Cosmo adopted a different approach the next time he saw Lissa. She was walking with the younger girls in the little park in front of the Lamonts’ townhouse. The evening shadows were long and Lissa was glad of the girls’ company as she became aware of him creeping up behind her. When she felt his hot breath on her cheek and his soft words in her ear, she knew he was trying to unnerve her. He would not succeed.
“What do you really know of Lord Debenham?” There was both envy and concern in his tone. “He wishes for a charcoal sketch, you know. A likeness.” Master Cosmo matched his steps with hers.
Lissa gripped his younger sister Nellie’s hand as she answered blithely, the lies tripping off her tongue, “Lord Debenham is a friend of my father’s. I have never met him, personally, until we danced at Lady Stanley’s, however, I barely looked at him, I was so overcome with fear he might recognize my name, though of course he did not. But I’m sorry, Master Cosmo, I am quite unable to render his likeness, if that’s what you want.”
She had determined already that she would not submit to any amount of bullying just to bolster Cosmo’s reputation as a painter. The young master had no concern for Lissa’s welfare. If Ralph hadn’t helped her gain admittance to the house last night, she might well be on her way back to her dear mama’s without a job right now.
Cosmo was silent for some moments, apparently not expecting such intransigence, so Lissa was surprised when he said pleasantly, “I’ve been invited to attend Mrs. Gargery’s garden party tomorrow and I would like you to accompany me.”
Nellie and Harriet had run on ahead so he added, “Not that anyone will be made aware of your lowly position. I can’t afford to have it known you are what you are, however, I thought you may enjoy the diversion.”
“And because Lord Debenham will be there?” But he’d found her weak spot. A garden party. It would be a chance to mix with her social superiors.
Immediately she corrected herself. Her social superiors? Her father was one of these people. So were her half-sisters, Araminta and Hetty.
She’d always held out the smallest hope that somehow she’d find her niche. That she wouldn’t be a lowly governess forever.
Then she thought of lovely Mr. Tunley and her stomach turned over. If only he wasn’t as poor as a church mouse, though his fulsome compliments had been quite safe to declare as he’d so clearly put himself out of contention for being a suitor. Even though she’d tried not to think of him all morning, the image of his handsome, smiling face with its unruly thatch of brown hair kept intruding.
But a garden party, where eligible young men might be similarly taken with her, was too irresistible to refuse. She was not being vain but at twenty, she needed to direct her future where she could. She had no intention of being a governess or living as a spinster with her mother for the rest of her life.
“I want you to enjoy what is not generally within your reach, Miss Hazlett.” His smile was false and cloying as he stopped to wave at his sisters before turning back to her. “And I want you to sketch Lord Debenham, though that will have to be achieved from a distance.”
Oh, but how she wanted to go. If Lord Debenham were going to be there, it was possible Mr. Tunley might also.
“What can I wear?”
He shrugged. “You’re enterprising enough to solve that problem yourself, surely? Mind, though, you can’t wear that.” He cast a disparaging look at her serviceable blue serge skirts.
“Miss Maria?” She knew it was hopeless, even as desperation prompted her to ask the question.
He shook his head. “I dare not try that again. No, Miss Hazlett, you must find a way to clothe yourself. If you’re as anxious to go as you appear, you’ll be enterprising enough to find a way.”
“I see you know nothing of how the world works. Of its impediments such as decent clothing, the want of which precludes those respectably born, but without funds, from mixing with their class. Perhaps you don’t really want me to accompany you after all.” Lissa glared. “You know I shan’t be able to sketch Lord Debenham unless I have a gown that is suitable.”
Cosmo cast her a look of frustrated despair. “Miss Hazlett, I am completely unable to provide you with a new dress. You know that. I have very little in the way of ready income, not that I’d spend it equipping you with new clothes when I think my offer of attending a garden party with a better class of people than you’re used to is generous enough. Now please, use that pretty head of yours to secure yourself something suitable for just two hours.”
Chapter Three
Araminta stared at the two bonnets lying on the bed. Deciding which one to wear might be the most difficult decision she’d have to make in a day. The bonnet of vermillion-colored satin, embossed with straw and surmounted by a bouquet of full-blown damask roses? Or the simple, leghorn bonnet, which would highlight her innocence when teamed with her demure sprigged muslin?
Her sister, sitting morosely on the bed behind her, had been no use in helping her decide. Hetty had appeared plainly bored by the question and apparently more concerned with how to conceal a pimple on her jawline. Araminta had offered her advice but Hetty’s mood seemed only to have grown darker at Araminta’s bolstering suggestion that patience and acceptance were far more becoming than petulance in one who did not have the striking looks to turn the heads of the gentlemen, and that such virtues may even be rewarded.
Despite Hetty’s lack of response, Araminta considered herself a caring sister and made a final attempt to ease her plain sister’s concerns. Deciding upon the more striking vermillion bonnet, she turned, tying the scarlet ribbons beneath her chin, and said with a reassuring smile. “Just wait another year, Hetty dearest, and your skin may well improve, not to mention your figure. You’re only in your first season out, and remember that Mama said she was more comely after a year of marriage than when she was making her debut. Now, what do you think of this now that it’s on? It favors my complexion, don’t you think? Certainly not a color you can wear, though.”
“All I know is that it’s a color favored by Jezebels wanting to get their claws into certain gentlemen. Dangerous ones,” Hetty hissed.
Araminta was truly shocked. This was not like Hetty at all. Hetty was generally sweet and pliable, as she needed to be when she lacked the benefit of Araminta’s good looks. “What do you know of such things, Hetty? Two evenings on the ballroom floor and it appears your innocent mind has been corrupted when that’s the only attribute you really have.” She shook her finger at her sister and tried to soften her rebuke with a fond smile. “Just don’t you let Mr. Woking hear you speak like that or he’ll run a mile.”
Hetty, who was now tying her garter, looked up with a glare. “I wish he would,” she muttered. “Better still, I wish you’d marry him. There! That would be poetic justice when you’ve set your cap at his wicked, dashing uncle.”
“What? Lord Debenham?” Araminta laughed, despite the discomfort that rippled through her. She’d caught Lord Debenham’s eye the first night she’d danced at Lady Knox’s ball, and the knowledge that he found her attractive had put steel into her spine and fired her with the conviction that here was a likely catch. Then she’d been favored by his attention at Lady Stanley’s ball a few nights previously. Lord Debenham was dashing, in a lean, spare and dangerous way, titled with expectations, and he was handsome. What more could an aspiring debutante want?
When she’d made mention of his lordship’s interest during a few minutes in the mending room in the hopes of soothing the mood of a certain woebegone Miss Hoskings—who, with the face of a roly-poly pudding and a body to match, would be lucky to catch a bald eagle—the response had been far from expected.
Apparently Lord Debenham “did things”, according to the wide-eyed Miss Hoskings. The young lady’s patent horror at the mention of Lord Debenham’s name had been followed by the whispered admonition that her very own aunt had been ruined by the gentleman, who did not deserve the moniker, and now it was a crime in the household to even speak her aunt’s name.
At first, Araminta had been skeptical, since surely any relative of Miss Hoskings could not rival a sprouting potato in looks. Then Miss Hoskings had risen from the chaise longue and declared in rather dramatic tones, “Five years ago, my aunt was tipped to marry the Marquis of Donley, she was so beautiful. But Mr. Carruthers, as he was then, before he became Lord Debenham, ruined her.”