Envy and despair marred his features. Hetty, of course, had once known these emotions well; she hoped she’d managed to control them more effectively than poor Mr. Woking, whom she’d never liked but for whom she now felt rather sorry. “The cut direct,” Hetty muttered. “Araminta is famous for it. Ah! But he persists. A devil for punishment.”
They watched as for some seconds the young man spoke earnestly to Araminta, his gestures suggesting he was upset. Araminta tossed her head and began to walk away, but he followed, taking her arm and drawing her into the darkened corner where he continued to gesticulate as if he had a torrent of passion to express.
Octavia was clearly fascinated as she watched the young man stalk across the ballroom following his obvious dismissal, weaving his way in and out of the crowd, his brow thick with distress.
“My sister was once betrothed to young Mr. Woking,” Hetty told her, then laughed at Miss Mandelton’s shock. “Yes, I think Araminta rather desperately felt she needed a marriage offer, and when he proposed, the timing was right. She quickly regretted it though, and reneged on the poor gentleman who has never recovered, it would appear. My feeling is that he made rather a lucky escape.”
“A lucky escape? Why, your sister is the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Hardly reason enough to marry her, though.”
Miss Mandelton’s lips parted. “You made a good match. I’ve seen the two of you,” she blurted. “You and Sir Aubrey seem so suited. His eyes follow you everywhere.” She blushed furiously, and Hetty felt ridiculously gratified.
“It nearly went horribly wrong. My sister wanted to marry Sir Aubrey. It’s hard to imagine he actually chose me.” She touched Miss Mandelton’s sleeve. “There’s no telling what dictates a gentleman’s heart, is there? And you and Lord Silverton are obviously very well-matched.”
She’d thought to bring a smile to Miss Mandelton’s face, but the young woman looked even more downcast. “I hardly know him,” she confessed. “He was the best friend of my brother, Tom. But then Tom died and Silverton sort of…inherited me.”
Hetty floundered. “The greatest love flourishes from friendship, I’m told.”
Miss Mandelton gave a rather helpless shrug. “I feel out of my depth here in London. I wish I could go home, but I can’t. If I don’t take this chance to marry, I will never get another.” Her mouth trembled. “And I keep telling myself how lucky I am. Silverton is such a nice man.”
Hetty’s drew in her breath sharply. She glanced about her, afraid they might be overheard. “But you don’t love him?” she whispered.
Miss Mandelton shook her head, staring at Hetty with an expression close to panic. “I like him very much. But that’s not the same thing, is it?”
Chapter 13
The days seemed endless to Lissa. After the horrors of the night spent at The Grange, followed by the equally horrendous journey home during which Lady Julia and Lord Beecham had literally bristled with hostility, she’d thought she’d relish days of uninterrupted dullness.
But now Ralph was just like the old Ralph she’d fallen in love with—brimming with enthusiasm for the task at hand. He didn’t seem to notice that Lissa was becoming increasingly lackluster. When she asked him if there was any special task she ought to be performing—after all, she’d been placed into Beecham’s household for a reason—he’d just chucked her under the chin and told her that the greatest good she could do was to stay safe. Stay safe because Ralph was gathering evidence that he was sure would implicate Debenham in a range of unsavory dealings, and once Debenham was dealt with, then he and Lissa could be married.
The last time he’d said that, Lissa hadn’t responded with the same enthusiasm she’d mustered on the first few occasions, and Ralph had asked, concerned, “Dear heart, you do still want to marry me, don’t you?” To which, of course, Lissa had replied in the affirmative, since that’s what she wanted more than anything.
What she wanted only slightly less was for some kind of excitement in her life. Lucinda was surly and clearly unhappy. She showed Lissa the minimum of respect. She showed Lady Julia even less respect, so that was something she supposed. Lord Beecham was forever berating his ward, demanding that she address her piano teacher with civility; to try that curtsey as she took her leave ‘one more time.’ Yet even he seemed out of sorts these days with Lady Julia, who was now a regular overnight guest. As for Lady Julia, her forced brightness was most definitely at odds with the general gloom of the household.
On yet another evening, while Lucinda played a few desultory tunes at the piano, and Lady Julia and Lord Beecham appeared to be engaged in yet another of their quiet but heated discussions, Lissa picked up the pencil and sketching pad that lie upon the table in front of her, and idly began to draw. She hadn’t drawn in months, though she instructed Lucinda in pen and ink sketches, which were not very good, but which Lucinda proudly brandished in front of Lord Beecham from time to time in the hopes of some praise, no doubt.
Lissa wondered why the girl tortured herself. Granted, Lord Beecham had a certain autocratic bearing which might be appealing to a naïve and inexperienced girl. But at nearly forty, he was far too old for her, and his nature was not overly sympathetic. A hopeful spirit like Lucinda’s would shrivel up in no time. Lissa was charitable enough to acknowledge that Lucinda was not a bad girl. They simply did not rub along well together, though perhaps the environment had more than a little to do with the general malaise Lissa was sure they both—all—suffered from.
At a jarring chord, they all looked at Lucinda, who blushed fiercely but kept her head down.
Lissa wondered how she’d fare when she was presented. She could be pretty when she was animated, but that rarely happened these days. Her corn-colored hair was dressed simply, and her gown was plain as befitting a girl not yet out. Really, Lucinda wouldn’t turn heads, Lissa decided, quickly sketching the forlorn expression on her face before turning her attention to Lord Beecham.
Certainly, his face was handsome enough though the vertical lines in his cheeks, and his bristling eyebrows, would see him age into a venerable, if not rather frightening, gentleman.
Lady Julia was the beauty of the gathering, though Lissa wondered where the attraction was beyond that. Or if it did. Lord Beecham seemed increasingly irritated by her these days. Now the pair was muttering something together in rather vexed tones about a child. She caught the name of Lady Julia’s son whom Lissa had heard was not well. There’s been no mention of Princess Caroline lately. No mention of anything worth passing on to Ralph. She felt superfluous. At least in her detested position at the Lamonts there was some tension and excitement, even though Cosmo Lamont had tried to imprison her, if not worse, which was why she’d been so careful to ensure her talent for drawing was not discovered by her current employer who might seek to exploit it, just as the odious Mr. Lamont had done.
“Goodness!”
Lady Julia’s exclamation coincided with Lissa’s realization that she had been entirely unaware of the fact that her picture was exposed for all to see who might rise at that moment and pass by. Which was exactly what Lady Julia had done.
“Beechy, look at this!”
“Please, I really would prefer not to—” Lissa soon realized it was useless to try to exert her will when it opposed Lady Julia’s. The page nearly tore clean out as Lady Julia tugged the sketchbook from Lissa’s hands and brandished it in front of her paramour. “Do you see the way you looked at me? There it is! Plain to see. As if I were— No, I shan’t even say it!” She spoke rapidly, under her breath, as if unaware that both Lucinda and Lissa were staring at her.
Lord Beecham took Lady Julia’s arm and tried to draw her back, clearly aware of their audience in a way Lady Julia was not.
“After all I’ve done for you!” Lady Julia cried, her voice rising. “I came to your aid when you were at your wits’ end over what to do with your ward. You wanted to dispose of her in some school for ladies, but it was her mother’s dying wish that she become your ward, and that you should find some suitable female to help ensure the girl didn’t entirely disgrace the family name when she was presented.”