The Rogue's Reluctant Rose (5 page)

***

The invitation arrived just as promised. The card was thick and expensive, the lettering was gold leaf, and the writing delicate. It sat innocently with the rest of the mail before Lord Worthing at the breakfast table. Susan had received a letter from a friend whose family had already left town before the close of season, and she had excused herself as she read it at the breakfast table.

Araminta looked up from buttering a fresh scone, her eyes immediately catching the conspicuous envelope. She knew a moment of happiness, instantly deciding that it had to be Lady Huston’s invitation. Apart from the merit of being invited to Lady Huston’s party in itself, it was well known that Lady Huston was well connected within the fashionable circles. Araminta would have the opportunity to impress a member of one of the most elite circles within the
ton
. She had momentarily contemplated a vision of herself at Almack’s, though she instantly dismissed it as being silly and fanciful.

She tried to continue her breakfast nonchalantly, waiting for her uncle to get to the envelope in question, when Lady Worthing seemed to notice it as well.

“I say, my dear, what can that be?” she asked her husband, setting down her morning cup of tea. Lord Worthing looked up from the correspondence he had been scanning, to give his wife a look of surprise.

“Whatever are you referring to, my love?” he asked before following her gaze down to the envelope in question. He picked it up, unsealed the envelope with practised ease and pulled out a card of matching stationery. Lord Worthing scanned the contents briefly, before looking up at the women around him with a fond smile.

“Well, my dears, it seems that Lady Huston is inviting us to her party this coming Saturday. Of course, if you would much rather not go, I shall not force the issue. I shall write her and politely decline.”

Araminta felt a smile of genuine pleasure light up her features. “Oh, no, Uncle.”

“Lady Huston, father? What luck to be invited to her party. She is so very fashionable,” Susan gushed, setting aside her correspondence to exchange smiles with Araminta.

Araminta fidgeted nervously as she gazed out of her uncle’s carriage. Looking out at the other carriages waiting to reach the end of the drive and stop at the front doors that led to Lady Huston’s spectacular manor house. She was suddenly uneasy about attending the gala.

She watched elegant ladies and gentlemen emerge from their carriages and make their way up to the door of the manor. Her gloved hand unconsciously smoothed the skirt of her gown of palest pink crepe over soft white satin, trimmed in silk bobbin lace. The colour gave her skin a pretty glow and offset her midnight-blue eyes. Araminta and Susan had commissioned new gowns especially for the occasion. She knew that she ought to feel confident in her fetching new gown, yet her confidence had ebbed away the closer they got to the house, situated about an hour outside of London.

It would be an important night. Having resolutely pushed her guilt to the back of her mind, Araminta meant to make good the opportunity to win over Sir Timothy once and for all. She was certain that he meant to introduce her to his influential aunt, and surely that was a sign of his regard. She
had
to win him over, she knew. Yet she was still fighting the dregs of guilt at being so mercenary with a man who had done her no harm. There was doubt lingering on the edges of her mind, but Araminta fought it off. The letter she had received from her sister-in-law that very morning was still painfully fresh in her mind.

Harriet had been very careful not to write anything distressing. She had assured Minta that all was well in Fanshawe Hall, and had expressed her confidence that all would be put right somehow. She had even made an attempt to dissuade Araminta from pursuing her goal. But Araminta knew Harriet well enough to be able to read between the lines. Kind soul that she was, Harriet did not feel right that Araminta should make such a great sacrifice to help her sister-in-law, and even little Henry. Having married for love, Harriet could not imagine the alternative. But Araminta could tell that Harriet was worried. Time was running out for them, and even Harriet’s conviction that all would be well in the end could not keep creditors at bay.

Araminta would do what she had to do. There was no other way. She had to return briefly home at the end of the following week, and this party would be her last real chance for a while to snare a suitable husband. For just a moment, she indulged herself in wondering whether the Marquis of Chestleton would be at Lady Huston’s party. He hadn’t been at the fireworks, after all. Then she chided herself for thinking of the enigmatic aristocrat. No good would come of any associations with him.

