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

  “What do you mean a visitor? At this hour?”

  Porter cleared his throat. He shifted his feet and seemed reluctant to speak until Humphry said even more testily, “We’re not receiving callers at this hour, Porter.”

  “My lord—” Porter’s Adam’s apple leapt up his throat. “It’s Master Edgar, my lord. Shall I tell him you’ll see him?”

  Sybil’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle the gasp that threatened to bring all attention upon this side of the room. “Oh, my dear Lord,” she whispered, her head reeling, while Humphry choked on his own response.

  Any decisiveness, however, was rendered unnecessary as Edgar appeared beside Porter, pushing his way in with the careless familiarity of youth, saying cheerily, “Uncle, Aunt...” Rising from his bow, Edgar’s myopic blue eyes were bright with enthusiasm. “You thought I’d copped a bullet and slipped off this mortal coil, didn’t you, eh, wot?” His vacuous grin—at least, that’s how Sybil had always thought of it— was twisted with pleasure at having “gammoned” them—his favorite term—as he sauntered forward with the unconscious confidence that everyone must be delighted to see him.

  “Edgar!” cried Hetty, bursting off the sofa in a cloud of muslin skirts, the ends of her pink silk sash flying behind her as she threw herself into his arms. “We thought you were dead! Why, what a marvelous dream come true to see that you’re not!”

  Sybil and Humphry exchanged glances and in that rare moment it was clear that both were of one mind.

  Never had such a disastrous day befallen the Grange and its inhabitants.

  Chapter Five

  A guest room was quickly prepared. Stephen excused himself as discreetly as he could, Araminta leaving five minutes later after an obviously forced greeting. Of course Edgar did not notice. Edgar was only ever conscious of the pleasure people evinced at seeing him, preening at their compliments and laughing at his painful attempts to make others laugh.

  Which was why Hetty and he had always been such fast friends. Since they were toddlers of the same age they’d enjoyed silly jokes and antics. The only difference was that Hetty had grown up.

  Still, she was clearly just as devoted, Sybil realized with rising desperation as she gazed from her window at the pair the following morning, strolling across the lawns, heads bent, deep in conversation.

  And the longer she watched, the more her heart weighed her down like a stone, for there was Araminta coming toward them, smiling as Sybil had never seen her smile at her “detestable” cousin before.

  Surely not, she thought. Surely Araminta could never compromise her heart to that extent? Not even to become mistress of the Grange, when with her beauty a season in London would snare her an elevated match.

  Helplessly, Sybil scanned the expansive lawns in search of Stephen. Poor Stephen had nothing, now, when until last night the world had been his oyster.

  But Sybil could see no sign of Stephen. No, Araminta was striding purposefully toward her sister and cousin and even from this distance Sybil could see the care with which she plastered on her smile, for indeed, her pleasure in Edgar’s company did not come naturally.

  She steeled herself for Hetty’s inevitable letdown, more conscious of Hetty’s reaction than anyone else’s, as Araminta insinuated herself into their cozy pairing, taking Edgar’s arm and ever so subtly tugging him away from Hetty.

  For a moment Edgar and Hetty exchanged looks. Confusion was written on both faces. But too quickly Edgar’s attention was fully claimed by Araminta. He laughed at something she said, his fickle nature swayed, as ever, by such a convincing show of interest. Hetty’s silent devastation was profound, Sybil could see it, and not for the first time did she rail silently and impotently against the injustice of life. Hetty deserved so much more than she would ever get. For every victor, someone gasped the pain of defeat. In this case Humphry, Araminta and Edgar had the world at their feet.

  And quite literally this was because Sybil, Stephen and Hetty lay there, the vanquished byproducts of their pleasure.

  * * * * *

  So, the dream was over. The morning breeze was chilly as Stephen looked dismally at the grand, squat building before him and contemplated not what might have been, but what lay before him.

  Pragmatic by nature, he was glad he’d had only a few weeks in which to weave the fairy tale shattered by the sudden arrival of Lord Partington’s no-longer-dead closest male relative. Even during the first few weeks after he’d received His Lordship’s letter, he’d not truly believed in his good fortune.

