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All Hetty was interested in was safety for those she loved.
Yet what of justice? Did Sir Aubrey not deserve to be publicly exonerated of the whispered charge of being a wife-beater and a Spencean?
To Hetty’s enormous relief, Jane had slipped her the letter early this morning. A perusal of its contents had filled her with terror. Lady Margaret had spoken candidly of Lord Debenham’s involvement with those who’d attempted to assassinate Lord Castelreagh. She’d also written with the deepest remorse of her disloyalty toward her deserving husband.
But now the only way to protect Hetty’s own family from inevitable scandal and perhaps even restore her father’s fortunes was to accede to Lord Debenham’s demands.
She felt for the letter. She’d hastily tucked it down her décolletage and out of sight when Araminta entered the room.
The alternative was to simply give it to Sir Aubrey. It would make him eternally grateful and he would probably offer to marry her on the spot, though she’d spend the rest of her days wondering where the fiction began. As a man of honor and kindness, he would go to great pains to pretend he cared for her. Or at least to show her that he hadn’t preferred her sister.
By rights the letter should go to Sir Aubrey but the dangers were too great. Lord Debenham would know long before justice could be served that this is what Hetty had done. He’d act swiftly and who knew what villainy he’d be capable of?
The outcome that produced the least collective harm would be to give it to Lord Debenham, for then Jem, Jane and the entire Partington family would be safe.
Lady Partington lowered her heavy bulk onto the bed “I have it on good authority that Lord Debenham has shown particular interest, Araminta. Do you return his interest? You know I have my reservations about him but if you think he will make you happy…”
Her voice trailed off and Hetty glanced over at her, noting how large she looked. She seemed content these days, though she was clearly troubled now.
Araminta shrugged. “Cousin Stephen says Lord Debenham is set for a dukedom and appears to be gaining favor at court.”
Hetty was surprised at the lack of delight or avarice her sister showed as she studied her reflection, obviously deciding which pair of earrings best suited her costume as a Spanish dancing girl. “Sir Aubrey mentioned it at last night’s ball,” she added before deftly changing the subject. “Now Mama, you know Hetty wanted to go as a nun but wasn’t I right in saying she should dress the same as me?”
Gloomily, Hetty looked down at her lavishly garbed form before sending her sister an envious glance. Araminta shone. Her glossy dark ringlets cascaded down her back, swallowed up by the crimson-and-black froth of her gown. By contrast Hetty felt a pale shadow of imitation. Her gown was identical and her hair, lighter and far less striking, also fell in ringlets but she did not have that elusive element her sister possessed to carry off the ensemble. The colors and the style simply did not suit her.
“Araminta insisted it would be amusing to be a pair,” said Hetty, swallowing down the lump of emotion that threatened to turn into tears she’d have no idea how to explain.
“And you look lovely, darling,” Lady Partington said, reaching for Hetty’s hand when Araminta left the room to court their father’s admiration. “Hetty dearest, Stephen tells me you have lost your heart to Sir Aubrey. Your cousin is very concerned. Please, my darling, listen to good advice and stay clear of a man whose reputation is under such a cloud.”
It was an exercise in restraint not to break down as Hetty gazed into her mother’s worried eyes. “Sir Aubrey is undeserving of society’s opinion.” She heaved in a difficult breath to add, “Not that it matters, for he loves Araminta.”
“Araminta will not ally herself to a man who cannot offer her the moon.” Her mother sounded confident on this point. “Sir Aubrey is not a match for either of you. Don’t look so sad. He is the first man to hold your interest but he won’t be the last. You have the rest of the season before you.”
“But no more after that, Mama. Has Papa said more about…his situation?”
Lady Partington dropped her gaze to the Aubusson carpet and sighed. “Developments are not what he had hoped…” Raising her head, she made an obvious effort to sound bolstering. “But that is nothing for you to worry about.”
Hetty nodded, picking up her lavish skirts to move disconsolately toward the door. She was about to let herself out when impulse made her swing ‘round to say urgently, “Mama, if you knew the truth about something or someone but it seemed better for all to withhold it, what would you do?”
Lady Partington looked startled. “My darling, without evidence, a truth is merely a rumor. Nothing can trump hard facts. Truth is always better revealed for the world to judge. Now, let me see a smile on that pretty face of yours. Your father remarked only a moment ago that you were turning into a swan. Just make sure you don’t act impulsively when it comes to choosing a husband, Hetty. It would be wrong to take the first opportunity that comes your way simply because you think your father’s situation dictates you must.”
Hetty was about to leave when Jane waylaid her with a hand on her arm. “Miss Hetty, yer sister’s bin asking me for the letter I gave you. She flew into the boughs when I told her I didn’t have it.” The faith with which the little maid confided her next fears was like a dagger. “I couldn’t bear the thought I’d given it to the wrong person, for I know she were intending to pass it straight on to Lord Debenham in return for his fancy promises.”
To the wrong person.
Jane’s words echoed ‘round Hetty’s head later as she sat in the family carriage squeezed between Cousin Amelia and Araminta on their way to the masquerade at Vauxhall.
So Araminta intended giving the letter to Lord Debenham? But what about the limpid looks she’d exchanged with Sir Aubrey? The way they’d looked at each other at the ball the previous night made her feel sick with despair.
She nodded her head at a question Cousin Amelia asked while her thoughts raced off on a different tangent. What was Araminta playing at? Fire, certainly, but was she pretending to Sir Aubrey that she was going to retrieve the letter from Jane to give to him when all the time she was intending to hand it to Lord Debenham?
Hetty had been sure Araminta planned to give Sir Aubrey the letter in view of her lack of enthusiasm for Lord Debenham lately. He was more personable and attractive than Lord Debenham and in making the letter public, Araminta would be responsible for removing the bar that hindered him politically. Hetty had assumed they’d be married before the season was over. Araminta was the sister who stirred a man’s lustful intentions to heights of madness. She’d held Sir Aubrey at arm’s length until he was slavering for more. Once she’d given him the letter they’d be off to the altar in a puff of smoke. Meanwhile Jem and Hetty’s family would all be in danger.
With a self-pitying sniff, Hetty conceded that when all was said and done, she was the one whose sins were the greater. She’d offered what no man could resist—a woman’s body for the taking. Beyond the transitory physical trade there was nothing. She was not
hing.
She felt for the letter inside her reticule, where she’d transferred it, and was immediately swamped by nausea. Lord Debenham was dangerous. Violent. Unless he had the letter, her reputation was in ruins and so would her father be. Perhaps this was Araminta’s insurance. She’d give him the letter in exchange for marriage—and who knew what else. She liked to live dangerously, after all.
