Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin Book 4) (20 page)

Araminta was just relaxing back on the bed and closing her eyes in happy satisfaction that her actions in burning the letter had put the whole matter to rest when Hetty said, “Actually, Araminta, it would seem the letter you burned was a fake letter Jem supplied.”

“What!?”

Hetty left the window and returned to her chair. She looked earnest and even a trifle scared. “It’s true. I heard Cousin Stephen tell Papa that he’d been in discussion with a man called Sir William Keane, who had been investigating the matter before he was posted to Constantinople, but that Debenham’s secretary, Mr. Ralph Tunley, had produced the real letter. Indeed, it has been verified as the real letter in which Sir Aubrey’s late wife declares Debenham guilty of treason, not Sir Aubrey, as Debenham had always claimed.”

“Dear Lord!” Araminta whispered, covering her face with her hands. “Treason? It can’t be evidence, surely. I mean...it’s just a letter by a madwoman. A woman who killed herself the moment she’d written it.” The ramifications were terrifying; even she knew that.

“Yes, my poor predecessor,” Hetty remarked drily. “You can imagine I am equally affected, both on account of the damage that was done to my darling husband’s reputation when everyone assumed—thanks to Debenham continually casting aspersions—that Sir Aubrey was tainted.” She drew in a deep breath. “I just wanted to warn you, that’s all.”

“You think you can just let the matter rest?” Araminta sat up. She was primed for action now. Angrily she went on, “You can’t just tell me this, Hetty without realizing the need to avert what appears to be Cousin Stephen’s objective—to accuse Lord Debenham of treason. Do you know where that leaves me if he’s convicted?” She answered her own question. “With nothing! All his goods and chattels would be forfeited to the crown. I’d become a pauper. His baby and I would...we’d be destitute!” The more she explored the argument, the more Araminta realized how stark her position really was. “Destitute!” she repeated, this time more shrilly.

Hetty, clearly realizing she’d opened a veritable Pandora’s box, strove to comfort her distraught sister. “Such a thing could never happen. And Debenham is too slippery to ever be caught. I just wanted you to know—”

“Too
slippery
? What’s that supposed to mean? You clearly think he’s a villain. What can I do, Hetty? I need to ensure that Debenham doesn’t overstep the mark, yet I have no control. None! Every night he gambles, drinks, womanizes ...I don’t know what he does, into the early hours of the morning. He no longer listens to me. I’m an ungainly and disgusting creature in his eyes. I have no influence whatsoever.” She began to cry as the tragedy of her words hit home. Once, Araminta had been queen of her domain and confident of her ability to make men her slaves. Now, her life felt like it was in ruins about her ears.

She thought of Lord Ludbridge, and that immediately brought to mind what Hetty had said regarding his brother. Her tears stopped abruptly as hope found a chink in her misery. Struggling onto her elbows, she asked, “Did you say Mr. Tunley is the man who purports to have the real letter which slanders Debenham? Then why has he not used it?”

Hetty threw her hands up into the air, clearly upset already at having said too much. “I don’t know, Araminta. I only thought to tell you—through sisterly loyalty—what I’d overheard so you’d be prepared for any eventuality.”

“Meaning I’d be sure and have a trunk packed, ready for the workhouse?” Araminta began to chew her nails, agitation, but excitement, too, rising in her breast. “Mr. Tunley must be spoken to. Yes, that’s what must happen. He has to be made to understand that he cannot use this letter against me and ruin my life. Why, if his brother knew the injury he intended against me he’d never let him get away with it!”

“His brother?” Almost instantly, Hetty’s brow unfurrowed. “Oh, you mean to ask Lord Ludbridge...” She trailed off as a look of greater understanding smoothed away her frown, adding, “or rather, trade on your old...er...friendship with Lord Ludbridge.”

“Of course I do! He’ll make sure Mr. Tunley disposes of the letter so that no danger will possibly befall me. I know he’d do that for me.”

“But Araminta, I know you like Lord Tunbridge very much, but it mightn’t be so simple. In fact, if Debenham got wind of it, it might be dangerous.”

“It’s
for
Debenham I’d be doing it,” Araminta objected. “Of course, I must trade on my associations, just like any man would do in order to gain the advantage. Lord Ludbridge has the highest regard for me. He’ll do whatever I ask. You say he’s coming here in a couple of weeks?”

“Yes, but Araminta, I wasn’t supposed to reveal anything about—”

“What? You’d just see me cast to the lions?”

