Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin 1)

He did a quick mental calculation of his debts and tried to shake the considerable embarrassment occasioned by his recent loss to Sir Archie. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to settle that—or explain it to Lord Partington.

As for Lady Julia, he’d tried his best to erase her from his mind. He’d been a fool. Anyone could see that. Hopefully only he would know it.

But the debt. He wasn’t at all sure how the viscount was going to react. Although generally genial, he was at other times distant and aloof.

Lady Partington, on the other hand, was like a sweet little peahen, always running an anxious eye over her daughters. Hetty, in particular, he noted. It was quite clear Cousin Araminta could look after herself but anyone could see Hetty would not make a similarly confident entrance when she was introduced to society.

He must remember to keep an eye out for potential fortune-hunters of the heartbreaking variety, for Hetty and Lady Partington were birds of a feather—tender- hearted creatures who needed extra bolstering. They reminded him of his dear cousin Annabelle, who’d made such a disastrous match.

The sudden flap of wings as a partridge burst out of the gorse in front of him turned his thoughts from peahens to the richer game he’d soon enjoy as the future Lord Partington. Like hunting parties in August for which he’d be renowned as the most generous of hosts with the most desirable wife.

Turning his mount for the home that would be some years in coming, he was again struck by his immediate pecuniary obligations.

Before his two-week visit ended he’d have no choice but to broach the subject with his benefactor.

It was with interest and more than a little curiosity that he was told upon arrival that Lady Partington desired to see him on a private matter “at his convenience” some time that day.

As he changed from riding dress into a new coat with boots zealously polished to disguise their age, and trousers he’d bartered from a colleague, he hoped his appearance sufficient to inspire confidence.

Confidence was required in any interview that dealt variously with money or marriage, and he rather suspected Lady Partington had something of importance to say upon one of these subjects.

Mary, the viscountess’ lady’s maid, eyed him with some concern when he presented himself, adding dubiously that he could wait in Lady Partington’s private sitting room while she sought out Her Ladyship.

So Stephen lowered his lanky form onto a delicate gilt sofa and was studying the amateur watercolors done by Lady Partington, when a rustle made him glance up at the paneled wooden door that led in from the passage. Waiting was always a tedious business when there were so many more interesting pursuits to contemplate, and the Grange offered an abundant supply. He could never be bored here. His Lordship had offered to take him on a tour of the estate later this afternoon after he’d returned from wherever it was he spent his mornings, and Stephen was looking forward to learning how to run things properly.

To his surprise, Lady Partington entered from a doorway hidden near the bed. Clearly unaware of his presence, she made her way directly to her writing desk, seated herself and then took down her inkpot.

Stephen was about to declare himself when her next action rendered him indecisive.

With a heart-rending sob she leaned back, covering her face with her hands. When she dropped them and raised her eyes to the ceiling, her expression was desolate.

She must have heard something for she jerked her head around, crying, “Cousin Stephen!”

In a trice he was on his feet, his hand upon her shoulder, aware this was the second time he’d caught her at a disadvantage. “Lady Partington, forgive me but I was told to wait in your sitting room. Please don’t be angry.” For the wide-eyed horror she fixed upon him indicated the extent of her wounded pride.

He realized he’d been gently massaging the back of her neck, and stopped. Far too familiar an action under the circumstances but instinctive when he’d seen her distress. “I know you must deplore the reasons I am here,” he said, assuming her unhappiness must be related. “It is not easy to see everything go to a virtual stranger because you have only daughters, but despite my reputation, I intend to be as diligent as your husband is in my duties toward the estate.”

She exhaled bitterly. “If my husband were as diligent as you suggest, he might have his own son to whom he’d pass everything, but he has no wish to deal with me.” She heaved in another shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, pay no heed,” she continued, gathering herself and pulling away. “This is very irregular. You should not see me like this.”

“I should not,” he agreed. “And I should not have tried to capture Lady Zena on the ledge either,” he added. “However I did and as you have no reason to be ashamed I hope you will forgive me.”

He thought she might turn her back on him and show him the door with an imperious wave. Clearly she was contemplating it. Then she relented and met his determined, bolstering smile with an unsteady one of her own. Her hair was loose and he noted the rich gloss of it and the fact there was no sign of gray. Had she really intimated Lord Partington was insensible to her physical charms?

“That is in the past,” she said with brittle formality. “Thank you for your concern but if you’ll excuse me it is time for me to dress for dinner. We can discuss whatever it was that brought you here at some other time.”

Obediently he turned toward the door, hesitating to remark, “If you’ll forgive the impertinence, Lady Partington, I strongly recommend bold colors, which I believe would be more flattering to your complexion.”

He indicated the dress her maid had laid out on the bed. “The color and construction are decidedly matronly for one of your youthful looks.”

With a final bow, he excused himself, his mind running wild over what transgression Lord Partington was guilty of in the eyes of his distressed wife.

* * * * *

The household whiled away the hours after dinner in pleasant conversation with their guest and close neighbor rear admiral Hopton, whom Humphry had felt obliged to invite. Their fathers had been testy comrades and as the rear admiral took a paternal interest in Humphry’s affairs, the arrival of the heir-apparent was more than a passing social interest.

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“Good strong chin,” the rear admiral wheezed into Sybil’s ear. “Not like that namby-pamby Edgar. Good thing Corunna took care of him.”