Changing the subject, he said, “Let me escort you home, ladies. And then perhaps I might impose and stay to enjoy your company as you prepare for this evening. It’ll remind me of the happy times I spent as one of the family at The Grange.”
Chapter Seven
It had always been a source of tension that Araminta and Hetty had to share a lady’s maid. That is, Araminta objected strongly to having to share. Hetty didn’t mind.
This evening Jane was busy with the tongs and sugar water as she created a becoming coiffure for the younger Miss Partington. She was a relatively new addition to the staff but her amia
bility, discretion and the fact she was as adept with a hairbrush as ensuring peace reigned in the Misses Partingtons’ dressing room made her popular with most of the household.
With eyes closed, Hetty surrendered to Jane’s ministrations and dreamed of Sir Aubrey with mixed feelings. Her current situation could not continue, she knew that. Exposure was a constant threat and she was a fool for courting discovery. Secretly she hugged the hope that she might supply the information Sir Aubrey needed to exonerate himself. Yet Hetty knew her ability to succeed in this arena was as unlikely as spinning straw into gold.
Araminta was pacing. “Are you nearly finished?” Her gusty sigh cut through the hitherto pleasurable silence. “I, too, have to present myself at Lady Kilmore’s ball and I am the eldest.”
Calmly, Jane countered, “I’d a’ tended to you first, Miss Araminta, had you bin here. But since your sister were already at her dressing table it were only good sense to start on her toilette. Don’t she look a right picture tonight? Reckon the London air agrees with you, Miss Henrietta.”
Araminta grunted. “Well, if I’m to receive an offer I must be where I’ve said I’ll be. Sir Aubrey is a busy man.”
“Sir Aubrey, is it, Miss Araminta?” replied Jane, raising one eyebrow. She pursed her lips as she continued to sweep the bristles through Hetty’s tresses.
Hetty found it easier not to betray her distress if she kept herself very still through the taunting of seemingly a thousand gargoyles who leered at her from the recesses of her brain. If Araminta regarded Sir Aubrey as a suitor, what chance did Hetty have?
Naturally she’d never expected in a millennium that Sir Aubrey would make her an offer…
But she certainly had not expected Araminta might waltz away with such a prize.
It had happened with Cousin Edgar but she would not…no, she would not allow it to happen with Sir Aubrey.
When Jane threaded the silver fillet through her finished coiffure, Hetty rose, holding up the masquerade mask she was to wear that evening, fluttering her eyelashes as she tried for a tone of gaiety.
If Sir Aubrey was pursuing Araminta, as her sister claimed, perhaps Hetty could gain greater insight into how matters really stood if she were in the guise of a king’s consort from the previous century.
Straightening from a deep curtsy to affect a very uncharacteristically seductive sashay about the room, she said airily, “Tonight I shall enjoy watching you cast your lures, Araminta, but perhaps I will surprise you and snare the game from under your nose.” Her gurgle of laughter was as much prompted by the ludicrousness of her managing such a thing as fear of Araminta’s power.
Not surprisingly, Araminta, now occupying the dressing table stool as Jane worked on her hair, considered Hetty’s words barely worthy of a response. Opening one eye she said lazily, “Whatever game you snare will only be on account of the fact that you’re in masquerade.”
Before Hetty could respond, Jane quickly intervened. “You both look ravissement.” The French adjective was incorrect and spoken with a strong East London twang, but Hetty appreciated Jane’s peacemaking attempt. Impulsively she put her hands on Jane’s shoulders and pulled her into a twirl. Her spirits had bounced back. Tonight she would shine. Beside Araminta she’d never thought that possible, but tonight they were equals. Hetty’s glossy brown ringlets would be looked upon as favorably as Araminta’s raven tresses by some men, surely? She was another creature beneath the mask and the layers of makeup, hoops and petticoats.
Another creature who could reinvent herself in whatever form she desired.
“You’ve made me into a beauty, Jane, and I may just succeed where Araminta does not. What do you think?”
Clearly uncomfortable, Jane stepped out of her grasp and bent to pick up a dropped hairpin from the floor. “You’d best both beware of that Sir Aubrey,” she said with a shrug. “Fancier fish to fry’s all I can say.”
Araminta opened her eyes. “Oh, do tell all, Jane!” She affected a hushed whisper. “How many wives has he locked away in his tower?”
“Can’t rightly say, miss, only my…that is, a young man what I know told me ‘bout him.”
Araminta put her head close to the looking glass to inspect the fall of a ringlet from her temple. “Out with it, Jane, if you want to keep your job beyond Christmas.”
Jane affected concentration in reordering the silver boxes and bottles lined up on the girls’ dressing table. “Sorry, but I ain’t one to gossip, miss,” she whispered. “‘Specially when it might cause harm.”
“He’s dangerous?” Araminta’s eyes gleamed. Hetty wasn’t surprised. She would have dropped the subject but her sister, jumping up and gripping Hetty’s hand, demanded, “You’re duty-bound to protect us, Jane. I promise your young man, whoever he is, will be safe.”
It was only after prolonged interviewing that Jane conceded her admirer Jem was her source and that he happened to be valet to Lord Debenham.
Hetty’s mouth dropped open. “Your young man is Lord Debenham’s valet?”
Araminta sent her a sideways glance. “Are you sizing Lord Debenham up as your future husband, Hetty? He’s very dashing, of course, but hardly the type who’d look your way, I’m afraid, dearest.”