Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin Book 4) (7 page)

“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.”

***

T
onight 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 husband 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?”

Shocked at the familiar tone uttered with uncharacteristic condemnation, Araminta jerked her head up and beheld in the gloom a tight-lipped Roderick Woking. It was the first time her erstwhile suitor had spoken to her since she’d eloped with his uncle, Lord Debenham, shortly after Mr. Woking had publicly announced his delight over his unexpected betrothal to Araminta. She supposed he had every reason to feel uncharitable toward her, yet it was his uncle to whom he should direct his ire. Debenham had used some very underhanded tactics to seduce Araminta at Miss Hosking’s celebration ball.

Still, it was better not to give any ground. Araminta tilted her chin and sent him a frosty look. “My husband is not far away, Mr. Woking, and I know you detest him very much. Perhaps you should leave.” Yes, Araminta really didn’t need Mr. Woking creating a scene to make her evening worse than it already was.

Usually, Mr. Woking did as she told him. It was the one reason she’d thought he’d make an acceptable husband when she was desperate to have any husband after her predicament with the wretched baby needed solving.

Instead, he advanced a couple of steps and, to her utter horror, put his hand out to touch the great protuberance beneath her high-waisted evening gown. Hidden from the rest of the audience in the theater by the red velvet curtain, his face loomed close, his lips a tight, angry line, his eyes stormy with recrimination. Even in such poor light, Araminta shuddered to think of what her desperation had led her to do with this ghastly creature. Had Debenham not forced her into marriage, she’d have been saddled with this inferior specimen with his weak chin and turkey neck, bad teeth and worse breath—for life. Yet would that have been such a bad thing if she’d found herself able to wield more power over him than she managed in the case of his commandeering uncle? It had nearly killed her to learn the undeserving Mr. Woking had been elevated to the peerage upon the unexpected death of two relatives in quick succession. Yes, indeed, if Debenham hadn’t all but kidnapped her, blackmailing her into marriage, Araminta would now have everything she could have wished for—a wedding ring on her finger and an indulgent, if spineless and unattractive, husband.

That didn’t make her feel any more charitable toward the chinless peer looking at her with such condemnation.

To her horror, he now asked in a low voice, “Have you told Debenham that it’s my child you’re carrying? Or shall I tell him?”

“How dare you insult me?” Araminta tossed her head and turned in her chair so she presented him with her side view, holding up her fan so that her outrage would not be observed by anyone who chanced to glance up from the stalls. Her whole body trembled, and she felt in that moment like bursting into tears. “What if you are overheard telling such lies?”

“Lies?” He sounded aghast as he plunged forward, whisking up her hand and bringing it to his lips. His look was no longer censorious but tortured. “There you sit, like an exquisite Madonna, carrying my child whom you are now going to parade to all the world and to my hateful uncle as the new heir to his estate if it’s a boy. Do you know how it makes me feel every time I lay eyes upon you,” he choked on a sob, “and to know that you were nearly mine? That you could have been my duchess, making me the happiest, proudest man in the land, squiring you to every grand occasion you wished to attend while we awaited our happy event?”

“You’re dreaming, Mr. Woking.”

“Lord Myles, if you please.”

“You will always be Mr. Woking to me, and what...happened that night did not result in this for your uncle kidnapped me, as you know, and did the very same thing you did to me.” She pushed up her chin, proudly. “Tell me, which of the two of you is the bigger, stronger man?”

Mr. Woking seemed unable to speak for the surge of apoplexy that rendered him like a gesticulating lobster.

“
Kidnapped
you? That’s not what my eyes saw when I followed the sounds that drew me to the bedroom where my hateful uncle had enticed you, and where the pair of you were—” He broke off on a strangled hiss of rage. “What I beheld did not give the appearance of Miss Araminta Partington being
kidnapped
.”

Sulkily, Araminta dropped her fan and fiddled with the tassel of her pelisse. “Your uncle blackmailed me. He needed my testimony to save him from the noose. He needed me to tell the world that I was with him at Vauxhall all night, when really he was having a meeting with two other men whom the Government believes are plotters. Radicals out to bring down Westminster, I understand. He said if I did not pretend to be enjoying his attentions, he would...he would...” She thought wildly for something that might elicit Mr. Woking’s finer feelings, or at least his sympathy.

