Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin Book 1) (7 page)

Sybil squinted at the young pair. Was her neighbor suggesting Mr. Cranbourne wasn’t genuinely smitten?

“No need to fluff up your feathers like a protective mother hen,” chuckled the rear admiral. “Mind you, with your eyes so bright and in that gown, you’re a fine sight to behold.”

A tremor of pleasure ran through her. It was the first time she’d been complimented in years. Her red silk gown was one she’d had made in a fit of daring the year before but never worn after Araminta derided her for trying to appear in the first stare “when surely you’re old enough, Mama, to know how positively sad it is to look like you’re trying to compete with your daughters.”

Since then she’d reverted to the simple, safe and matronly pastels she’d always worn. Mr. Cranbourne’s comment tonight had emboldened her to select the dress.

“And no need to gape as if you don’t know it’s true. You’re a damn fine-looking woman, Sybil, only Humphry don’t appreciate it.” He took another sip of his sherry, staring down his claret nose to add, “Araminta’s not the only beauty in the family. Now, as you’re clearly not used to compliments and your husband is looking this way, I shall bid you good evening and go and speak to my old neighbor.”

Sybil closed her mouth, returned Hetty’s smile—she was kneeling by Lady Zena’s cage whispering to the bird—then resumed watching Stephen and Araminta.

What had the rear admiral meant? Mr. Cranbourne was like every young man who met Araminta. He’d fallen completely under her spell. The only danger was if proceedings went awry. After the curtailing of her first season, no breath of scandal must touch Araminta.

No, let all proceed quietly to plan, prayed Sybil. Mr. Cranbourne was the new heir and Araminta, since the death of her brother, had been determined to marry whomever she needed to become mistress of the Grange.

It was Sybil’s duty, however, to warn Mr. Cranbourne, subtly, of Arabella’s expectations so as to avoid any potential misunderstandings.

* * * * *

S
tephen was enjoying the attention of his lovely female audience as he leaned against the wall and listened to Araminta spout a string of deriding comments about all the ape leaders with whom she’d been forced to rub shoulders during her first season.

Clearly she’d despised everything as much as she’d enjoyed it. “Miss Clara Doyle only stood up three times at Almacks the first night I attended. She has more than ten thousand a year, but imagine a gentleman having to get past that nose of hers.”

“A large nose is an impediment to anyone, even those with ten thousand a year,” he agreed.

She sent him a wary glance before relaxing with a derisive smile as she went on, “And then there was poor Miss Myrtle, who might have been pretty had her guardian not insisted on dressing her like she’d been dragged out of a fashion plate from The Lady’s Magazine ten years ago. Why, the rig-outs—”

“One’s dress is vital to one’s success.” Stephen nodded, glancing at Lady Partington who looked, he conceded, mighty fine in hers this evening. One might even argue she looked a good ten years younger, which he calculated would put her at around thirty, only a couple years older than himself. Well, perhaps a few more, though age didn’t matter when a woman was that attractive.

She was talking to the rear admiral, a worried frown creasing her brow, but a disarming  remark  from  him  brought  on  a  spontaneous  laugh  that  lit  up  her  face, making her in that moment exceptionally lovely. Lovely in quite a different way from Araminta, whose shrewd eyes narrowed as she intercepted his gaze.

“Poor Mama’s trying too hard again, I see,” she remarked. “I told her never to wear that dress. She’s far too old.”

“I don’t think so.”

Araminta stared at him. Clearly this was not the kind of thing she was either used to or had been expecting.

“Mama is practically in her dotage,” she insisted, leaning forward and looking past Stephen to frown at her elderly parent in conversation with the rear admiral.

“No, she’s not.”

“She’s too old to provide Papa with an heir,” Araminta rejoined, spitefully.

Stephen said nothing to this but naturally he did wonder at the veiled allusion Lady Partington had made earlier that day that would refute this.

Yet surely if Lord Partington considered it safe to call Stephen here and pronounce him the new heir it was because Lady Partington was unable to produce one herself. Perhaps she’d been unable to have more children after her last child but refused to accept it.

“If Mama’s trying hard now, she left it too late, didn’t she?” Araminta’s scornful look softened as she transferred it to her father talking to the rear admiral.

