The Mysterious Governess (Daughters of Sin Book 3) (17 page)

“What do you mean, My Lord?” She smiled up at him, hoping to elicit more about Lord Debenham’s proclivities or the nature of the work young Mr. Tunley was required to do on his account. Just because Araminta no longer wished to marry Lord Debenham didn’t mean it wouldn’t be to her advantage to know as much as she could about him.

She felt like stroking the darling man’s cheek, the way he was looking at her with such transparent admiration. Lord Ludbridge was quite charming. She’d need to find out more about his personal finances, though from first appearances he was plump enough in the pocket to satisfy Araminta when the alternatives were so very dire.

He looked about to say something then buttoned his lips. “My brother is far too tenderhearted to work for a man who has less of a charitable streak than he should have, given his circumstances. There, I’ve said nothing out of turn, even if you know Lord Debenham personally.”

Araminta blushed and dropped her eyes. But no, surely this young man knew nothing at all about her. He’d have no idea she once weighed up the advantages of making Lord Debenham her husband, and he’d surely have no notion of what had happened in the supper house at Vauxhall with Sir Aubrey.

She blanked her mind to the humiliation. She would never again make such a mistake. That, too, was in the past, never to be revisited. From now on she would look only to the future, and the future was right here, at her fingertips.

She squeezed Lord Ludbridge’s hand lightly and, surprised perhaps at what he might perceive as forwardness, he glanced down at her. Adopting her most artful, mischievous smile, she said, “I have met the gentleman but two dances were quite enough. I had to run to his nephew to save me, for I believe Lord Debenham has quite a fearsome reputation.”

Lord Ludbridge gave her hand a little squeeze in response and, to Araminta’s surprise, he actually colored as he realized what he’d done. “I am surprised that a young lady as innocent as you would even know he had a reputation,” he remarked.

“Promise me that if you see him coming in my direction this evening, you’ll cut in and ask me for the next dance.” Araminta adopted a look that was part appealing and wholly enchanting. She knew this by the way he looked at her with such a heart-melting smile.

“I would be only too happy to aid you in such a manner, Miss Partington.”

As he led her off the dance floor, Araminta was about to murmur her appreciation in terms that made clear her enormous gratitude, only he was buttonholed at that moment by his brother.

She just made out the indistinct words, “Teddy, can you waylay that gentleman there and ask questions later?”

Araminta looked in the direction Mr. Tunley was pointing. She could see Larissa’s employer, young Mr. Lamont, crossing the room, his sights set on her half-sister. Araminta’s lip curled.

Social climbing upstart, she thought, before deciding he’d make a good match for Larissa, after all. He considered himself so above Miss Hazlett, the family’s governess, but little did he know Larissa came from stock far better than his own.

Perhaps it would be kind to think of helping her sister. It would be a charitable thing to do. And Mr. Cosmo Lamont would be a perfectly suitable suitor. Larissa certainly couldn’t continue gallivanting with Mr. Tunley, for she’d soon have her heart broken, and a good sister like Araminta must do what she could to help her nearest and dearest. Mr. Tunley would be filled with aversion if he knew Larissa was...

Araminta could barely articulate the word to herself, but blankets came to mind, with herself firmly on one side—the good side—while poor Larissa flailed on the other.

She smiled sweetly at Mr. Tunley and nodded at Mr. Lamont as Mrs. Monks responded to her summons and came to lead her away, as any good chaperone would her gently nurtured debutante charge.

And her heart thrilled at the charm and gratitude she read in His Lordship’s answering smile before he began an earnest conversation with Larissa’s soon-to-be suitor, Mr. Lamont.

**

F
rom a distance, Lissa could see that Ralph, reliable as ever, was where he’d promised he’d be. Perhaps the corridor hadn’t been such a wise choice, for he was quite conspicuous, but everything had been organized so hurriedly and besides, this would only take a moment.

“It’s done, and should, I believe, answer the purpose. I’m sorry I can’t show you, for I’ve sealed it, but now I’m ready to hand the two sketches to Mr. Lamont.”

She shivered and Ralph gave her a comforting pat. “I really should stop taking such liberties. When are we going to spend time together that is a little less fraught than these clandestine meetings? Now, have courage, my dearest, you are quite the heroine.”

