The Mysterious Governess (Daughters of Sin Book 3) (7 page)

With difficulty, Araminta regulated her breathing. How clearly she remembered the young woman’s visit to The Grange all those months ago, on the pretext of requesting funds for the village school. Her father, she recalled, had acted most strangely as he’d sent Miss Hazlett into the room where the servants were generally required to wait.

So this, indeed,
was
her father’s bastard standing right before her. Larissa Hazlett was the daughter of Mrs. Hazlett in the village, whose horse Araminta had insisted her father buy for her, despite knowing how much it would upset her mother, for even then, deep down, Araminta had known the truth. Lissa was the girl who’d sat in church with her fellow base-born siblings—her father’s bastards— in a pew behind the first family of the district, Lord Partington’s wife, Lady Sybil, and his daughters, Hetty and Araminta. Even yesterday, when Araminta had spoken to the girl, she’d pretended ignorance. But she had known. Yes, she had known.

Indignation and anger were followed by a great sense of superiority. This poor, stained creature before her could never compete with Araminta, no matter how beautiful she was. They might share a father but Miss Hazlett was a bastard, and a bastard could never rise in the world.

Fortunately, Araminta was as adept as the young woman before her at keeping her wits in check. It would be best not to gloat if she wanted the girl to be useful to her, which she certainly did. “So, telling me you hated me and that I should lend you my gowns whenever you want something in the first stare was your reason for wanting to meet me? I must say, this is all rather a shock.”

Her half-sister—she choked on the term—was gazing anxiously at her as she obviously decided to alter her approach. Oh, Araminta could sense her insincerity a mile away as she said demurely, “I am sorry I said that. However I’m truly grateful that you saw fit to allow me to wear your dress for an afternoon. Besides, I’ve always wondered...about you.”

“Have you indeed? But let’s return to this important gentleman you were required to sketch. Have you told me everything? You look like the sort who would keep secrets.” Araminta decided she could dismiss the threat she’d originally feared that Miss Hazlett might pose. With no social status, Miss Hazlett could never be a likely prospect for any gentleman upon whom Araminta set her sights. Certainly not anyone in Sir Aubrey or Lord Debenham’s league.

In the meantime, there was this unexpected foray into subterfuge to enjoy. Life could sometimes be so deadly dull, even when she was feted by admirers at every turn. And decidedly, this Miss Hazlett was going to be useful in passing on information regarding the more interesting of these admirers. Like Sir Aubrey.

“So, this sketch you clearly executed with passable results...” Araminta considered the information, thoughtfully. “You will no doubt be doing more of this sort of thing in future.” She tapped her fingers upon the top of the garden fence that separated them. It was not hard to see how desperate the girl was to sample more of what she’d tasted the previous day. Perhaps she’d already set her cap at some out-of-reach nonpareil. Well, that would be interesting to observe, though could only result in disappointment for Miss Hazlett.

Araminta took the parcel from her and leaned her head closer. “I cannot but be repulsed by who you are, but the fact remains that we can, I believe, be useful to one another.” She gave a decisive nod. “Yes! You can be my little spy in return for the means I provide that will enable you to gain entry to similar entertainments.”

The girl cut her off. “I see little chance of that happening. I’m a governess and I have two little girls to take charge of.”

Irritated as she always was when anything interfered with her plans, Araminta glowered. Then her brow cleared. “So this Master Cosmo fancies himself as a portraitist, does he? Oh, don’t look at me like that! Of course, I guessed the truth.” Araminta laughed. “And that he wishes to be one of us. His family aspires to be like us. Like me, I mean. Oh, do say he has a sister about to make her debut? Good Lord! That’s too marvelous. In order to achieve my aims, I shall work my magic so that you’re given the time off to do as I require. Never at the same entertainment as me, you understand. But there will be occasions when you will be useful.

“Meanwhile, you can help Master Cosmo see his way to becoming London’s finest portraitist. You can sketch his portraits for him and I can have you supply me with the information I’m interested in. And I thought this was going to be the dreariest second season ever!”

