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Lucinda was pale at the best of times but, now, traveling through a small beech wood she looked like a ghost as she clutched her stomach and wailed, “I’m going to be ill!”
Lissa eyed her young charge warily from the farthest corner of the carriage. Was it just a ruse? Lucinda had not been easy company during this tedious journey through Hertfordshire after Lady Julia had persuaded Lord Beecham to accompany them to a weekend house party. Now they were returning to London in the same carriage, and the last three hours of traveling had never been so taxing.
“Stop!” It was Lady Julia, rapping on the ceiling; her nose curled up in disgust as she cast a baleful look at the gray-faced Lucinda.
Lissa was, in fact, glad of the reprieve. It would be nice to step out and stretch her legs. The long confinement had done her mood no favors. Lady Julia and Lord Beecham had both seemed a little out of sorts while Lucinda had sulked the entire way.
With clear relief, Lucinda clambered out of the carriage and collapsed against a tree, her hands at her forehead. Lissa supposed she should feel sorry for her. At the very least, she should go to her charge and offer her services, but her inclination was to walk a little, breathe in the mild country air, and mentally prepare herself for another two to three hours of further torture. For her own part, she couldn’t wait to reach London again. She knew this wood. She’d gathered berries here every summer until she’d taken up her position as a governess in London, first to the Lamonts and now to Lord Beecham’s ward. She really did not wish to be recognized by any of the local villagers who might pass this way.
Conscience, of course, prevailed and she was about to go to Lucinda when Lady Julia’s thin voice carried over the short distance that separated them, though a large rock physically cut them off from each other.
“The Grange is just over the rise. Lord Partington’s country seat. I believe a cozy little gathering is taking place as we speak.” Her tone was conversational, but the words had a chilling effect on Lissa.
“I
ndeed, my love?” Lissa knew by Lord Beecham’s tone he was humoring her.
“Lady Debenham has chosen to celebrate her birthday with a large gathering. Silverton is on the guest list, I’m told.”
“Indeed, my love?”
Lissa tensed. Was that particular interest she noted in his tone? To date, she’d found none of the evidence Sir Edward had hoped she’d dig up to suggest a collusion between Lord Beecham and Debenham. And this house party Lady Julia spoke of? Lissa knew she should move closer but her entire being screamed silently in horror at listening to something regarding her own family.
Lady Julia, she knew, must harbor unpleasant associations with The Grange. Under its roof, she’d cuckolded her husband with her father’s bacon-brained nephew Edgar before the young heir had drowned. Well, perhaps not cuckolded but they’d certainly been indiscreet. Lissa had heard of the unedifying spectacle of Lady Julia’s dawn departure at the side of her silent and shocked husband, Sir Archie, while poor Edgar’s waterlogged body had been laid out on a door. The gossip afterward had been lurid.
Lissa wondered what Lady Julia would think if she knew how informed Lissa was on these sordid events. Surely Lady Julia would want to give The Grange a wide berth. She was certainly surprised when Lady Julia now said in a cajoling tone, “Beechy darling, I think it would be perfectly lovely to surprise Lady Debenham with a visit to celebrate her birthday. Why, I have such fond memories of making her acquaintance during her first London debut.” After a short pause, she amended this more spitefully to, “Or was it her second. Her first ended somewhat under a cloud after that poor young man blew his brains out when she reneged on his marriage offer.”
“My dear Julia…” clearly, Lord Beacham had no idea Lissa was in earshot else he’d not have addressed her with such familiarity, “…we haven’t received an invitation.”
Her tinkling laugh greeted this, followed up with, “My dear Beechy, you are somewhat lacking in imagination at times. Why, we’ll invent a reason for being invited. A broken carriage axle just outside their entrance should do nicely.”
Kitty took a deep breath and kept her head down as she and the rest of the theater troupe were shown the stables after Mr. Lazarus had asked where they should leave their props and costumes. Puddles, The Grange butler, had looked down his nose at the gathering as if he thought himself superior to the lot of them, which riled Kitty no end. She remembered the pompous and overbearing Mr. Puddles from her childhood growing up in the village.
Although she’d been determined since her London success never to feel shame again, the truth was that it was potentially too dangerous to be recognized—certainly at this stage—so she’d kept her face averted each time she passed any of the staff.
The truth was that these last twenty-four hours the theater troupe had been staying in the village had been the most terrifying of her entire life. Fortunately, neither the tavern keeper, the draper nor the blacksmith had drawn the correlation between the drably-garbed village lass they remembered with Kitty La Bijou, celebrated London actress.
Well, it was one thing to avoid detection by the servants but what about tonight? Her father, for one, would die of apoplexy when he saw her on stage, and she doubted Araminta would be impressed, though it was fortunate Araminta remained in ignorance of her true identity and the fact they shared a father.
That’s when she simply pushed her shoulders back and once again reminded herself that she wasn’t the one who ought to feel shame. Nor fear of exposure. It was hardly as if her father would acknowledge her—the man who’d put her in this position. He’d be only too horrified at the sight of his illegitimate daughter on stage in his drawing room, contaminating the rest of his precious family.
Araminta would not acknowledge her either. She’d not want it known that she’d been aided by Kitty La Bijou the night she nearly lost her babe, when clearly she should not have been gallivanting alone in such an advanced state of pregnancy.
So that meant Kitty might well simply go through the motions of performing her role before she returned to London with the rest of the actors and actresses the following day, after which she hoped Silverton wouldn’t be too long in getting back from his estates.
She couldn’t wait to see the gorgeous man. He’d written to her every day, and somehow all his letters had reached her. Every time she recalled his words she felt warmed right through, and it was quite hard to concentrate; such as now when Jennie obviously felt aggrieved at having to utter something a second time since she felt it incumbent to jab Kitty in the ribs.
“I said, ain’t this the grandest ‘ouse yer ever saw, though yer’d reckon we’d a bin ‘oused inside instead o’ the stables.”
Kitty agreed, removing her mantle and untying her bonnet as she gazed at the piles of hay stacked about the walls. “The butler doesn’t know what to do with us. Did you see his face when Lydia smiled at him?”
“You mean pouted at him, all sultry-like?” Jennie giggled. “Yes, he went crimson to the tips of his ears.”
The ten members of the troupe had certainly attracted considerable interest from the staff at The Grange. Jennie had no compunction in revealing more than a respectable quantity of creamy-white shoulder and thigh to the goggle-eyed stable boys, as she immodestly slipped off her tawdry crimson and green silk day dress before wriggling into the scanty attire required for her role as a storm-tossed village maiden. Kitty, however, had no intention of being so immodest. She was always careful to ensure no male members of the company glimpsed her in any state of undress. No, Kitty reserved the seductive revealing of her body for Silverton. Other than Silverton—and Lord Nash, of course—no male could ever say they had seen Kitty La Bijou in any state other than decorous.
Mr. Lazarus seemed awed by his surroundings, as he strutted about with his thumbs stuck in the waistband of his trousers, the feather in his green felt hat making him look like a cockerel. Kitty didn’t miss the awe in his wide-eyed gaze as took in the handsome stables, the sweeping lawns, and the fine old Queen Anne manor house.
The fine old Queen Anne manor house that would have been Kitty’s home had her father not reneged on his promise to marry Kitty’s mother.
