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Hetty sent him a level stare. “I do not care to visit you in your townhouse when you choose to be so uncivil, sir.” She drew back her shoulders, stifling the urge to cry. She’d been wild for this gentleman and yet he was indeed the rogue and libertarian he’d been painted. A philanderer with no shred of civility. She inclined her head as she passed through the door. “I’m sorry if I leave you disappointed though I’m certain my shoes will not be too difficult to fill.”
His parting words showed he was not the slightest bit shamed. “It was not your shoes I had hoped to fill.”
Angrily she slammed the door behind her.
* * * * *
Sweeping into the night was not the liberating experience she’d expected. For the first time in her life, Hetty realized what it was to be truly alone. She took a couple tentative steps toward the main walkway, along which small groups and the occasional stray individual meandered, but she lacked the courage to make her isolated state evident, preferring to loiter in the shadows.
What should she do? She couldn’t return to Sir Aubrey after what he’d said. She was nothing to him.
For days she’d built up her importance through daydreams of what might be possible between them when the truth was revealed—at the appropriate time, of course.
Now she knew he must never realize it. The recollection of his voice sent tremors of shame through her. The irony, the entitlement and boredom in his tone revealed him as the kind of man who would consider that she was the one entirely to blame for the loss of her reputation. With a sob, she prepared to sally forth onto the main path but drew back behind the trunk of an elm when she heard male voices, one of which sounded frighteningly familiar. An acquaintance, perhaps, of Cousin Stephen? As an unchaperoned debutante she dare not risk exposure.
Hearing the name of her erstwhile…lover…made her hold her breath.
“He’s in there.” The faintness of their discussion made it impossible to follow until one of them sniggered, “Entertaining some little ladybird.”
The other voice, younger, interjected, “Don’t worry, he’ll let his guard down one of these days, Lord Debenham.”
With a start, Hetty realized it was Mr. Woking who spoke with such fawning self-importance. “He will be caught and convicted soon. We cannot afford a repeat of Spa Fields else every landowner will go about in fear of having their throats slit by their laborers.” With greater urgency he added, “But what if we can find no evidence?”
“Then we must weigh up the merits of preserving the peace through resorting to methods whereby evidence is,” there was an ominous pause, “discovered.”
“My lord—” Mr. Woking began, but Lord Debenham cut him off, his tone reassuring.
“The government upholds the national interest above all. Do not concern yourself with the details, Roderick.”
The voices moved on and Hetty ventured a quick glance through the tree branches.
Dear heavens, they were intent upon stringing up Sir Aubrey, even if they couldn’t find what they needed to convict him. He might be a philanderer, and Hetty nothing more than one of his many conquests, but she couldn’t see him hang for something he hadn’t done.
Sliding into the walkway as a throng of revelers rounded the bend, she melted into the darkness, joining their straggling ranks as if she were one of them until she reached the hub of the park once more. The orchestra had struck up a lively piece by Mozart and as she cast her panicked look around, she was never more relieved to hear Araminta’s voice.
“There you are, Hetty! Oh, and there’s Cousin Seb, too, with Mary bringing up the rear. Goodness, that girl’s sourer than ten-days-old milk. You’ll find yourself a husband before she does, Hetty, if that’s any consolation.”
The only consolation Hetty felt at that moment—and it was considerable, nonetheless—was that she’d inadvertently timed her arrival at the moment the two disparate sets of cousins converged. Both groups seemed to assume she’d been with the other.
Araminta hooked elbows with her as they sauntered through the gardens, saying what a pity it was Hetty had chosen to abandon her and Stephen since Mr. Woking had accosted them not two minutes before, asking after her.
“Papa would be satisfied with such a match, for Mr. Woking’s family has large landholdings in Hampshire and he’s an only son. I doubt you could do better.”
“But I don’t like Mr. Woking,” Hetty protested. “He has clammy hands and his breath really is most unpleasant.” Though that was the least of her objections. Overhearing him and his uncle just now had left her in a difficult predicament.
Araminta affected a falsely disapproving look. “It sounds as if you’re already far too familiar with Mr. Woking to possibly back out now.” When Hetty tossed her head, Araminta said, more placatingly, “An ardent suitor is just what you need after Edgar’s tragic death. Planning a wedding will take your mind off your grief and marrying Mr. Woking is just the ticket, I’d say.”
Miserably, Hetty countered, “Then why don’t you marry him if you think he’s such a good catch and he’s an only son and well connected?”
Araminta didn’t hide her revulsion. “Not even if I were desperate. No, I can do far better. Besides, as I’ve told you, I have my sights set on other quarry.”
“Perhaps you think that if I marry Mr. Woking you’ll have closer access to Lord Debenham. You can’t use me like that, Araminta.”
Araminta appeared to shift uncomfortably. “I’ve told you already, it’s Sir Aubrey I’m interested in. And as for the slander Cousin Stephen harps upon, it doesn’t worry me a jot. As long as he’s received and he has money and a title, then he’s handsome enough for me.”
“What if Sir Aubrey does not wish to make you his wife?” Hetty was aware of her combative tone. She did not like Araminta’s sly smile.
“I have gained the impression on the several occasions we have been alone together that I am just t