***

D
espite concerns over the potential pitfalls of Araminta’s plans, Lissa returned home in high spirits that were quickly quashed.

One minute she’d been imagining herself the belle of the ball, dressed in her half-sister’s glorious diaphanous creations, the next minute her arm had been snatched by Cosmo, who hauled her into the gloomy cavity beneath the stairs.

His eyes were black with anger in his pasty white face as he raked his fingers through his fashionable ‘Titus’ coiffure. “Lord Debenham is highly pleased by his sketch, which I presented this morning.” He pursed his thin lips. “I told him I’d executed it from a brief study of him yesterday and now it seems half of the ton wants something similar! What am I to do?”

Lissa drew back at his agitation. She’d seen him in such moods when he completely lost control and now that she was alone with him, she was frightened. First, he paced between the stairs and the end of the corridor, then he loomed over her, clearly using his height and bulk to intimidate her. “A pretty state of affairs this is, isn’t it?”

“I thought that was what you wanted.”

This didn’t seem to be the right approach. Lissa thought quickly. Cosmo was volatile and she’d seen him smash the nearest item at hand during his temper tantrums. But now she had an answer that she was reasonably sure would placate him.

Careful that she gave no sign of being intimidated, she managed calmly, “I carried off yesterday’s charade with no one being the wiser, and, only today, I’ve ensured a regular supply of suitable gowns for any occasion, Master Cosmo. Moreover, I have befriended a viscount’s daughter, who has promised to introduce Miss Maria to any potential suitor whose interest she cares to engage. There! I hope you are as delighted as your sister will be. Just tell me who you wish me to sketch and I’ll find the means to do it.”

She swallowed, for this was the difficult bit. “I’ll just need some pin money for my pains.”

Instead of greeting this with relief, his face turned red. “Pay you?” He looked horrified. “But you’re a governess. You live under our roof, enjoying our food and shelter and protection. Why should I pay you?” His shoulders slumped. “How can I when I have no money?”

A surge of anger stiffened Lissa’s spine. “Didn’t you and Lord Debenham come to some agreement over ‘your’ sketch of him? Are you to paint or sketch half of London for no return?” She turned to go. “I’m sorry for your predicament, Master Cosmo. Perhaps someone else can help you.”

“No!” Once again his unwelcome touch was upon her as he snatched her wrist, pulling her back to him. “I’ll give you a shilling for each painting.”

“I want half of the agreed amount, and if I am clever enough to rub shoulders with those you paint, then I will find out what the going rate is.”

“One-third.”

“Agreed.” Lissa stepped back, out of his hateful aura. She’d won this round, and soon she’d enjoy a taste of all the wonders that had been denied her. She’d also have a little money for the first time in her life. Money that might in some way pave the way for the life she’d always wanted: a husband she cared for and a family. And definitely a carriage.

She didn’t need the trappings of high society but in her present dowerless state, bearing the indelible stain of illegitimacy, she hadn’t, until just now, seen how she could possibly ever have a husband, much less a carriage.

O
n this gray, drizzly and miserable afternoon, it wasn’t the poor state of the weather that accounted for Ralph’s dismal mood but the task set for him by his employer.

For over a year, he’d done Lord Debenham’s bidding. Well, his master had been Mr. Carruthers back then, newly returned from the West Indies with pockets lined with gold. A cousin’s death had elevated him to the peerage, and Ralph’s mother had been in transports when Ralph had secured the position of secretary to the soon-to-be-elevated Lord Debenham.

Her distress had been almost comical when Ralph had declared some months ago he simply couldn’t continue; that the demands were so overreaching and the man’s contempt of his supposed inferiors so strong, it made Ralph’s daily job a nightmare.

In the end, his mother had prevailed, telling him quite rightly that to leave would invite Lord Debenham’s revenge, surely, and where else could Ralph go?

It was the truth. Ralph was a prisoner of circumstance and he had no other means of respectable work if he ever hoped to marry and have a family—which indeed he did. The tragedy was that the perfect contender had just waltzed into his orbit, tantalizing him with everything about her, from her lovely dark hair and sparkling green eyes to her gentle wit. Her unavailability.

