Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin Book 1) (4 page)

When the carriage drew up in front of the steps, Lady Partington left the young people chatting on the front portico before departing to ensure Stephen’s room had been satisfactorily prepared.

“I’m  so  sorry  to  leave  you  like  this  but  I  have  the  most  terrible  megrim  and Araminta will look after you. The reverend’s fiery pronouncements have done nothing to improve my aching head,” she’d said by way of parting.

As the front doors closed behind her, Stephen indicated the well-kept grassy slopes and roses bushes. “Perhaps we could take a turn about the garden since the weather has turned so agreeable,” he suggested, not being disposed to drawing room chatter when he’d much rather get a sense of the dimensions of his future domain.

He glanced across the verdant green lawn toward the beech woods that bordered the  manicured  gardens.  Shooting  parties  in  August?  A  spear  of  anticipation  shot through  him as  the  young  ladies readily  agreed  to  his suggestion  before  hurrying upstairs to fetch shawls and change their clothes with the promise to meet him in five minutes.

Stephen wandered out into the center of the lawn and gazed up at the Queen Anne façade  of  the  Grange.  How  could  it  be  improved?  A  conservatory?  A  new  wing? Perhaps a tennis court. He’d never imagined being in a position to put his own stamp on things.

Hetty’s girlish giggles made him turn and he smiled to see the two young ladies crossing the lawn toward him. Cousin Hetty fairly galloped. Beside her, Cousin Araminta had perfected the regal glide. With her glossy dark hair and her proud eyes she looked like no other member of her family.

Hetty pointed at the Grange. “So, Cousin Stephen, do you like our home?”

Araminta immediately quashed Hetty’s high spirits. “Cousin Stephen is surveying the house that will be his after Papa meets his maker.” Her look was pert. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Cranbourne?”

Hetty wasn’t the only one whose spirits were quashed. Stephen managed a brittle smile. “You must resent that the Grange passes out of the family because you have no brothers, Cousin Araminta.”

“I refuse to resent what I cannot change, Cousin Stephen.” Araminta tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Let us walk and I will answer everything I can about our family and the estate.”

Gallantly, Stephen offered Hetty his other arm. He’d seen her uncertainty. “It will be many years before you must worry about your home passing to me,” he assured them. “Your father is in excellent health and has merely asked me here because he is a wise man who plans ahead.”

“What would you like to know, Cousin Stephen?” Araminta reeled him back to her. “No doubt you have questions that must have kept you awake since receiving Papa’s letter.”

Stephen met her challenging look with a smile. So there was resentment after all. “I had no idea Edgar had died,” he said with complete candor. “Not once did it enter my head that I should one day inherit and become the next Viscount Partington.”

“Please, don’t speak of Edgar again. I can’t bear it,” said Hetty. “For months I’ve prayed he’d turn up unexpectedly on our doorstep—”

“Well, that’s a nice thing to say to Cousin Stephen,” Araminta snapped. Composing her smile, she asked conversationally, “So where did you spend last night, Cousin Stephen?”

After an uncomfortable pause, Stephen replied, “I was the guest of Lady Julia and Sir Archibald.” Adjusting his suddenly too-tight high collar, he directed an enquiring look at Araminta, who’d burst into shrill laughter.

“Lady Julia!” She emphasized the title with heavy scorn. “Why, she’s the most designing brownnoser I’ve ever come across, the daughter of a wool merchant who spared no expense in seeing she was tricked out to make a good catch.”

Hetty  tugged  her  sleeve,  looking  worried  as  she  reminded  her  sister  in  an undertone, “Lady Julia is a friend of Cousin Stephen’s.”

Araminta tossed her head. “Surely Cousin Stephen is a friend of Sir Archibald. Sir Archie and Lady Julia have been married such a short time and only because—” She broke off, clearly reconsidering her words. “Ah well, you’re right, Hetty. It’s not my place to tell Cousin Stephen what he already knows and what you have no need to know.”

As they  negotiated  a small  dip  in the path, Stephen  was glad  that Hetty took umbrage at her condescending tone. He’d very much like to know what he supposedly already knew.

“Why ought I not know the reason they married, Araminta? I shall be coming out in a few months. You’re not that ahead of me.”