Lissa glowed with pleasure. “I hope Lady Smythe is pleased with the sketch I’ve done of her husband. See, I’ve taken him out of the original picture of the three gentlemen I sketched in the supper house, and drawn him on his own. What do you think?”

She held up the two pictures and Ralph grinned his admiration. “I’m more interested in your rendition of Lord Debenham. You have captured the very essence of my employer’s black heart beneath the self-satisfied sneer. Well done. I could identity Lord Debenham at a glance now, even if I’d never met him before. And Lord Smythe and that other reprobate who looks mightily out of place are truly well done. You are a fine artist. Lady Smythe will be in transports and your Master Cosmo is going to find himself a very busy young man, with a flurry of commissions coming his way.”

Lissa, about to respond, instead gave a gasp as she was jostled by a passing gentleman she’d not noticed advancing down the corridor toward them.

“I beg your pardon, miss,” he apologized as he bent to retrieve the sketch that had fluttered to the floor. He was about to hand it back to her when the smile on his face was wiped away by shock. “Good Lord, where did you get this?” he demanded, before again apologizing, this time for the expletive.

Lissa’s chaperone for the evening appeared in the doorway, but Lissa was too concerned by the stranger’s reaction to respond to her summons.

He still had not relinquished the sketch. “Forgive me my manners. Allow me to introduce myself.” He bowed. “Sir Archibald Ledger. I had not thought it possible to have such a compelling picture of these three men in company together. The detail is superb, the rendition quite...extraordinary. Might I ask the name of the artist?”

Ralph glanced at Larissa, who said hesitantly, “I believe the artist wishes to remain anonymous.” She held out the sketch she’d done of Lord Smythe alone. “There is perhaps better detail in this one.” If Sir Archibald wished to commission her directly, she would not be averse. “Lady Smythe wished for a rendition of her husband and asked the...er...sketcher to follow him while at Vauxhall Gardens to capture him during an unguarded moment, so she could present the sketch to him later as a surprise.”

She was getting into her stride now, perfecting her spiel so she could perhaps gain an extra commission. Vulgar though it was for a lady to think of money like this, a future with Ralph would only be possible if they had more of it. “Perhaps you are interested in having a sketch done of your wife?”

The way he snorted, seemingly in derision, shocked Lissa. “Not possible. At least, not for a while yet. Lady Julia was recently delivered of a healthy ten-pounder at my estate.”

“Congratulations,” Lissa murmured. It seemed the only appropriate thing to say. “I trust all went well.”

“Yes, yes,” he went on dismissively. “Now, the sketch. I’d like to buy it from you—or the artist. I assume the sketch from which the commissioned subject was extracted is no longer necessary, if the main purpose was to capture Lord Smythe’s likeness. What say, five pounds?”

“Five pounds!” cried Lissa. The sum was exorbitant. It was more than she’d earn in three months as a governess. “You’re welcome to it for that price, sir.”

Her astonishment was compounded as he promptly handed over the money without demur.

“Extraordinary,” he muttered as he took his leave. “I cannot believe how fortuitous this has been.”

He left Ralph and Lissa staring at one another before Lissa burst into nervous giggles. She held up the money and stared wonderingly at it. “Oh Ralph,” she whispered, “I’ve never had so much in my life.”

Gently, he stroked her cheek. “If that’s all it takes to fill your eyes with such glee, my job is going to be easy. That is, if I ever find a loose five pounds lying around.”

***

E
ven though Nellie and Harriet were as difficult as ever the following morning, Lissa smiled to herself as she tidied the schoolroom, thinking of Ralph and when she’d next see him.

When they’d farewelled one another in a darkened corner of the ballroom with Lissa’s chaperone looking on, she and Ralph had been ridiculously proud of themselves. Mrs. Crossing had been saved and Lissa had made a fortune, all within an evening.

She was still smiling when she glanced up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Cosmo appeared, greeting his sisters morosely before ushering Lissa into a corner.

“How the devil am I going to arrange my next commission?” he complained. “Lady Baxter. She wants to sit for me. Yes,
sit
for me!”

“It doesn’t sound terribly complicated. You’re a passable sketcher, Master Cosmo. I’m sure you can please her with whatever you produce.”