At Stephen’s quizzical glance she muttered, “Papa has no desire for Mama’s society. As soon as he can get away, he does. He hardly ever spends the night here and only returns for luncheon.”

Stephen was shocked  both by the charge and the veiled accusation. “And you consider that your mama’s fault?”

“Well, it’s not mine.” Araminta replaced her glare with a beauteous smile. “But let’s not talk about dreary old Mama, Cousin Stephen. Let me hear all about yourself and your daring exploits.”

Stephen participated in the lighthearted banter that followed, though Araminta seemed to take most of what she told him a lot more seriously than he did.

Nevertheless, it was a novelty to be the focus of attention from a beautiful young woman, even if she was a trifle self-absorbed and, at times, selfish. She was also young and no doubt she’d be softened by a more maternal side when the time came. Like her mother, whom he did not consider dreary at all.

If Araminta had marked him out as her future husband, he could do worse. It was time to claim a wife and with possibly years to wait until his inheritance, there would be definite financial benefits.

* * * * *

I
t was on the subject of his pecuniary and, he hoped, only temporary embarrassment, that he finally got up the courage to approach Lord Partington.

There  was  no  point  in  beating  around  the  bush,  Stephen  decided,  as  he accompanied His Lordship on horseback around the grounds of the Grange with an almost lung-bursting sense of pride. In all his wildest dreams he’d never imagined a future as glittering as the one that had opened up before him.

“Where do you live when you’re in town?” His Lordship asked as they followed a meandering brook through a pretty meadow.

“With my grandmother while I look for something more suitable,” he replied.

“In that case you’ll stay at the Grange until something else is arranged.” His Lordship squinted toward the hills to the east. The spires of smoke from the village could be seen above the trees. “Besides, you’ll need to spend some time here so you can understand the responsibilities you’ll be required to undertake one day. Obviously you’ll want to spend a good deal of time in town. You’re a bachelor after all.” He hesitated. “Though perhaps not for long.”

Stephen ignored the questioning look in his eye but obliged him with, “I think I’ll find myself quite content to molder in the country for at least a few more weeks.” He sent his benefactor a knowing look and the viscount chuckled. “Be wary, my boy.” He opened his mouth to continue, hesitated, then went on, “My daughter is a vixen who knows how to get what she wants and if you have other ideas you’d better state them now.”

Stephen grinned. “I’m quite partial to vixens,” he said. “Especially the green-eyed variety.”

Lord Partington slapped his thigh. “She’ll lead you a merry dance and don’t say I didn’t warn you, but it’s a satisfactory situation all ‘round. Her dowry is generous but you’ll need money in the meantime. I’ll arrange for a small stipend that’ll keep you until...something more formal comes to pass.”

Stephen saw his chance. “My lord, I’ve one outstanding debt that needs attending to. ”

His  Lordship  swung  round  in  the  saddle,  his  expression  none  too  pleased. “Dunned, are you? But of course, why did I not expect it? You’re your mother’s son after all.”

“I hope I favor my father,” Stephen said stiffly. “However last week at Sir Archie Ledger’s house party I was prevailed upon to make a foolish bet.”

“Foolish, eh?” His Lordship raised his eyebrows.

After some hesitation, Stephen finally admitted, “I bet a thousand on a spider and lost.” The flush that stole up his neck burned as he stared straight ahead. Put like this his folly seemed extreme.

“A spider! Pity you weren’t an expert on the subject of arachnids, then, boy.”

“With respect, my lord, I consider myself quite an expert. The outcome was astonishing and, I believe, engineered in Sir Archie’s favor. Nevertheless, the fact is that I lost the bet and I owe Sir Archie a thousand pounds.”

Stephen cringed at Lord Partington’s incisive look. He’d never lost so much in a single wager but he’d been so sure of a victory that would have helped him repay a loan from his grandmother. Not that he intended mentioning that to His Lordship. Fortunately it was a trifle in comparison.

His Lordship settled back into his saddle and said in a resigned tone, “I’ll have my bank arrange a letter of credit. You’re an expert on the subject of arachnids, then, are you? A passing fancy of last week?”