Araminta slanted a sly look at the pair of them. “Miss Julia’s eyes are as sharp as her nose and she knows how to sniff out a sure thing. Well, that’s what everyone said when she fainted into Lord Clairmont’s arms at Hatchard’s Bookshop the day after she took up Laetitia Milbank’s challenge that she couldn’t inveigle herself into his carriage.”

“But Lord Clairmont’s in his dotage!”

“Just over forty and definitely in need of a wife, though not of Miss Julia’s ilk. Anyway.” Araminta rolled her eyes and resumed her tale. “Quite by chance, it seems, she was in Hatchard’s when he walked in, whereupon she promptly fainted right into his arms. He had her carried to his carriage whereupon his lady friend’s vinaigrette quickly had her up to the mark.”

Hetty appeared let down by the story. “So she didn’t receive a marriage offer, then?”

“No, but she used her trickery to get herself into his carriage and won her wager, which Miss Laetitia Milbank had to hand over that afternoon when Miss Julia called upon her with two witnesses and, believe me, that was worth a tidy sum.”

“How big was the wager?” asked Stephen, feeling distinctly green around the gills.

“It was big.” Cousin Araminta’s eyes grew round. “Miss Milbank’s pearl choker, would you believe? A small fortune, but then Miss Julia will take big risks for big stakes.” In an undertone she added, “Word is she took the biggest risk of all to snare Sir Archie but was then awfully miffed to discover his prospects weren’t at all as grand as she’d been led to believe.”

Stephen cleared his throat. “They appeared a very devoted couple,” he lied. He was conscious of the lack of conviction in his tone and not surprised Araminta seized upon it.

“Of  course!  Lady  Julia  didn’t  get  where  she  did  without  being  a  consummate actress. Now, Cousin Stephen, I’m glad to note you’re nothing like our other cousin, poor Edgar, who was next in line after Papa. You’re tall and athletic and very handsome while Edgar was dumpy with sandy hair and freckles and couldn’t talk about anything except hunting and shooting. Quite frankly, poor Edgar was a clodpoll.” Miss Araminta said it as if it were the last word. She seemed the kind of young lady who liked having the last word on everything.

“How can you say such a thing?” Hetty looked murderous.

Stephen could not resist a smile. “Your loyalty is to be commended, Cousin Hetty.” “It wasn’t me who said it.” Miss Araminta looked smug. “It was Papa, if you must know.”

“Papa?”

Stephen patted Hetty’s hand, understanding her betrayal amidst the undercurrents. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. I’m sure Edgar was an excellent sort.”

“He  was  my  best  friend.”  Hetty  looked  away,  silent  as  her  sister  changed  the subject, pointing to the house.

“There’s Mama’s wing, to the right,” Araminta said. “Papa’s is on the other side. Hetty and I are at the back with no view at all while you will have one of the guest bedrooms that run between them, perhaps even the room the late King George stayed in.”

“You are very proud of your home.”

“I love it more than anything.” This was spoken with quiet fervor.

“The  footman  is  about  to  take  in  my  trunk.”  In  the  distance  Stephen  saw  the carriage that had obviously been dispatched to fetch his belongings draw up in front of the portico. “I have a present for you, ladies, which I would like to give to you now.”

They retraced their footsteps to the house then gasped with pleasure at the caged canary Stephen presented to Araminta with a flourish.

“Does it have a name?” asked Hetty.

“A very grand name,” said Stephen. “Lady Zena, in fact. She belonged to my aunt who had to give her away after she took up residence with her daughter who couldn’t abide Lady Zena’s singing.”

“Lady Zena sings?” Hetty’s plump face flushed with pleasure.

“Not only that but she’ll sit obediently on your wrist and eat breadcrumbs from your hand.”

“Really?” Hetty’s girlish squeal made  Stephen gratified in a way he was quite unused to. Genuine girlish enthusiasm was refreshing, he was surprised to find—but Miss Araminta’s scorching black gaze above Hetty’s head as the younger sister fiddled with the latch of the birdcage promised so much more.

It was not hard to interpret her meaning. Had she really picked him out?

Heat prickled his skin and he licked his lips. Fixing his attention upon the tiny mole to the right of her mouth, he imagined running his tongue over the contours of her satin-smooth skin. Miss Araminta loved her home and she clearly was not immune to the charms of the newly summoned heir.

If she had picked him out, he could think of a lot worse ways to spend his future than leg-shackled to such a diamond of the first water.

