The Mysterious Governess (Daughters of Sin 3)

Friends whom Araminta didn’t know she had called in unexpectedly to discuss Hetty’s scandalous behavior, rather than the fetching effect created by the mixture of fake and real foliage in Araminta’s new bonnet she’d picked up that morning from the milliner.

Mrs. Bradbury’s sympathetic horror at Hetty’s scandalous behavior was barely tolerable, but it took all of Araminta’s willpower during afternoon tea not to hurl a plate of neenish tarts at Miss Potter’s smug, “Whoever would have thought the younger Miss Partington would waltz off with a husband first? I suppose beauty doesn’t count for everything, after all.”

So now here she was, at Lady Smythe’s grand affair, grimly fielding the inevitable opinions of the gossipers who wished to include her in their speculations as to how Hetty had waltzed off with such a dashing, dangerous gentleman.

Watching a shy but eminently eligible young blade head in her direction then clearly reconsider and address the plain miss to her right was like salt in a wound. Araminta felt like stamping her foot but tempered her anger so that she had the requisite well-bred smile for Lord Debenham when he suddenly emerged in front of her.

Once again fear and fascination warred within her. Why had she elicited Lissa’s help in discovering ways in which to win from him a marriage offer when she knew he was dangerous? The truth was, there was something decidedly exciting about that. She also knew a great deal more than he would like since she’d seen that letter, which put her in quite a nice bargaining position. If only she’d not burned it, she could have used it to encourage Lord Debenham to marry her, but then he might have considered that blackmail. Still, with the letter no longer in existence there was no stain on his character and for that he ought to want to reward her.

“Miss Partington looks uncommonly lonely all of a sudden. Not so full of fire and fun as on the last occasion we met, eh?”

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Araminta was determined not to drop her gaze and show either shame or fear. “How delightful to see you, Lord Debenham.” Nevertheless, she felt ill at the sight of his nephew, Roderick Woking, who materialized beside him. “And you, sir,” she added, nodding.

“Poor Roderick was distraught when he heard your sister had been so ill used by that rascal, Sir Aubrey.” Lord Debenham’s reptilian smile reflected no sympathy for either Roderick or Araminta.

Mr. Woking moved restlessly beside him before he squared his receding chin. “Does she not realize her new husband will be made to forfeit everything when he’s convicted of his Spencean activities?” His rapid words were accompanied by a nervous hand wring before he ran his fingers through his sparse hair several times. “Yes, he will be brought to justice, and when he’s charged with treason, his estates will be forfeited to the crown. She should have thought of that.”

“Now, Roderick, common sense is not a trait that is observed when passion is in the ascendant. Miss Henrietta was obviously seduced by Sir Aubrey’s honeyed words, but she will rue the day. Fortunately her elder sister has more sense.” He bowed before Araminta. “Now, my dear nephew is enormously desirous of asking you to dance, though I fear we will find your dance card filled.”

No other young man had asked Araminta to stand up with him this evening, and the fear that Hetty had ruined her chances for a match this season made her want to weep.

Before she could snatch her dance card away, Lord Debenham had raised it, remarking, “Oh, indeed that is not the case. Well, perhaps you would do Roderick the honor of accompanying him onto the dance floor for this set. Regrettably I must leave you, as I have secured Miss Smythe for the next dance.”

With the greatest reluctance, Araminta allowed herself to be drawn onto the dance floor and into the limpid hold of Mr. Woking, as the dance was a waltz.

She tried to keep a semblance of a smile in place, for she could not show her aversion. But it was hard. The young man’s breath was like the breeze of death against her cheek. It made her want to gag but instead she kept her head held high and called upon all her reserves of stoicism. But as she glanced about the room and saw other young ladies with far more desirable dance partners, including—to her surprise—her own half-sister who was in the arms of a rather handsome young man she’d not noticed before, she felt like casting good manners to the wind and simply fleeing from this awful place.

