Instead, she said, sweetly, “Jane knows how cherished she is. Debenham can be an exacting husband. Unlike you, Hetty, I didn’t make the match of my heart.”
“But you made it quite plain that expediency was more important. And Lord Debenham has all the attributes you were looking for, Araminta.” Suddenly, Hetty looked concerned. “He is kind to you, isn’t he, Araminta? I mean, he wasn’t very kind to me but then...”
She broke off, obviously thinking of that terrible night at Vauxhall when Hetty had stolen the letter from Lord Debenham with which she intended to win Sir Aubrey’s heart, and had found herself with a broken bottle at her throat. Araminta thought it was best to clear the air. “Debenham was bosky when he treated you with such disrespect. You knew you were playing with fire when you confronted him with what was bound to make him behave in a most aggressive fashion. You’re so thoughtless, Hetty. Always rushing into things you know nothing about.”
“I can forgive him only if I know he is good to you, Araminta.”
Araminta brushed off her sister’s hand. “Do stop prying into the secrets of my marriage, Hetty. And please go downstairs so I can finish dressing.” She put her hand to her forehead. She didn’t want to put Hetty offside. She might need her one day, too, and even though she despised her sister for being such a peagoose, as well as a thief, she thought a more ameliorating tone was in order. “Forgive me for being a cross patch.”
“Oh, I’ve always forgiven you that, Araminta. But tell me, dearest—and I’m not trying to pry, you must believe—but you are happy, aren’t you? I mean, you’re going to have a baby!” And she hugged herself with joy.
“I don’t know ‘ow yer can look yer sister in the face,” Jane muttered when Hetty had left the room.
Araminta, now sitting at her dressing table and putting on the ruby and diamond earrings her husband had given her upon their marriage, raised her eyebrows. “I don’t understand you, Jane.”
Jane bent to pick up a discarded shoe. “I don’t know ‘ow yer can face yer sister after what yer done. Whose babe is it yer carryin’?” Her voice was so soft Araminta could barely hear her. Perhaps Jane hadn’t intended her to, but Araminta was riled, nevertheless.
“How dare you even suggest it’s any other than whose it should be,” she returned on a venomous hiss. “Don’t ever say such things aloud. Who knows who might be listening?”
Jane’s expression became sorrowful as she cradled the lone embroidered slipper. “What are yer goin’ ter do, m’lady, when yer time comes an’ the babe is full growed but...” she heaved in an outraged breath, “...two months early?”
“My jeweled comb, if you please!” Araminta clapped her hands imperiously, then muttered as she stared into her hand-held looking glass, “And it’s only six weeks if I have my calculations right. However...I will make a plan.”
“Like the plan yer made when yer was determined ter make Sir Aubrey wed yer—’cept ’e’d already wed yer sister leavin’ yer in a right old mess? Yes, yer can dismiss me if yer like fer speakin’ so plain, m’lady, but you ’ave jest got ter find a way out o’ this conundrum else yer’ll suffer fer it most sorely, and then I really will ’ave to find meself another job.”
Araminta put down her looking glass and closed her eyes. Jane spoke only the truth. Her child could be born at any time within the next four weeks, and when it was discovered to be at full term, she very much feared that Debenham would kill her. It was no exaggeration, either.
All the fears she’d tried to keep at bay surged up her throat. She sent her maid a beseeching look, very different from her usual careless hauteur. “You have to help me, Jane.” The situation was indeed as dire as Jane had painted it, and she’d been a fool to pretend the problem would simply go away. When Jane said nothing, she swung around and gripped her maid’s wrist until the girl cried out in pain. “Promise you’ll help me. I’ll think of something, but to do whatever I may need you to do, you must promise me your utter loyalty.”
“Yer know yer’ve always ’ad that, m’lady.”
Araminta suddenly felt petulant. “You like Hetty more than you ever liked me.”
“Yes, m’lady. I like ’er too much to tell ’er the truth ’bout yer and what I reckon yer tricked Sir Aubrey ter do wiv yer. But I’ll no’ destroy ’er ’appiness when she an’ her new ’usband are smellin’ o’ April an’ May. So yer can rest assured yer secret is safe with me, for it’s over me dead body that I’ll ever let poor Miss Hetty know that it’s Sir Aubrey’s babe in yer belly.”
For a moment, rage blurred Araminta’s vision. She drew back her hand to strike the impertinent and challenging look from Jane’s hateful face but managed, just, to master herself. She rose. “How do I look, Jane?” she asked with a regal smile. “Will my husband be pleased with me?”
“I reckon ’e’s always pleased when yer look so beautiful and do what ’e says.”
Araminta shuddered, her attempt at acting clouded by the reality of what her life had become. “I’ve learned to be very good at that. Now,” she waved her hand toward the door, “I shall present myself downstairs. I shall probably carry on to supper after the play, so you may go to bed in the meantime if you arrange to be woken so can attend to me when I return.”
“That’s uncommonly thoughtful of yer, m’lady.”
Araminta smiled. “I always look after those who have pledged me their loyalty.”
***
Tonight was one of those rare occasions Araminta preferred to be in company with her husband. Since Hetty and Sir Aubrey had returned from their wedding tour in Italy a month ago, the two encounters she’d had with her sister and Hetty’s new hu
sband had been thoroughly uncomfortable, bringing back hideous memories. Of course, if Sir Aubrey hadn’t given her to believe he was about to make her a marriage offer, she’d never have done what she had to in order to spur him on. The truth was, she’d been motivated by nothing other than the good of the family as a whole. With Papa on the verge of losing all his money, Araminta had to save innocent Hetty from having to earn her living as a governess. Only look what had happened? She gasped with discomfort as the child kicked within her and Debenham sent her an enquiring look, though he didn’t actually ask if she were all right.
The child. Whose child? Of course, Sir Aubrey chose to pretend the whole ghastly business had never occurred. No, he simply offered her a bland smile and inane pleasantries whenever they met—no agonized apologies for his brutishness whispered in private as he despaired over having chosen the wrong sister. Lord, it was as if it had never even occurred to him that both Hetty and Araminta were carrying his child, and likely to give birth within a few weeks of each other, if Araminta’s calculations were correct.
So there the two couples sat in Debenham’s box at the theater, pretending they all rubbed along so well.
It was a relief when some gentleman across the stalls beckoned Debenham over, and then Hetty and Sir Aubrey made their own excuses to leave just before the interval. Generally, Araminta didn’t like being on her own but tonight was turning into a nightmare. She put her hands to her belly as the wretched child refused to be still. Dear Lord, what was she going to do? It was one thing to tell Jane she had a plan or would make a plan, but what plan could she possibly make?
“Good evening, Lady Debenham. Should you flaunt yourself in public when you are so advanced?”