“I hope that’s not another way of suggesting you will not do as I bid you.”

“There may be more inducement to helping you if I ever saw the money you keep promising me.”

“Lud, you are vexing! What about that sovereign I gave you?”

“That’s not a third of what you’ve received for the three sketches for which I know you’ve been paid.”

“I told you I had a couple of small but very pressing bills to pay and that as soon as I was flush, I would be in a position to give you your share. Besides, I paid you for the first sketch. Are you so addle-headed that you don’t understand I need to paint Lady Baxter so I can do the very thing you want me to?”

Lissa turned her head from his venom and the very vulgar manner in which he couched his words. Stepping away, she bent to fold a pile of small garments on a table nearby. “I trust your sister enjoyed herself on Thursday night.”

“The trouble with Maria is, the moment she gets something, she wants more.” He kicked the chair in front him. “Now she’s threatening to drag me off to listen to some fiendishly dull musical soiree next week because a certain gentlemen in whom she’s interested will be going.”

“Perhaps I could accompany her.” Anything that would get Lissa into society, where she could contrive to meet Ralph.

“And why would the governess be invited to such an event?”

Lissa shrugged as she straightened the sleeve of a linen shirt. “It just occurred to me that if Lady Baxter happened to be amongst the audience—since she most likely is on account of her love of music—and were quietly seated somewhere I could observe her, your difficulties might be over. But then, you’re quite right, why would I deserve to go out any more than I do?”

But he was not listening. “Lud, you could be right. If Lady Baxter
is
there, it would be an ideal opportunity. I shall ask Maria to find out. She was saying it seemed every second person at Lady Smythe’s was going.”

A
raminta gave herself a final considered appraisal in the looking glass at her dressing table and tried to temper her tears of frustration. Home? She couldn’t believe her father was demanding that she return.

“Do you think he’ll miss me, Jane?” she asked, turning her tragic gaze upon her maid who was hoisting up two carpet bags from the Aubusson carpet to take down to the carriage.

“Who, miss? Lord Debenham? He were mighty put out that you didn’t thank him for his flowers.”

“Of course, I don’t mean Lord Debenham! I mean Lord Ludbridge. I’ve not told Mama about him yet because I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You’re forever giving your family surprises, miss,” Jane muttered, heading for the door. “What surprise is this one?”

Araminta followed her. “I’d wanted Mama to be surprised and delighted when I told her about Lord Ludbridge’s marriage proposal but now it’s all spoiled for I’ll have to tell her all about him during the week I’m back home.”

“You didn’t mention he’d proposed, Miss.”

“Don’t be so silly, Jane. He hasn’t yet, but he will. I just wouldn’t want to make the same mistake I did over Sir Aubrey.”

“No, Miss, I’ll wager you wouldn’t.”

Araminta grabbed her maid’s shoulder and hauled her back into the room just as she’d reached the passage. “What can you mean, Jane?” she demanded, as close to slapping the girl’s face as she’d ever been. “You know, I don’t like your tone.” She closed her eyes briefly as she fought for forbearance. Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to make this an issue. Smiling quickly, as if she’d never been angry, she went on, “I made the mistake of telling Mama about Sir Aubrey too early on in the piece. I don’t want to make the same mistake regarding Lord Tunbridge.”

Since Lady Smythe’s ball the previous week, Lord Tunbridge had sent numerous notes to the house, and she’d danced with him at Almack’s. Then suddenly, her father had recalled her home, insisting she provide her mother with care and assistance during Lady Partington’s lying-in. Araminta didn’t know of any other debutante subjected to such parental thoughtlessness. As if Araminta could be of assistance. She didn’t know the first thing about babies.

Immediately she’d written him a letter, telling him she was very relieved that the birth two nights before had gone well but that she did not feel she could contribute what was necessary for the felicitation of mother and infant. This had resulted in a short, acidic response. Araminta was to leave London the following day or her father would come and fetch her back to The Grange, where she’d remain for the rest of the season.

So now Araminta was being rattled about in a carriage, returning to the estate for which her father had reminded her she’d been prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice in order to be its mistress: marry the heir presumptive, her late bacon-brained cousin Edgar.