  So really, he tried to console himself, it was only in the week since he’d been at the Grange that he’d begun to harbor the aspirations he now must temper. Not sufficient time to allow his dreams to soar. He’d get used to his new reality and make the most of future opportunities. In the past year he’d learned to live more frugally and the creditors weren’t beating at his door.

  Remembering his debt to Sir Archie brought his spirits crashing down. Would Lord Partington still be of a mind to assist him? After all, he was nothing but a distant relative now.

  He was surprised to see Lord Partington make his ponderous way across the lawn toward him, the large man leaning heavily on his silver-topped cane. A twitch at the curtain in Her Ladyship’s boudoir made him look up. Was she watching, and if so, with relief or disappointment? Stephen knew young Edgar had been viewed with disfavor and not considered a suitable candidate to replace his uncle. After what he’d observed last night, Stephen could understand why. The boy was a nod-cock. But a nod-cock who would inherit all this. He’d have money and advisors—if he’d listen to them.

  “What are your plans now, Stephen?” Lord Partington’s voice was heavy. The exertion of crossing the wide expanse of lawn had taken its toll and he held his hand to his chest. “My heart is murmuring its displeasure,” he added. “Never been strong but last night’s unpleasant surprise did it no favors.”

  Stephen stared at Lady Partington’s window as he replied, “I’ll leave tonight, of course, my lord.” He found himself distracted by his thoughts of Her Ladyship’s feelings regarding his departure.

  Then remembered he had bigger disappointments. Araminta.

  Strange, he’d barely thought about her this morning, or the inevitability of losing her when she’d so nearly become his wife.

  “You’ve had no time to organize where you’ll go or what you’ll do. You can’t possibly leave tonight.”

  Stephen shifted his gaze to His Lordship’s concerned one. “When Edgar learns that I’ve been here in his stead he’ll want me gone yesterday.”

  “Edgar is not lord of the manor.” The viscount did not trouble to hide his scorn. “If I could organize it any other way, he never would be. I’d go to my grave sanguine, at least at this stage, to know you were the one carrying on my legacy.” He snorted. “But that buffle-head doesn’t know the difference between a feather and a fountain pen.”

  “Araminta will explain it to him. At least you have that comfort. She’s a clever girl.” Stephen was surprised he did not suffer the regret he’d have imagined. “Her ambition will ensure Edgar doesn’t gamble the estate away.”

  Lord Partington glowered. “She’s throwing herself away. Besides, the boy’s in love with Hetty. Always has been. Now Hetty’s about to be thrown onto the pyre of my eldest daughter’s ambition.”

  “Championing the love match?” Stephen spoke flippantly.

  To his surprise His Lordship responded, carefully, “In my old age, yes.” He rubbed his chin. “I’m fond of Hetty. Always have been. Reminds me of my favorite aunt. Dear Aunt Dotty. Completely hopeless romantic, never married. Died last year, but utterly wonderful to me in my mama’s absence. Mama was admired by many but she was a terrible parent.”

  He gave a small laugh. “I’d like to see Hetty marry Edgar if it’d make her happy but of course Araminta won’t have it. No, she’s determined to marry the heir. You must be disappointed.”

  Stephen shrugged. “Not as much as I’d expecte
d. In a way it comes as a relief, though I’d have uncomplainingly been led to the altar. Araminta is impressive. We’d have made a good match—her forcefulness and ambition and my contentment to be allied to a beautiful, determined woman who’d allow me my pleasures within reason.”

  “Not if they ran counter to hers,” His Lordship warned.

  Stephen shrugged. “Araminta clearly loves the Grange and I think I could spend the bulk of my time in the country if I had an agreeable wife. I like the insects here,” he added as an afterthought. “Odd, I know, but I think I’d have been quite content to study them instead of wildly pursuing London revels. I shall be quite the eccentric in a few years.”

