***
Even 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.”
Chapter Thirteen
Araminta 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.