“He would what?” Mr. Woking didn’t sound too affected.

“He would ruin Papa and destroy Hetty’s happiness.” Araminta looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “You know how tenuous things are between Debenham and Sir Aubrey? I couldn’t let the worst happen to Hetty and Papa. The two people I love more dearly than any others in the world, except for Mama.”

Mr. Woking was still. Thinking. “He really threatened you?”

“Of course he threatened me,” Araminta snapped, her anger getting the better of the affected tragedy she’d striven so hard to achieve. “Do you think I wanted to marry your uncle when I was already betrothed to you, and knowing that you had such prospects? You know me sufficiently, I’d wager, Mr. Woking, to realize that I would have far preferred to have married you than Debenham had he not all but held a knife at my throat, ripped off my clothes, and told me to smile for the crowd that he intended to see witness his evil plan to have me ruined and thereby force me to marry him.” She dropped her fan and put her hands to her face, and the tears in her voice were real. “I am so unhappy, but what can I do?” She heaved in a breath and took her hands away. “What could I have done? You didn’t save me,” she added accusingly. “You believed I was as bad as everyone painted me.”

When Mr. Woking took a step forward, she waved her hand dismissively. “Leave me, Lord Myles.” Her voice was quietly dignified now. “Whatever you might want to say, it’s too late. And I hear footsteps. I do not want Debenham to catch us together when he’s already so wildly jealous of you.”

When she turned, there was no sign of Mr. Woking, but to her astonishment, there in the curtained alcove, stood the man she really would have chosen to marry above all others in the world—if there had been time—she reflected, tragically, clasping her hands across her swollen belly.

“Lord Tunbridge.” Her gasp was unfeigned, the roiling excitement in the pit of her stomach on par with the desire in her wildly beating heart. “Teddy!” She half rose, as if he might take her in his arms and hold her to him. Like the last time they’d been together. Oh Lord, why had he been such a gentleman, refusing to allow himself to be seduced before he rushed off to do some apparently noble deed on the Continent? He’d said he’d be gone two months, and then he’d return to claim Araminta as his wife. If he’d only taken what Araminta had offered, they could have been enjoying wildly blissful days and nights together, and Araminta would have been the happiest newlywed in the entire world. She’d have been married to the handsomest, kindest, most honorable man to walk the earth, and her child would have had a father who would cherish him. One whom he could respect. Not cold and cruel Debenham.

She gave a little sob, then looked up when he did not come to her. To her horror, he met her gaze with a cold, stony stare so unlike his so perennially good-natured expression. Stonily, he said, “I saw you from my box and waited until you were alone. I told myself I should not. That I would only torture myself, but in the end I could not stay away.”

She forced herself to retain her dignity and not rail at him for she did not deserve this. “Yet you chose to remain on the Continent more than two months, my Lord.”

His eyes bored into hers with the heaviest reproach. “What reason was there for me to return when I heard the news of your marriage? I had left England the most joyful man on earth, but within days, the news of your faithlessness had caught up with me.”

Araminta bit her lip as she wondered how much detail had been contained in the news he’d received. She dropped her eyes and studied the embroidery on her slippers. Debenham was generous with her wardrobe. The pin money she received was more than sufficient, but he also did not demur when she presented him with the increasingly exorbitant bills of her milliner and mantua maker. Around her neck, the rubies and diamonds of her exquisite wedding gift, were cold. However, Teddy’s generosity would have cast Debenham’s in the shade, she was sure, and he would not have made her do the things Debenham enjoyed doing. Her husband’s enjoyment seemed to be heightened the more reluctant she was. Searching his face with tear-filled eyes, she said in a strained voice, “I tried to go after you the very night you left. I was mad with grief that you would leave me behind, and after Lady Marks’s Riverside Soiree, I took a hackney and went with my maid and my chaperone to your townhouse to entreat you to delay your journey or to take me with you. Perhaps your butler did not tell you? I thought I would die if I were parted for so long after what we’d shared. The fireworks. Do you remember?”

His shoulders slumped, and he let out his breath in a soft sigh. “I cannot see fireworks without being reminded of the woman I once loved more than life itself...until she wed another within days of my departure, proving just how little she truly felt for me.”

Araminta stared at him. His cold, measured tone was torture. The vibrant rapture she’d felt in his arms was the most sincere experience she’d ever had.