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It was almost a relief to Araminta that her parents made an unexpected visit to London, visiting her the following day. She needed something to deflect Debenham, though, thank the Lord, she’d found her ballgrown thrust into a bush near the doorway to the rotunda, so that was something else she’d not have to explain to him.
“Are you all right, Araminta dearest?” Lady Partington sent a concerned look in her daughter’s direction as she raised her head from her embroidery. The weather was gray and dull today, and Lord and Lady Partington had settled themselves comfortably in
her drawing room, as if they had no intention of leaving for a week. “Don’t you think Araminta is looking peaky today?” She turned to her husband for consensus, and Araminta had to hold her tongue so as not to snap that it was unlikely Lord Partington would remember what his daughter looked like. He’d been absent so much of the time she was growing up, and only recently had she learned it was because he favored his ‘other family.’ With the maturity she’d gained since she’d been married, she felt a fool, now, for not having understood earlier the dark desires that drew her father away from his marital responsibilities.
Even when Araminta had returned to The Grange on her recent visit, he’d barely spent a night at home, and several times she’d seen him in a carriage with a rather plain, serious-faced, middle-aged woman whom Araminta presumed was his mistress—the solicitor’s daughter he’d initially intended to marry.
Araminta put down the lid of the piano with a clatter and sighed, “Really, Mama; it’s nothing!”
“Nothing? When you say it like that?” Her father put down his newspaper and regarded her closely. “Tell us what is troubling you, Araminta. Your mother is right. You’ve been as restless as a gypsy this whole morning. I’m sure it can’t be that young William is cutting a tooth since you’ve not seen him in two days.”
“Are you suggesting I lack a mother’s concern?” Araminta sent him a challenging look. “Besides, how would you know how many times I’ve been to the nursery?”
“Now, now, Araminta, you don’t talk back to your father like that,” admonished her mother while her father added, warningly, “For someone who likes to be lavished with fine clothes and jewels, I hope you don’t speak like that to your husband. I can’t imagine Debenham would take too kindly to being made aware of his shortcomings.”
“Debenham has hardly showered me with jewels and fine clothes,” Araminta muttered. “In fact, the ruby necklace he gave me when we married is now gracing the neck of that actress, Kitty La Bijou.” She knew she was taking a chance, but Debenham had found the sketch and believed the necklace stolen. The more Araminta backed up this theory that it had been stolen, the less likely that the truth would be revealed. “Yes, scandalous, isn’t it? Debenham took it to pay a gambling debt, though please don’t reveal this. He told me it had been stolen, but I know the truth.” She looked suitably distressed, though truth be told, her distress wasn’t feigned. She was sick with fear at what might transpire once the necklace was returned, as it soon must be. “A pretty pass it is when a respectable and virtuous viscount’s wife sees her hard-earned jewels worn by such common gutter fodder.”
Araminta was surprised and buoyed up by her father’s reaction. She’d not expected he’d be so sympathetic to her cause; in fact, he was looking virtually apoplectic on her account.
“Kitty La Bijou?”
“That’s right. I saw her in Romeo and Juliet. She’s like a lovely piece of Dresden china with that golden hair, but she’ll be raddled and washed-up by the time she’s twenty-five.”
Lady Partington sent a worried look at her husband, dropping her wooden frame in her lap after grazing her finger with her embroidery needle.
“Are you all right, my dear?”
“Kitty La Bijou is...an actress?”
Araminta tilted her head. “I’m surprised you’ve not heard of her since she’s so frequently lauded in the gossip sheets. She’s very popular.” Araminta sniffed. “But you don’t read the gossip sheets, do you, Papa? And you rarely come to London. But this Kitty La Bijou has come into possession of my necklace, and no doubt she intends to wear it when she weds Lord Nash on Saturday.”
“Kitty La Bijou is marrying Lord Nash on Saturday? My old friend, Monty’s son?”
“Oh, so you know his family, do you? But, of course you do. So, how Lord Nash can be allowed to marry so unsuitably is quite beyond me. Really, I don’t care who marries whom, but I do think it unconscionable that a guttersnipe should be allowed to get away with possessing the necklace that was given to me, and something is going to be done about it; I promise you.” Araminta raised the lid of the piano and played a few crashing chords for emphasis. “Debenham has not treated me well, I’m afraid, Papa, but I earned that necklace, and I’m going to get it back.”
Her father had risen but seemed unable to move. He stared at Araminta with an odd look in his eye. “You say that your ruby necklace, a Debenham family heirloom, has been stolen, and you accuse this...actress...Kitty La Bijou...of stealing it?”
“I’m not saying she stole it, necessarily,” Araminta said, but with less conviction than before for she had the strangest sense that her father knew something she didn’t.
“I had heard the necklace had gone missing. Had been stolen, in fact,” her father said, almost thoughtfully. “Debenham belongs to my club, as you know. I heard he’d shown a few members the sketch. Enraged by the act, he was, and calling for blood and anyone to speak up if they knew details. I hadn’t mentioned this...actress was involved.”
Araminta tried to control her trembling. She’d wanted only to defend herself to her parents in case whispers got about. But it seemed the word was all over town already. And Debenham was furious, determined to get to the bottom of the matter. Araminta regretted her loose mouth. She should have been more circumspect. What would he find if he dug just a little deeper?
She looked at her shoes; her toes curled into the ends as she fought to control her nerves, though, of course, her parents couldn’t see that. She took a shaky breath. “Then why doesn’t Debenham go straight to Miss La Bijou and demand that she return it?” She had to ask, outright, the question most troubling her. Had Miss La Bijou learned anything of the truth the night she’d helped Araminta? Had she not believed the lie that the baby had been prevented from making its arrival too early? Was she somehow involved in a grand plan to blackmail Araminta, through Mrs. Mobbs, her landlady at one time and the woman to whom Araminta had given the necklace?
The more she plumbed the possibilities, the more terrified she became.
She’d not received any blackmail threat or demands. But why was the necklace gracing Miss La Bijou’s neck, when the proceeds were for the upbringing of her child, and to hide the truth?
Her father was rocking on his heels, looking down at her, while her mother was looking, confused, at both of them.
“Why does Debenham not confront Miss La Bijou direct?” Her father repeated. “Because he does not know the woman in the sketch is Kitty...er...Miss La Bijou. No one does.” He sent Araminta a piercing look. “The part of the sketch which identifies her was torn away.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Kitty held up her arms so Dorcas could slip the beautiful confection of cream net and silk over her head. It slithered sensuously over her curves, and she stared, smiling, at her reflection.
This was the happiest day of her life.