  “Come now. You have more ambition than that. You’re a clever man. But Araminta would have demanded you take her to London on her terms. You’ve been spared that, at least.” Lord Partington deliberated before adding, “You’ll have to stay another ten days at least.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The house party. It’s been arranged. Floppy Ledger’s son and some of his cronies will be coming to stay.” At Stephen’s frown he went on, “To run the spiders, of course. You need to pay your debt or prove it’s he who owes you a thousand. Given your knowledge of our arachnid friends I’m looking forward to watching young Ledger hoisted on his own petard.” He looked serious. “I want to see you leave here in the best possible position now that you’re out on your ear thanks to Edgar’s luck in dodging the bullet that should have got him.”

  * * * * *

  Never had Sybil so desperately desired anyone to extend their visit—a far cry from when Humphry had first announced his plans to introduce the “new heir”.

  Stephen had represented her failure. But to be replaced by caper-witted Edgar now threatened the fabric of existence.

  And Edgar’s greatest crime? He was breaking Hetty’s heart.

  Sybil was spying on them from the Long Gallery, sitting on the cushioned window seat, pretending to read a book but surreptitiously studying the young people in the distance.

  Of course it was wrong, but she was desperate that her youngest daughter find the happiness she so deserved. If only Edgar were stronger and realized Araminta would have him for breakfast. Instead, right there in front of her, Hetty’s disillusionment was turning into utter devastation.

  The now familiar scenario was being played over again. In the walkway below the Long Gallery Sybil watched Hetty and Edgar gravitate naturally toward one another. She saw the easy pleasure in their greeting and their amiable manner in taking a seat to chat in the arbor between the ornamental pear trees.

  She’d not realized she’d exclaimed aloud until Stephen made his presence known. “Spying, Lady Partington?” He sounded amused, so while she was aware of her blushes she was able to smile back at him.

  “A concerned mama will afford herself any opportunity if she’s able to justify it as that...rather than prurient interest.”

  “I think most of us are guilty of both from time to time.” He took up position at her left shoulder and together they watched Araminta join her sister and cousin, her smile directed at Edgar.

  Hetty, who had until then been the focus of Edgar’s animated chatter, turned at her sister’s intrusion. Her smile was in place but her worried expression revealed her feelings.

  Stephen lowered his head and asked Sybil softly, “Do you think Cousin Hetty understands what’s happening?”

  Sybil was surprised by his perspicacity and his boldness in articulating such a question. Now, he was going and she was sorry for it, though he’d have no idea just how sorry.

  “I’m surprised your comment concerns Hetty when I thought Araminta was the daughter of most interest to you.” She raised her eyebrows inquiringly. “Surely you consider yourself a more enticing candidate than her cousin Edgar?”

  “Oh, I know I am,” he answered with assurance. “I’m sorry to see my inheritance go and if I thought Miss Araminta’s ten thousand would make me happy I’d do all I could to persuade her out of her determination to become mistress of the Grange at any cost.”

  Sybil’s heart was already in the process of disintegrating when he added, “She’s too young to see that she’ll make them all unhappy: Hetty, Edgar and not least, herself. You do know, of course, that there’s no way Hetty will win this. Araminta will succeed in wresting Edgar’s affections from Hetty with the merest crook of her finger. It’s clear Edgar is that kind of man.”

  Sybil nodded sadly. “Edgar is not very clever and he’s terribly susceptible to flattery.” She rubbed her eyes. “Araminta will marry Edgar before two months is up, I know it. She was prepared to forgo the season to marry you, Cousin Stephen.” She blushed then added, “Perhaps that was premature since you’d not offered. Yet you gave every indication. Are you desperately disappointed?”

  He angled his body closer. Very close, she noted, but then he’d always seemed very comfortable with her. “I’m desperately disappointed not to be inheriting all this.” He gave an expressive sweep of his arm. “But I’m not desperately disappointed that I’m not marrying Cousin Araminta.” He hesitated. “I would have, though, and happily enough, if that’s what she wanted.”

  “So your heart is not engaged elsewhere? I was afraid Araminta completely overlooked the possibility, that you had perhaps met a worthy young lady in your travels but decided the benefits of marrying Araminta outweighed those earlier considerations.”