“Of course not. But what if the letter is only one part of a case of evidence against Debenham?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Debenham isn’t so stupid as to involve himself in any other bad business when he’s had this lucky reprieve regarding the letter. Well, to date, anyway. No, Mr. Tunley must be prevailed upon by his brother to withhold or destroy that letter. He must!” Her brain whirled over the many possibilities open to her. “I must see Lord Ludbridge when he comes back with Sir Aubrey after their shooting trip. Yes, that’s the only way. Hetty, you must help me. If you don’t want to see me and my babe cast to the wolves or breaking stones in the workhouse, that’s what you must do!”

K
itty rearranged her skirts so that the tiniest suggestion of ankle showed below the rich ruby-velvet hem as she reclined upon the chaise longue. “Will that do, Mr. Lamont?” she asked.

The young painter observed her critically from the center of the room, sketchbook in hand, a frown furrowing his brow while he fingered the sharp cut of his side-whiskers.

“Indeed, Miss La Bijou, but perhaps the décolletage needs attention. May I?”

“Er..yes, of course.”

He leaned forward, and the touch of his fingertips against her bare skin made Kitty wince. Immediately, she thought of Dorcas. What a nightmare to have to suffer the intimacies of men when it was against one’s inclination. The pleasure in the fact Nash had commissioned a full-length portrait of her was diluted by these reflections. It had been ten days since Kitty’s failed attempt to persuade Dorcas to flee. She wondered if she would ever see her friend now, for indeed Dorcas seemed to have been well and truly consumed by a fate she considered no one was able to change.

“Ah, but it is indeed a great honor to be allowed to render the exquisite beauty of London’s most feted actress.” Mr. Lamont smiled appraisingly as he settled himself on a chair in the middle of the room and began to sketch. “Your benefactor...he must be a generous man, yes?”

Kitty thought it an odd question.

Mr. Lamont quickly clarified. “His Lordship is known for his discerning taste and, indeed, his generosity toward the...women in his life. If you would tilt your head a little to the right? Perfect.”

The women in his life? Kitty didn’t like the insinuating way Mr. Lamont phrased that. Yes, Nash had a sister and a mother, but she was sure they were not the women to whom the painter referred.

“How so, Mr. Lamont?” Kitty asked bluntly.

He was clearly surprised at being called upon to elaborate, for he could not at first find the words. “The diamond choker he bought for Miss Beatrice Orlando was spoken of for months, and established his reputation as a man of ...great largesse.”

“And who is Miss Orlando?” Kitty saw no point in pretending to know more than she did, even if she suspected she was not going to like the answer. Let Mr. Lamont describe her competition in his own words. At least watching his embarrassment was some compensation.

“You’ve not heard of Miss Orlando?” Again, he looked like a gaping fish.

“I’m from the counties. I don’t profess to have acquired London airs and knowledge in so short a time.” She smiled and repeated her question. “Who is Miss Orlando? Or must I tell Lord Nash you mentioned how generous he was to this Miss Orlando, but could not tell me who she is?”

“No, indeed, I spoke out of turn, Miss La Bijou. I fear Lord Nash would not like to know that I’ve discussed those with whom he was on intimate terms.”

“Intimate terms? Lord Nash was on intimate terms with Miss Orlando? You insult me, Mr. Lamont. I’m not sure I wish to be painted by a gentleman who shows me such little respect.” Kitty felt the tears prick her eyelids as she sat up.

“Please, Miss La Bijou, I meant no disrespect, truly!” Mr. Lamont jumped up from his seat and hurried toward Kitty, an unruly curl flopping from its restraining hair pomade; his exquisite cravat looking in danger of unraveling. Kitty knew it must be an important commission for him. He was obviously young and trying to prove himself, and she did feel a touch of compassion. She decided she would not allow high dudgeon to cloud common sense. Nash was a young blade who obviously would have kept a mistress in the past, though he’d been careful to keep any mention of such matters from Kitty’s ears. Well, other than when he’d been caught straying with Jennie. No, Kitty must not think of that. Young men needed to sow their wild oats. Kitty just intended that she’d be the last of the line.

She was confident she’d won him back. Certainly, the gratitude he’d shown her proved the power she had over him.

“Here, you dropped your sketchbook, Mr. Lamont.” She picked it up from where it had landed amid the skirts arranged about her, and was about to relinquish it when she gasped at the name she saw penciled on the back. “Lissa Hazlett! Good Lord, what do you know of this young woman? Why is her name on your sketchbook?”