***

Sir Timothy came forward to welcome Araminta and the Worthings as soon as they arrived at the party. His dark coat suited his pleasant features, and his eyes smiled down at Araminta, who smiled back softly, trying to quell her guilty conscience.

“It’s a fine party your aunt has here, Stanton,” said Lord Worthing approvingly, looking about at the resplendent company and lavish decorations.

“Thank you, my lord. I am very happy that you have accepted our humble invitation,” replied Sir Timothy, with a polite bow of acknowledgement. “My aunt is also very eager to make your acquaintance and, of course, that of Miss Barrington.”

His sunny smile fell on Araminta again, and she blushed. It was a great honour to be presented to Lady Huston. Sir Timothy led them into a pretty antechamber to join the other guests who stood about chatting gaily as they awaited the dinner bell. A servant politely approached the new arrivals, asking them if they would care for any refreshments.

Susan excused herself from the party to greet Miss Lavinia Snowe, a good friend of hers, whom she had spied across the room. Lady Worthing gave Araminta a significant look, before taking her husband by the arm and leading him to speak to Mr and Mrs Snowe, who stood near their daughter.

“And how do you like the house, Miss Barrington?” asked Sir Timothy once they were alone amidst the crowd of guests.

Araminta blinked in surprise and threw a cursory glance around the room.

“I like it very well, Sir Timothy. Your aunt has a very pleasing taste in decoration.”

The baronet nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, she certainly has. You know, Miss Barrington, my Aunt Huston has been like a mother to me since my own dear mother’s passing. They were sisters, and very close.”

“I had not known,” said Araminta softly, unable to stop her eyes from quickly scanning the faces around her, before returning to Sir Timothy’s face. He was watching her intently now, and she could not fathom why.

“Of course, my Aunt and Uncle Huston have no children of their own. You’ve met my uncle, have you not? He’s in the country now for his gout. I spent quite a lot of time here as a boy. Of course, it is my older brother, the Colonel Trevor, Lord Kipridge who will inherit the whole. Such is the lot of the younger son.”

These words might have been melancholy when spoken by any other gentleman, but Sir Timothy’s tone was light and jovial, and Araminta knew that he had been left a very significant fortune by his Aunt Huston’s younger brother and so could not want for anything. She smiled up at the handsome man.

“I am sure you had many happy hours of play here.”

Sir Timothy laughed, “That I did, my dear. There are many rooms for a child to play in, and the grounds are quite large. Then of course, there is a lake for a boy to swim and row, and a fine deer park for hunting. I should like my own son to enjoy the same here, one day.”

“It sounds like a fine childhood,” agreed Araminta, now certain that the look in Sir Timothy’s eyes was very significant.

“Do you enjoy hunting, Miss Barrington?” he asked, but, before Araminta could reply, his eyes seemed to catch sight of someone across the room, and he gave her a quick, eager smile, extending his elbow. “Ah. My dear, I can see my aunt just over by the settee. Shall we approach her? I am most eager to introduce you to her.”

“Certainly.” Araminta accepted Sir Timothy’s elbow.

She felt quite nervous approaching the important lady. Lady Huston was a tall, handsome woman in her late middle age. She wore an elegant dark green gown and emerald necklace. Her bearing was very straight and elegant, and her hair was intricately coiffed in accordance with the latest fashions. Her aristocratic gaze fell on Araminta as they approached, and Araminta felt herself closely examined, like a bonnet in a window display. She could not guess what conclusions Lady Huston drew, however, as the woman’s expression remained unreadable.

Sir Timothy wasted no time in introducing Araminta to his aunt, and Lady Huston nodded in acknowledgement of Araminta’s curtsey.

“Well met, Miss Barrington. My nephew has spoken of you with such unmistakable admiration that I have been most curious to speak with you. How are you enjoying the party?”

“Very much so, Lady Huston.”

The older woman nodded approvingly at this, and fixed Araminta with a smile that did not melt her formal manner.

“I’m sure you are, my dear. I expect you have not seen much in the way of parties these past few months. I understand you were in mourning for your brother.”

Araminta felt a stab of sadness at the mention of Charles. She missed him very much, and though the months had lessened the pain of his passing, she did not think that she would ever stop longing to speak to him, or to share a laugh, or to receive his cheeky grin as he teased her about her hair, dress or admirers. Her throat tightened a little, but she fought it back and replied politely.