Everybody was talking about Hetty and making speculations about what her sister’s scandalous actions would mean for Araminta. The only reason no gentleman had asked Araminta to dance was because of horrible, hateful Hetty, and to be perfectly honest, if Hetty walked into the room right now, Araminta would have called her to account in front of everyone.

She hadn’t realized Mr. Woking had spoken until he squeezed her hand and repeated his question with a concerned look. “My dear Miss Partington, I can see you are distracted, and I can well understand why, in view of the shame you must feel on your sister’s account.”

Araminta sent him a baleful look. “You cannot possibly understand, Mr. Woking. How dare you even presume to understand the anguish I am feeling at this very moment?”

Her voice had risen and she realized she’d have to temper her hysteria in view of the interested look her half-sister, who happened to be very near, had just sent her. Goodness, but how had Larissa managed to acquire an invitation—and who was that very charming, gentleman with the flyaway hair and warm blue eyes leading her around the dance floor?

Right now, Araminta felt that charm and boyishness were a good deal more preferable than dangerous good looks. Not to mention lovelorn swains with clammy hands and breath like the grave. She swung back to Mr. Woking, feeling very vulnerable right now. “My sister set out to ruin me,” she said, her voice wavering. “To humiliate me. And she has succeeded.”

“I believe you have everyone’s deepest sympathies, Miss Partington,” said her dance partner with unctuous civility. “I believe it’s their delicate sensibilities which account for the fact you are finding yourself less...popular than usual. Indeed, I would have stayed away too for the very same reasons, had not my uncle told me I should be kind to you.”

He cleared his throat and added, hurriedly. “That is to say, you are hardly a charitable case, Miss Partington. Oh no, I did not mean it in that way.”

“How did you mean it, then?” Araminta glared at him, stepping back with relief now that the waltz was at an end. She shook her head and held up her hand as he began to speak. “Pray, do not trouble yourself to answer. I have no interest, and I wish to be returned to Mrs. Monks.”

She ignored his heartfelt gaze as she rejoined the redoubtable widow, and was hardly soothed to see Lissa looking more striking than she could have imagined in the apple green and cream ball gown Araminta had discarded the season before.

Larissa, catching Araminta’s eye, acknowledged her across the room with a nod and, Araminta was certain, a narrowing of the eyes. Was she, like everyone else, thinking Araminta diminished on account of Hetty’s shocking behavior? Had she noticed that Araminta was not surrounded by admirers as she usually was? The idea was insufferable.

Still focusing on the handsome young man at Larissa’s side, she swept over to greet her and to gain an introduction. “You have done a fine job making my old dress look less last year,” she said with a smile intended to be friendly and disingenuous. It was decidedly galling to see her gown looked better after its rejuvenation than it had when Araminta had worn it new. Well, if their papa lost all his money, Araminta could employ Lissa to be her dressmaker for a fraction of what she paid to have her new gowns made, she decided.

Araminta’s interest in Mr. Ralph Tunley took on a keener edge when she learned he was Lord Debenham’s secretary, the young man in whom Larissa had confessed her interest. And when their circle was joined by a dashing brown-haired gentleman who greeted Mr. Tunley with easy familiarity before introducing himself as Lord Ludbridge, Mr. Tunley’s eldest brother, Araminta was in silent transports. Especially when he gazed upon her with such blatant admiration that had not an edge of pity or censure for the fact that her sister’s scandalous elopement had all but consigned Araminta’s marriage aspirations to the fireplace.

This was her gift from heaven. It was a sign that she need not cry herself to sleep every night on account of Hetty’s betrayal.

Here were two charming, eligible young men she’d never met, right before her. True, the youngest was penniless despite his excellent lineage and therefore not a prospect in the immediate sense. However, there were six brothers, at least a handful of them unmarried, she quickly gathered, and the eldest, titled one, was smiling at her warmly.

Yes, her star was again in the ascendant.