  “No, no, I’m not the kind to put ambition above the workings of my heart. That said, I’ve never really been in love, I don’t think. Nevertheless, I have admired many women. You included, Lady Partington.”

  She didn’t think she’d been more surprised in her life and was conscious of her virtual squeak as she responded.

  It seemed to amuse him and he went on, “You don’t, of course, do yourself the justice you deserve. Araminta wouldn’t be nearly so desirable if her self-confidence were stripped away. It’s poor Hetty’s problem. Look how pretty she looked when she was talking to Edgar.”

  Sybil nodded sadly and Stephen added with a shrug, “My mother was a confident beauty. More confident, perhaps, than beautiful, but men are drawn to women who believe in themselves.”

  “You seem older than your years,” Sybil murmured. She studied the young man beside her with renewed admiration.

  “And you seem younger than yours.”

  They laughed and Sybil felt she was watching from outside herself as she deliberately placed her hand over Mr. Cranbourne’s. It was meant to be a gesture of solidarity for the difficult position in which he found himself. “You’ll surprise us all. Indeed, Cousin Stephen, I imagine you’ll go far. Humphry will secure you a position in London. He was talking about it—that’s if you’re interested. I’m sorry I dismissed you as no better than the rest when you first came here.”

  “Did you?” His fingers curled around her hand. She hadn’t expected that or the frisson of electricity that skimmed up her arm. “Thank you, Lady Partington, for your support. I may need it one day. Indeed, your husband has been good to me. He’s having a house party in ten days to invite some people to whom I owe money. He plans to use the occasion to reverse my debt.”

  She withdrew her hand. “You’ll just lose more.” Her tone was censorious but then he was young and no worse than most men. She was just disappointed. But not disappointed that he was staying. “In ten days? Perhaps you’ll persuade Araminta of your address over Edgar’s.”

  “I doubt I’ll do that, and in fact, nor do I want to. The debt, by the way, involves no outlay on my part, for your husband is determined that this will vindicate me and merely settle a score.”

  At her look of inquiry, he went on, “I was cheated when the outcome of a pair of house spiders’ mating ritual was engineered.”

  This made her blush but she hurried on, “Humphry is quite the man of science. It would appeal to him to recreate the experiment, if it could be done.” Warmly, she added, “I’ll keep my eye out for courting house spi
ders.”

  Mr. Cranbourne rose and to her extraordinary surprise put his hands on her cheeks and kissed her forehead. “That would be much appreciated, Lady Partington.”

  The touch of his lips could be felt long after he’d gone.

  She sat, staring at him—stupidly, no doubt—while her heart beat an irregular tattoo.

  Was this the way he’d take his leave of a favorite aunt? That must be it, of course.

  * * * * *

  It seemed Humphry shared Sybil’s considerable concern over the new situation with regard to their daughters. At any rate, she assumed this must be the reason he joined her for tea on the terrace several days later. It was a lovely afternoon and she’d had the servants take table and chairs onto the lawn so she could relax beneath a wide- brimmed straw hat and survey the world. Ten minutes later Humphry took the vacant chair opposite hers and began to converse with her quite amiably.

  “Where is everybody?” he inquired, stirring the cup of tea she’d poured him.

  He’d barely finished the question before they were disturbed by animated voices and the young people rounded the shrubbery, traversing the gravel path that circled the rose bushes about twenty yards away.

  Humphry’s gaze narrowed over the top of his tea cup. “Do you think Araminta will succeed in her quest?” He sounded grim.

  “She has always been determined to reign over the Grange.” “But at what cost?”

  Sybil was surprised at his vehemence. Humphry never criticized his eldest daughter. Now he was championing his youngest, which was rare.

  Humphry shook his head. “Hetty’s worn her heart on her sleeve for years. She pined for Edgar when he went to war and she was still grieving for him when he came home. I saw the joy in her face when he walked through the door, a feeling I can tell you I was far from sharing. Just look at Araminta now. Why, she’s shameless.”

  Araminta had tucked her hand into the crook of Edgar’s arm and he was mooning at her like the most devoted acolyte. Behind them trailed Hetty, looking miserable and superfluous.