentlemen.”

He relaxed in disappointment. “I’m sure it was, though he is gone now. No matter. We will be vigilant. And tonight will mark the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership, Miss Hazlett.”

“With the financial rewards to be meted out before the end of the week, or it will be the last time we are in partnership, Mr. Lamont.”

“I think we need each other too much for me not to accede to your money-grubbing sentiments, Miss Hazlett.” He gave a disappointed sigh. “A lady’s preoccupation with filthy lucre is so unbecoming.”

***

A
raminta leaned against the trunk of an elm tree, hidden in the darkness, and stared across at Sir Aubrey’s supper box. She’d gained possession easily enough of the letter, snatching it from Hetty’s reticule earlier that evening during a fortuitous moment when it had fallen to the ground after her sister had been jostled in the crowd.

The sense of victory had been supreme as Araminta had tucked the valuable missive inside her stays. What Sir Aubrey wouldn’t give to have that letter? It would finally reveal to the world the truth of Lord Debenham’s treachery, and thus her future husband’s innocence. Yes, Sir Aubrey was, without a doubt, the man of her dreams. With the incendiary, incriminating letter detailing Lord Debeham’s depravity pricking into her skin she wondered how she could for one moment have entertained ideas of allying herself with wicked Viscount Debenham.

She adjusted the veil that ensured her anonymity, ran her clammy hands down her red and gold flounced skirts and shivered with the thrill of simply being alone and unchaperoned. Any guilt or doubt about what she was about to embark upon could not be entertained. Of course, her Mama would be horrified if she knew what Araminta was about to do, and in fact Araminta did feel a trifle uncomfortable about sending Hetty off in the direction of Lord Debenham’s supper box.

When Hetty had discovered the letter missing a few minutes ago, Araminta had told her she’d given it to Lord Debenham, whereupon the silly girl had immediately run off to beg him for its return. It was almost as if Hetty had imagined that by presenting the letter to Sir Aubrey, he’d convey his gratitude through a marriage offer.

Yes, Araminta acknowledged it had been wrong to send Hetty off, alone, to confront such a dangerous man as Lord Debenham, but what choice had she had? She’d rather share dreadful Cousin Edgar’s fate and drown in a duck pond than finish a second season without an offer.

And it was unthinkable that Hetty might receive an offer first.

Araminta took a final deep breath, adjusted the lace that edged her décolletage, and stepped up to the door of Sir Aubrey’s supper box.