Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin 1)

A guest room was quickly prepared. Stephen excused himself as discreetly as he could, Araminta leaving five minutes later after an obviously forced greeting. Of course Edgar did not notice. Edgar was only ever conscious of the pleasure people evinced at seeing him, preening at their compliments and laughing at his painful attempts to make others laugh.

Which was why Hetty and he had always been such fast friends. Since they were toddlers of the same age they’d enjoyed silly jokes and antics. The only difference was that Hetty had grown up.

Still, she was clearly just as devoted, Sybil realized with rising desperation as she gazed from her window at the pair the following morning, strolling across the lawns, heads bent, deep in conversation.

And the longer she watched, the more her heart weighed her down like a stone, for there was Araminta coming toward them, smiling as Sybil had never seen her smile at her “detestable” cousin before.

Surely not, she thought. Surely Araminta could never compromise her heart to that extent? Not even to become mistress of the Grange, when with her beauty a season in London would snare her an elevated match.

Helplessly, Sybil scanned the expansive lawns in search of Stephen. Poor Stephen had nothing, now, when until last night the world had been his oyster.

But Sybil could see no sign of Stephen. No, Araminta was striding purposefully toward her sister and cousin and even from this distance Sybil could see the care with which she plastered on her smile, for indeed, her pleasure in Edgar’s company did not come naturally.

She steeled herself for Hetty’s inevitable letdown, more conscious of Hetty’s reaction than anyone else’s, as Araminta insinuated herself into their cozy pairing, taking Edgar’s arm and ever so subtly tugging him away from Hetty.

For a moment Edgar and Hetty exchanged looks. Confusion was written on both faces. But too quickly Edgar’s attention was fully claimed by Araminta. He laughed at something she said, his fickle nature swayed, as ever, by such a convincing show of interest. Hetty’s silent devastation was profound, Sybil could see it, and not for the first time did she rail silently and impotently against the injustice of life. Hetty deserved so much more than she would ever get. For every victor, someone gasped the pain of defeat. In this case Humphry, Araminta and Edgar had the world at their feet.

And quite literally this was because Sybil, Stephen and Hetty lay there, the vanquished byproducts of their pleasure.

* * * * *

So, the dream was over. The morning breeze was chilly as Stephen looked dismally at the grand, squat building before him and contemplated not what might have been, but what lay before him.

Pragmatic by nature, he was glad he’d had only a few weeks in which to weave the fairy tale shattered by the sudden arrival of Lord Partington’s no-longer-dead closest male relative. Even during the first few weeks after he’d received His Lordship’s letter, he’d not truly believed in his good fortune.

So really, he tried to console himself, it was only in the week since he’d been at the Grange that he’d begun to harbor the aspirations he now must temper. Not sufficient time to allow his dreams to soar. He’d get used to his new reality and make the most of future opportunities. In the past year he’d learned to live more frugally and the creditors weren’t beating at his door.

Remembering his debt to Sir Archie brought his spirits crashing down. Would Lord Partington still be of a mind to assist him? After all, he was nothing but a distant relative now.

He was surprised to see Lord Partington make his ponderous way across the lawn toward him, the large man leaning heavily on his silver-topped cane. A twitch at the curtain in Her Ladyship’s boudoir made him look up. Was she watching, and if so, with relief or disappointment? Stephen knew young Edgar had been viewed with disfavor and not considered a suitable candidate to replace his uncle. After what he’d observed last night, Stephen could understand why. The boy was a nod-cock. But a nod-cock who would inherit all this. He’d have money and advisors—if he’d listen to them.

“What are your plans now, Stephen?” Lord Partington’s voice was heavy. The exertion of crossing the wide expanse of lawn had taken its toll and he held his hand to his chest. “My heart is murmuring its displeasure,” he added. “Never been strong but last night’s unpleasant surprise did it no favors.”

Stephen stared at Lady Partington’s window as he replied, “I’ll leave tonight, of course, my lord.” He found himself distracted by his thoughts of Her Ladyship’s feelings regarding his departure.

Then remembered he had bigger disappointments. Araminta.

Strange, he’d barely thought about her this morning, or the inevitability of losing her when she’d so nearly become his wife.

“You’ve had no time to organize where you’ll go or what you’ll do. You can’t possibly leave tonight.”

Stephen shifted his gaze to His Lordship’s concerned one. “When Edgar learns that I’ve been here in his stead he’ll want me gone yesterday.”

“Edgar is not lord of the manor.” The viscount did not trouble to hide his scorn. “If I could organize it any other way, he never would be. I’d go to my grave sanguine, at least at this stage, to know you were the one carrying on my legacy.” He snorted. “But that buffle-head doesn’t know the difference between a feather and a fountain pen.”

“Araminta will explain it to him. At least you have that comfort. She’s a clever girl.” Stephen was surprised he did not suffer the regret he’d have imagined. “Her ambition will ensure Edgar doesn’t gamble the estate away.”

Lord Partington glowered. “She’s throwing herself away. Besides, the boy’s in love with Hetty. Always has been. Now Hetty’s about to be thrown onto the pyre of my eldest daughter’s ambition.”

“Championing the love match?” Stephen spoke flippantly.

To his surprise His Lordship responded, carefully, “In my old age, yes.” He rubbed his chin. “I’m fond of Hetty. Always have been. Reminds me of my favorite aunt. Dear Aunt Dotty. Completely hopeless romantic, never married. Died last year, but utterly wonderful to me in my mama’s absence. Mama was admired by many but she was a terrible parent.”

He gave a small laugh. “I’d like to see Hetty marry Edgar if it’d make her happy but of course Araminta won’t have it. No, she’s determined to marry the heir. You must be disappointed.”

Stephen shrugged. “Not as much as I’d expecte

d. In a way it comes as a relief, though I’d have uncomplainingly been led to the altar. Araminta is impressive. We’d have made a good match—her forcefulness and ambition and my contentment to be allied to a beautiful, determined woman who’d allow me my pleasures within reason.”