Mr. Lamont’s eyes bulged. “Why, I really don’t know. She’s just a charming young woman I once danced with at a ball.”

“At a ball? Which ball?” Kitty abandoned the languid pose she’d adopted for the sketch as she leaned forward eagerly. Her heart raced. “Miss Hazlett was
dancing
? At a society event? Please, Mr. Lamont! You must tell me. I’ve been desperate to find her, but she’s left no forwarding address.”

“What can I tell you?” Mr. Lamont shrugged, looking relieved to be once again in possession of his sketchbook. He walked backward, sat down, then picked up his pencil with a furtive glance at Kitty. “If I see her again, who shall I say was asking after her?”

Kitty’s heart felt full to bursting as she realized how much she’d missed Lissa. Yes, they’d grown apart as Lissa had adopted the dutiful approach of earning a living as a governess, while Kitty had been ever more vociferous in her desire to tread the boards and abandon her duty to her mother, but there’d always be a closeness. Sensible Lissa had been more of a mother to Kitty in their childhood, as she’d schooled Kitty in the duties and skills and obligations required to make the best of their precarious situation. As Lissa had so often pointed out, if something happened to their papa, there was every possibility they and their mother would be left destitute, for Lissa had heard whispers that Lord Partington’s financial situation was precarious. Those rumors had been the reason Lissa had found a position as a governess.

Now, Kitty suddenly felt deeply neglectful. Her pleasure-loving character had taken over to the detriment of everything else important in life—especially her family. Part of her reason for not making a greater attempt to find Lissa had been because she knew how much her sister would condemn her for leaving poor Mama. And with her career treading the boards rewarding her more than she could have imagined, she had no desire to be made to feel guilty.

Suddenly, more than anything else, she wanted to find Lissa. And this gentleman had seen her, danced with her. “Her
sister
, Mr. Lamont. Her dear sister. Oh, I know it’s just as much my fault that we’ve lost contact, but it’s been three months since I heard from her. Yes, of course! Lamont was the name of the family she went to work for.
Your
family?”

“There are Lamonts all over London, Miss La Bijou. Possibly, it was my...artist cousin at whose ball I met her. Yes, that is more than probable.” Nervously he played with the pencil. “I shall endeavor to discover what I can. Would that please you?”

Kitty nodded energetically. “My friend Silverton mentioned that his friend, Sir William Keane had seen Lissa, but now Sir William has gone to Constantinople, so
he
cannot be quizzed. I feel at quite a loss.” Kitty was now feeling far more charitable toward the young artist who might, in fact, provide the information for which she’d searched. “If you could keep your ears open and report back to me, I’d be most grateful.”

Mr. Lamont sent her level look. Quite a searching look, she thought. But then, he must be deciding how he would go about this sketch that would form the basis of the grand piece of artwork that would grace the walls of Nash’s bedchamber. His eyes traveled the length of her crimson gown, over her rippling golden hair that he’d arranged over the pillow, and finally settled upon the parchment in front of him. “You look nothing like your sister, I must say, Miss La Bijou,” he murmured. “I own, I am more than a little astonished, but rest assured that I shall be assiduous in tracking down Miss Hazlett. I think you will not be the only one who would like to know what she is doing.” He began to sketch, his pencil strokes gaining rapidity as he added, “In fact, I would be vastly grateful if you could get a note to
me
if you, in fact, discover her whereabouts before I do. For I have just recalled that it was my second cousin’s family for whom she worked, and that my aunt was distressed that Miss Hazlett left before she was paid some wages she was owed.”

***

A
raminta gripped the windowsill and scanned the distant hills for signs of the visitors arriving on horseback. She couldn’t remember feeling so fidgety. And it wasn’t because of the baby, of course! She sometimes felt guilty at having given it away, but she never allowed remorse to trouble her too much since what she’d done was as much to ensure the safety and future of the child as her own safety and future. Lord! What else could she have done?

So, now she just had to wait for the right moment to supposedly deliver the child who would be reared as Debenham’s heir. She hoped it would be a boy and thus end the pressure for going through another ghastly confinement, but who knew what the girl Mrs. Mobbs had found would produce. All Araminta knew was that the prospective mother was the daughter of an earl; that her name could not be divulged, but who, as an unmarried debutante, had no choice but to give up her child.