“No, my lord.” Stephen forded a small stream in Lord Partington’s wake. “For some unexplained reason I’ve been fascinated by spiders since I was a child. I had a collection, to my mother’s horror, which I studied endlessly. Therefore I was convinced that, having observed the mating spiders, we would soon see the newly impregnated female devour the male. Sir Archie said this would not occur, that the male sex was dominant in every arena and he would wager this was another example.

“We remained to watch what would transpire, however I was detained for some time by Lady Julia and when I returned half an hour later the male spider appeared to be making a judicious exit, sated and quite intact. I, however, was suspicious of what I judged to be tampering of the web. Nevertheless, Sir Archie prevailed and I was declared the loser of the bet.”

Lord Partington’s complexion had grown florid. “Sir Archie Ledger,” he muttered. “Floppy Ledger’s son. The little weasel sounds like his father.” He clicked his tongue and urged his mount over a fallen log, shouting back over his shoulder, “You’ll invite him here and prove your theory sound.”

Stephen drew level and his uncle twisted in the saddle, warming to his theme as they continued at a leisurely canter. “A male arachnid, especially if it’s small, always comes off second best. You were cheated. Indeed, I’ll not hand over such a sum if your version of matters proves true.”

“Oh, it’s quite true, and I’d happily see you invite him here, my lord, to prove it.”

“We’ll need examples so the boy can see with his own eyes that he can’t bamboozle us. Ask Araminta to start gathering a collection.”

They laughed. Amusement, however, turned to admiration after they returned to the house to propose the idea and  Hetty rose to the challenge. Araminta declared roundly that she’d do so only on pain of death.

“Not even to please me?” Stephen asked with a suitably cajoling smile.

“You have a lot to learn, if that’s how you think you’ll win me,” she declared with a sly look beneath lowered lashes.

Nevertheless, Stephen was satisfied by her response. Araminta had all but stated how things stood. In a few days the time would be right. He’d ask for her hand and all would be settled in his world. Even the debt was no longer a niggling boil that needed lancing.

Returning later that night from The Slippery Green Toad after a couple of pots of porter, Stephen was reminded that not everyone was as fortunate. The evening was still light and he was in the east paddock closest to the house when the sound of weeping interspersed with the soft, snuffly noises of a horse caught his attention.

Stephen stepped quietly round the corner of the barn and peered across to where a hitherto unknown gray mare was nuzzling the neck of, if he wasn’t seeing things, his mistress of Partington Hall.

Lady Partington was in evening dress. She must have left the house on a sudden whim before  dinner. A  strangely  compelling  desire  indeed,  for as he  drew nearer, Stephen saw that her silk slippers were completely covered in mud and filth.

“Lady Partington?” he said without thinking she may wish for privacy. However, her forlorn stance and the force of her weeping demanded that he step forward to render what assistance or comfort he could. “Is anything the matter?”

When she merely raised a baleful eye from above the straggly mane of the gray mare he added, self-deprecatingly, “Of course, I realize something’s the matter otherwise you’d not be crying or have ruined your evening slippers. Whose mare is this?”

“Her name’s Bunty and His Lordship bought her this afternoon for Araminta. She’s not yet seen it but it will a mighty fine victory for her.”

He wondered at the bitterness in her tone. “Miss Araminta already has a fine mare. Does she need another?”

“That’s of no account when Araminta wants something. My husband will deny her nothing and now he has bought her this, which belonged to someone who has had to go away. It’s an insult to me. A cruel blow though Humphry does not see it that way. He’d consider such talk hysterical. He’s always thought me overstrung and yet I’ve maintained my dignity in the face of his continual denigration.”

Her words became muffled as she buried her face in the docile mare’s flank. It seemed she had no wish to censor what she said but would drown her words instead.

Stephen was not unused to comforting weeping women. In fact, this was a favored ploy usually resulting in said weeping woman throwing herself into his arms. Stephen was generally quite happy to render his assistance. However he now stood before his benefactress. In the half-light with her hair ruffled out of its careful coiffure and the utterly desperate vision of misery she presented, Stephen couldn’t help himself.

He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her round to face him. “My dear Lady Partington,” he murmured, frowning into soft, doe-brown eyes that bore soulfully into his. “I’m sure your husband had no intention of causing you such heartbreak. If you wished for a mare of your own why not just ask? His Lordship is a generous man.”