“No, madam. None at all. It would not have been proper.”

“Very right, my dear girl. It certainly would not have been at all the thing. You must feel relief now, to be out in society once more.”

Araminta resisted the urge to frown at this. “I am certainly enjoying seeing all my friends again. It is a great comfort. But it was no hardship at the time, to keep to my seclusion in Fanshawe Hall.”

“Of course not. As was only proper. Fanshawe Hall, you say? It is a fine house, I understand, though I have never seen it myself.”

Araminta was not certain what reply to give, but at that moment the bell rang, calling the guests into the great dining hall for their dinner. Araminta could not exactly name the reason, but something in Lady Huston’s manner had made her feel faintly uneasy. The lady had been perfectly polite, and the more Araminta thought about it, the more she felt sure she had imagined it. She decided that her nerves about the evening must have made her more fanciful that usual. Still, she was glad not to be seated near Sir Timothy’s aunt at dinner.

The seating arrangements were quite pleasant. Sir Timothy sat on Araminta’s left, and Lord Harris on her right. The latter had been very kind, smiling at her and enquiring after her health.

Araminta was half-way through the first course, a delicate prawn bisque, when she felt eyes boring into her. She raised her head to attempt to find the source of the peculiar sensation, when her attention was drawn by Sir Timothy, asking her if the bisque was to her liking.

“It’s a French recipe, you know, Miss Barrington. Very fashionable, I understand, but I myself could never quite come to terms with French cooking.” He looked at her warmly, and she felt quite flattered by the attention.

Still, the feeling of being watched persisted. Thanking Sir Timothy for his concern and assuring him that the bisque was just right, she looked up and scanned the faces of the other guests. She could see Susan, seated not far from her, and chatting happily with a middle aged woman, and a few other friends she recognised and made a mental note to speak to after dinner was over. She continued her scrutiny of the people facing her. Her eyes came to rest on a pair of unreadable grey ones before she realised what was happening.

Araminta stifled a gasp, recognising Lord Chestleton, whose eyes were fixed intently upon hers. A corner of his sensual mouth curled in a mocking half-smile as he nodded to her. Her eyes widened, and she returned his nod stiffly, before quickly looking away. She fought to keep down her blush.

“My dear, isn’t that the infamous Lord Chestleton?” asked Sir Timothy, following her gaze.

“Yes, yes it is, Sir Timothy,” she replied, hoping not to sound out-of-sorts as she did so. Her mind was in turmoil. What was he doing there? He hadn’t been at the fireworks, and it was not fair that he should startle her so when she had quite decided that he would not be in attendance. She wondered if he would come and speak with her.
I hope that he will not.
she thought fervently, though a treacherous voice in the depths of her mind laughed at her.
Liar
, it mocked her. She wondered why he had been watching her, and why he had smiled at her. Why, everyone might have seen it!

“Hmm. The fellow has quite a reputation, I understand. Especially after that unfortunate incident with Miss Grey, who still hardly dares to show her face in society. Do you know him, Miss Barrington?”

“I do, though not at all well. The marquis was a friend of my late brother’s.”

Sir Timothy nodded at this, seemingly satisfied.

“Well, that is quite all right, my dear. He is, after all, a very wealthy man, and no doubt an acceptable friend for a gentleman. Will you have a bit more soup, Miss Barrington?”

Araminta smiled, grateful for the change of topic. But she still felt Chestleton’s searing gaze upon her, though she was sure he would not dare stare at her so in public. She felt her cheeks warm and found that she could not eat under the intense scrutiny.

***

After the meal, the guests proceeded into a wider hall, meant for talking and dancing. Sir Timothy excused himself regretfully to speak with an acquaintance, and Araminta sought out a few of her own friends.

“…and did you see, the Marquis of Chestleton is here.” Lavinia Snowe looked quite breathless, and giggled quietly. She was younger than Araminta and Susan and was very excited about every aspect of her first season out.

“Shhh! My dear. You must not be so gauche.” reproached Susan gently, looking around them.