Of course, Miss Hazlett hadn’t meant to taunt him. She was not that kind of young woman. But her innocent determination to make something of her own miserable circumstances had sparked something to life within him.

He’d always accepted that his older brother bore the greatest burden. Teddy was the nicest natured of all the brothers, and he’d never quite recovered after the inexplicable desertion of the woman he’d hoped to make his wife. But he would marry, for even without money he was highly eligible. And handsome to boot.

John, the next in line, was following a career in the church. He had a modest living and was already happily ensconced in a well-appointed vicarage with a pretty, if demanding, wife.

The next two brothers after John had had army commissions bought for them while Harry, the black sheep of the family, had run off to sea.

Ralph was the youngest and the one over whom his mother despaired. Now she was pinning her hopes on the fact he’d be rewarded for serving well an important member of the House of Lords. It was a job Ralph had come to despise with greater feeling every day.

But he was in no position to give it up. And if there were any chance that he would somehow be granted a handsome sinecure that would put him in a position to make Miss Hazlett an honest offer, he would stay.

The fact she’d succeeded in infiltrating the garden party so successfully proved her determination and ability to rise beyond the usual obstacles. She would make a fine wife.

Some day. The sad fact was it might be years before he could take a wife without the risk of driving them both into poverty, should they have a large family. Or any family at all.

At this present moment he was occupied with writing the eviction notices that would send a number of his employer’s cottagers into worse despair than Ralph could ever imagine, and there was not a thing he could do about it. Lord Debenham had taken a firm hand in the matter of those who didn’t—or couldn’t—pay their rent on time, and had determined that henceforth there would be no second chances.

Ralph was to see that the letters were dispatched, and was then to follow up himself to ensure that no families hung on to what was no longer theirs. He felt sick as he dipped his nib once more into the ink and signed the final eviction notice on behalf of Lord Debenham.

After such a painful afternoon’s work, Ralph decided a brisk walk was needed to clear his heavy mood once a chance presented itself. Hyde Park was only a short walk away and looking at the lovely ladies promenading there was always a pleasant diversion. His mother liked to be informed on what fashions were being worn by whom, and Ralph, apart from being a dutiful son and enjoying the sport in any case, had a good eye for an ensemble in the first stare.

The sun was dropping lower in the sky, the birds were singing in the trees and he was dreaming, impossibly, of a future with Miss Hazlett, when he was shocked to see a familiar profile come around a bend, chattering with great animation to Sir Aubrey.

It was only when she was within a few yards of him that he realized it
wasn’t
Miss Hazlett. Certainly not the Miss Larissa Hazlett with whom he was acquainted, though surely the two must be related.

The pang that squeezed his heart also made him realize how much it would have pained him to have seen
his
Miss Hazlett so clearly entranced by a gentleman other than himself and again he was fired with the determination to find a way to enable them to be together.

Immediately this was followed by the painful reality that his hands were tied. Short of an unexpected inheritance—and none of his infirm relatives were remotely well-heeled, though all were respectable enough—or committing highway robbery, Ralph was completely dependent upon Lord Debenham for a paltry salary.

Leaning against a tree trunk, he gazed at the young lady talking to Sir Aubrey and his misery increased. She was clearly making a determined play for him and Ralph wondered how Sir Aubrey could still be so successful at winning female interest when he was dogged by Lord Debenham’s allegations.

His employer had an almost pathological hatred for this gentleman, and it was intriguing that Miss Larissa Hazlett’s relative—for they surely
must
be related—should show such singular interest in someone whom rumor painted as a murderer and plotter of treason. Thanks to Lord Debenham, it was widely whispered Sir Aubrey had been involved in the plot on Lord Castlereagh’s life. Unsubstantiated rumors, certainly.

When the young lady turned so that her face was no longer concealed by her bonnet, he realized with a start that he’d seen her before at several high-society entertainments. He struggled to recall her name. Surely it was Miss Partington? Yes, the debutante who’d ended her last season under something of a cloud but who appeared to have bounced back, the way she was talking with such joyful animation to Sir Aubrey.