The Mysterious Governess (Daughters of Sin 3)

The moon was high in the sky and Araminta thought again of the burst of fireworks that had first thrilled her, just hours ago, before her world had come crashing down. Soon she’d be experiencing fireworks again, but of a different kind. Fireworks that would culminate in success, not disappointment.

She shifted impatiently on the uncomfortable leather seat.

Araminta’s last clandestine encounter in a hired hackney cab with Lord Debenham had had her weighing up her options between him and Sir Aubrey as she’d suggested His Lordship might like to make it worth her while to give him the letter. But now, only Lord Ludbridge would do.

Lord Ludbridge was wonderful and kind...and he was manageable and rich enough. Araminta thought she’d acquired a great deal of wisdom in just a few short months to be ha

ppy making such compromises. Her mother would have been proud of her.

She put her face to the window. Where was Jane? Probably gossiping with the scullery maid, and completely forgetting that her mistress’s life and happiness were hanging by a veritable thread.

A few minutes later, she heard the quick tapping of Jane’s shoes upon the cobbles and then Jane hauled herself into the dark space opposite her.

“Well?” Araminta demanded. “Shall I go to him now? Or in the morning? You took so long, I can only imagine you were waiting for an answer to my letter.”

“Oh miss, your letter ain’t going to get to His Lordship in time.”

“What do you mean, in time?”

“I mean His Lordship left more ‘n an hour ago on horseback. He took his valet with him and together they rode through the moonlight to catch the boat to Dover.

“Then we must follow them!”

“It’s impossible, miss. They’re on horseback. They’ll cover three times as much ground as we would in the same time. Besides, we’d need to hire a chaise and I don’t know how we’d do that. No, it simply can’t be done.” Jane’s voice trembled. “I’m afraid, miss, there’s nothing for it. You’ll have to make another plan.”

She rapped on the roof for the jarvey to pick up his reins and get moving, partly so the occupants of Lord Ludbridge’s London townhouse would not hear her mistress’s hearty wails, which did not subside for a full five minutes.

They were three blocks from home when Araminta finally raised her head, wiped her cheeks and, with a gasp, pressed her nose once more to the window.

“I say, Jane, stop the carriage this instant! Is that Mr. Woking I see walking along the pavement?”

Chapter Ninteen

Jane had been highly reluctant to let Araminta step out of the carriage and into the street, alone, in the middle of the night while she continued around the corner.

Indeed, for Araminta, the idea of stepping out onto a deserted street without company would have been unthinkable a few hours ago. No, a few moments ago, even. Jane had wailed that Araminta was grasping at straws. Right now, Araminta was grasping for anything or anyone, and Mr. Woking might just answer.

“Please, sir! A terrible accident has happened!” she cried, appearing in front of him with her face lowered, her hood covering her head. “The carriage conveying me and my chaperone has bolted. Please help me!”

“Good god, madam! And you are alone?”

Araminta huddled into herself and gave a little sob. “Entirely sir! I don’t know what to do.” She paused, raised her face as she let her hood fall from her head, and uttered in shocked tones, “Mr. Woking!”

“Miss Partington!” he cried at the same time, before looking desperately around. “You really have no chaperone?” he asked, sounding even more aghast.

“Yes, and I’ve hurt my foot. Please help me.” She put out both her hands in a gesture of the utmost entreaty and limped several steps, before losing her balance and falling into his arms.

He held her while he looked around again, wildly. There was no carriage in sight, no sign of anyone. “I...I don’t know what to do,” he said lamely. “My residence is right here but I can hardly take you there, Miss Partington.”

“Yes, you can. It is this one? I need to sit down and see if my ankle is injured. Just for a moment. Can you not do this one thing for me?” She tried to keep the acid from her tone as she gazed soulfully into his face while maintaining her firm grip on his wrist.

Yet still he glanced about him, furtively, as if he were terrified and about to refuse. Araminta began walking him toward the portico steps. If he needed her to lead him on to do anything that required some backbone, she’d have an easy time with him in the future, she thought, grasping for consolation at what she being forced to do.

When the butler opened the door with a mild grunt of surprise, Araminta kept her head well down and covered by her cloak while Mr. Woking nervously explained that he was rendering a friend assistance; that medicinal brandy was required, and perhaps a doctor, but that Doderidge could retire for the night.

A couple of lamps burned low in the drawing room where he led her, easing Araminta onto a sofa before fetching them both a glass of brandy. The room was furnished in sparse, masculine style, not to Araminta’s taste, but the brandy was another matter, and after two in quick succession she felt much more up to the task ahead of her.

“Is there bruising or swelling around my ankle, Mr. Woking?” she asked in a small, timid voice, extending her leg. “It is painful but not so very that I think it necessary to call a doctor.” She took a shuddering breath. “I don’t know what has become of my chaperone but I thank the good Lord I was lucky enough to be rescued by you.”