Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin 4)

The young painter observed her critically from the center of the room, sketchbook in hand, a frown furrowing his brow while he fingered the sharp cut of his side-whiskers.

“Indeed, Miss La Bijou, but perhaps the décolletage needs attention. May I?”

“Er..yes, of course.”

He leaned forward, and the touch of his fingertips against her bare skin made Kitty wince. Immediately, she thought of Dorcas. What a nightmare to have to suffer the intimacies of men when it was against one’s inclination. The pleasure in the fact Nash had commissioned a full-length portrait of her was diluted by these reflections. It had been ten days since Kitty’s failed attempt to persuade Dorcas to flee. She wondered if she would ever see her friend now, for indeed Dorcas seemed to have been well and truly consumed by a fate she considered no one was able to change.

“Ah, but it is indeed a great honor to be allowed to render the exquisite beauty of London’s most feted actress.” Mr. Lamont smiled appraisingly as he settled himself on a chair in the middle of the room and began to sketch. “Your benefactor...he must be a generous man, yes?”

Kitty thought it an odd question.

Mr. Lamont quickly clarified. “His Lordship is known for his discerning taste and, indeed, his generosity toward the...women in his life. If you would tilt your head a little to the right? Perfect.”

The women in his life? Kitty didn’t like the insinuating way Mr. Lamont phrased that. Yes, Nash had a sister and a mother, but she was sure they were not the women to whom the painter referred.

“How so, Mr. Lamont?” Kitty asked bluntly.

He was clearly surprised at being called upon to elaborate, for he could not at first find the words. “The diamond choker he bought for Miss Beatrice Orlando was spoken of for months, and established his reputation as a man of ...great largesse.”

“And who is Miss Orlando?” Kitty saw no point in pretending to know more than she did, even if she suspected she was not going to like the answer. Let Mr. Lamont describe her competition in his own words. At least watching his embarrassment was some compensation.

“You’ve not heard of Miss Orlando?” Again, he looked like a gaping fish.

“I’m from the counties. I don’t profess to have acquired London airs and knowledge in so short a time.” She smiled and repeated her question. “Who is Miss Orlando? Or must I tell Lord Nash you mentioned how generous he was to this Miss Orlando, but could not tell me who she is?”

“No, indeed, I spoke out of turn, Miss La Bijou. I fear Lord Nash would not like to know that I’ve discussed those with whom he was on intimate terms.”

“Intimate terms? Lord Nash was on intimate terms with Miss Orlando? You insult me, Mr. Lamont. I’m not sure I wish to be painted by a gentleman who shows me such little respect.” Kitty felt the tears prick her eyelids as she sat up.

“Please, Miss La Bijou, I meant no disrespect, truly!” Mr. Lamont jumped up from his seat and hurried toward Kitty, an unruly curl flopping from its restraining hair pomade; his exquisite cravat looking in danger of unraveling. Kitty knew it must be an important commission for him. He was obviously young and trying to prove himself, and she did feel a tou

ch of compassion. She decided she would not allow high dudgeon to cloud common sense. Nash was a young blade who obviously would have kept a mistress in the past, though he’d been careful to keep any mention of such matters from Kitty’s ears. Well, other than when he’d been caught straying with Jennie. No, Kitty must not think of that. Young men needed to sow their wild oats. Kitty just intended that she’d be the last of the line.

She was confident she’d won him back. Certainly, the gratitude he’d shown her proved the power she had over him.

“Here, you dropped your sketchbook, Mr. Lamont.” She picked it up from where it had landed amid the skirts arranged about her, and was about to relinquish it when she gasped at the name she saw penciled on the back. “Lissa Hazlett! Good Lord, what do you know of this young woman? Why is her name on your sketchbook?”

Mr. Lamont’s eyes bulged. “Why, I really don’t know. She’s just a charming young woman I once danced with at a ball.”

“At a ball? Which ball?” Kitty abandoned the languid pose she’d adopted for the sketch as she leaned forward eagerly. Her heart raced. “Miss Hazlett was dancing? At a society event? Please, Mr. Lamont! You must tell me. I’ve been desperate to find her, but she’s left no forwarding address.”

“What can I tell you?” Mr. Lamont shrugged, looking relieved to be once again in possession of his sketchbook. He walked backward, sat down, then picked up his pencil with a furtive glance at Kitty. “If I see her again, who shall I say was asking after her?”

Kitty’s heart felt full to bursting as she realized how much she’d missed Lissa. Yes, they’d grown apart as Lissa had adopted the dutiful approach of earning a living as a governess, while Kitty had been ever more vociferous in her desire to tread the boards and abandon her duty to her mother, but there’d always be a closeness. Sensible Lissa had been more of a mother to Kitty in their childhood, as she’d schooled Kitty in the duties and skills and obligations required to make the best of their precarious situation. As Lissa had so often pointed out, if something happened to their papa, there was every possibility they and their mother would be left destitute, for Lissa had heard whispers that Lord Partington’s financial situation was precarious. Those rumors had been the reason Lissa had found a position as a governess.

Now, Kitty suddenly felt deeply neglectful. Her pleasure-loving character had taken over to the detriment of everything else important in life—especially her family. Part of her reason for not making a greater attempt to find Lissa had been because she knew how much her sister would condemn her for leaving poor Mama. And with her career treading the boards rewarding her more than she could have imagined, she had no desire to be made to feel guilty.

Suddenly, more than anything else, she wanted to find Lissa. And this gentleman had seen her, danced with her. “Her sister, Mr. Lamont. Her dear sister. Oh, I know it’s just as much my fault that we’ve lost contact, but it’s been three months since I heard from her. Yes, of course! Lamont was the name of the family she went to work for. Your family?”

“There are Lamonts all over London, Miss La Bijou. Possibly, it was my...artist cousin at whose ball I met her. Yes, that is more than probable.” Nervously he played with the pencil. “I shall endeavor to discover what I can. Would that please you?”

Kitty nodded energetically. “My friend Silverton mentioned that his friend, Sir William Keane had seen Lissa, but now Sir William has gone to Constantinople, so he cannot be quizzed. I feel at quite a loss.” Kitty was now feeling far more charitable toward the young artist who might, in fact, provide the information for which she’d searched. “If you could keep your ears open and report back to me, I’d be most grateful.”

Mr. Lamont sent her level look. Quite a searching look, she thought. But then, he must be deciding how he would go about this sketch that would form the basis of the grand piece of artwork that would grace the walls of Nash’s bedchamber. His eyes traveled the length of her crimson gown, over her rippling golden hair that he’d arranged over the pillow, and finally settled upon the parchment in front of him. “You look nothing like your sister, I must say, Miss La Bijou,” he murmured. “I own, I am more than a little astonished, but rest assured that I shall be assiduous in tracking down Miss Hazlett. I think you will not be the only one who would like to know what she is doing.” He began to sketch, his pencil strokes gaining rapidity as he added, “In fact, I would be vastly grateful if you could get a note to me if you, in fact, discover her whereabouts before I do. For I have just recalled that it was my second cousin’s family for whom she worked, and that my aunt was distressed that Miss Hazlett left before she was paid some wages she was owed.”

***

Araminta gripped the windowsill and scanned the distant hills for signs of the visitors arriving on horseback. She couldn’t remember feeling so fidgety. And it wasn’t because of the baby, of course! She sometimes felt guilty at having given it away, but she never allowed remorse to trouble her too much since what she’d done was as much to ensure the safety and future of the child as her own safety and future. Lord! What else could she have done?