“Oh!” Hetty’s shriek punctuated his appreciation of the lovely Araminta, who was returning his look with transparent interest. “The bird! Oh no, she’s flown away!”

Hetty leapt to her feet, her mouth open with dismay as they all watched the canary alight upon the ivy-clad windowsill of one of the upper casements. It tilted its little head jauntily and immediately broke into song.

“Careless girl, Hetty!” snapped Araminta. “She’ll make a tasty meal for the nighthawks, won’t she?”

Her sister began to cry, great, gulping sobs that made her face red and blotchy. “She’ll come to me. Don’t cry, Cousin Hetty,” Stephen assured her, assessing the

distance to the first floor. Grasping the thick ivy, he found a firm foothold and hauled himself up.

“Oh no, Cousin Stephen, you’ll hurt yourself.”

The fact Hetty was more afraid for his safety than the loss of the canary, which just minutes before had been the greatest tragedy, determined him. He would get the bird back.

Stephen was fit and agile. He’d climbed the Andes like a goat and sailed through the Strait of Gibraltar without even casting up his accounts, so hoisting himself onto a sturdy ivy root, reaching for a secure piece of trellis and hauling himself up one story was no major feat.

“Ooh, careful!” The gasps of both young ladies was balm to his youthful ego. “Come, my pretty. Come, Lady Zena.” Carefully, he extended his hand toward the

bird.

After some contemplation, the little bird decided to make him work for his reward. When she hopped onto the sill of the farthest casement windows, Stephen had no choice but to follow.

This involved a heroic full-body thrust followed by a hasty snatch at the stone ledge.  With  heart  hammering  and  very  conscious  of  his  audience  below,  Stephen hauled himself across the wall, securing one foot on the buttress. Victory was in sight. Lady Zena hadn’t moved position for some minutes and soon he’d pop her onto his shoulder and descend to the rapturous cries of the young ladies. It would be a just recompense for what, he realized looking down, was a rather risky ascent after all.

Eyeballing the canary, he whistled softly. She hopped daintily toward him then hopped backward. Clearly she was enjoying the game.

Stephen growled, hoping this dance of seduction was not going to become prolonged.

It was only the merest flash of something in his peripheral vision that made him turn his head slightly to the right. There was certainly no intent to peep through the misted windows. Yet the shock of seeing a shapely pair of thighs connected to a round, ripe naked bottom as its owner bent down to pick up one stocking was completely unexpected. He didn’t pause to consider that due to the high risk of discovery he should  hasten  away.  He  was  riveted  to  the  spot,  wondering  what  else  the  lovely creature had to offer in the way of fleshly delights.

Tingling with excitement, Stephen squinted. He could see a bathtub to the rear of the room and realized she’d just risen from it, for steam swirled in eddies that partially obscured her until she discarded the linen she’d been using to dry herself.

The young ladies below called to him but he was rooted to the spot, desperate to see what more this as-yet-unintroduced female had in the way of sensuous charms.

He couldn’t make out her face, but her light hair rippled to below her waist and her pale limbs, the color of whipped cream, were well turned. He tried to gauge her age for she walked with calm, fluid movements, like one who has grown used to her body without realizing how lovely it is.

Anticipation gripped him as she made her way languidly from her bathtub towards the bed. It was a large, intricately carved tester covered in a sumptuous white counterpane, edged with ermine, and as she lowered herself onto it her lustrous tresses swirled about her waist.

And then with the most enormous shock he realized that this was the quiet, modest woman who’d welcomed him here. He’d barely noticed her in the carriage with her hair covered by a blue silk bonnet and her manner almost deferring to her eldest daughter, who certainly wanted to put herself forward.

This was Lady Partington.

Torn between the desire to scramble away as fast as he could and to strain his eyes to  see  what  other  secrets  she’d  been  hiding,  prurient  interest  won  out.  She  was exquisite.

And she certainly seemed not about to raise her eyes to the window.

She flicked aside the curtain of her hair as she reached for a stocking, raising her leg to put it on so that Stephen was treated to the most intimate view a newly arrived heir no doubt had ever received of his benefactor’s wife, the lady of the manor.

He ignored the cries and shouts from his admiring audience below as he enjoyed the visual extravaganza before him.

Lady Partington eased the stocking onto her ankle then, in a seemingly unrelated act Stephen could not at first explain, she hooked her ankle over her knee and placed her head on her thigh. Then she raised her head...