The Mysterious Governess by Beverley Oakley

Author:Beverley Oakley
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Beverley Oakley
Published: 2016-05-30T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Araminta gave herself a final considered appraisal in the looking glass at her dressing table and tried to temper her tears of frustration. Home? She couldn’t believe her father was demanding that she return.

“Do you think he’ll miss me, Jane?” she asked, turning her tragic gaze upon her maid who was hoisting up two carpet bags from the Aubusson carpet to take down to the carriage.

“Who, miss? Lord Debenham? He were mighty put out that you didn’t thank him for his flowers.”

“Of course, I don’t mean Lord Debenham! I mean Lord Ludbridge. I’ve not told Mama about him yet because I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You’re forever giving your family surprises, miss,” Jane muttered, heading for the door. “What surprise is this one?”

Araminta followed her. “I’d wanted Mama to be surprised and delighted when I told her about Lord Ludbridge’s marriage proposal but now it’s all spoiled for I’ll have to tell her all about him during the week I’m back home.”

“You didn’t mention he’d proposed, Miss.”

“Don’t be so silly, Jane. He hasn’t yet, but he will. I just wouldn’t want to make the same mistake I did over Sir Aubrey.”

“No, Miss, I’ll wager you wouldn’t.”

Araminta grabbed her maid’s shoulder and hauled her back into the room just as she’d reached the passage. “What can you mean, Jane?” she demanded, as close to slapping the girl’s face as she’d ever been. “You know, I don’t like your tone.” She closed her eyes briefly as she fought for forbearance. Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to make this an issue. Smiling quickly, as if she’d never been angry, she went on, “I made the mistake of telling Mama about Sir Aubrey too early on in the piece. I don’t want to make the same mistake regarding Lord Tunbridge.”

Since Lady Smythe’s ball the previous week, Lord Tunbridge had sent numerous notes to the house, and she’d danced with him at Almack’s. Then suddenly, her father had recalled her home, insisting she provide her mother with care and assistance during Lady Partington’s lying-in. Araminta didn’t know of any other debutante subjected to such parental thoughtlessness. As if Araminta could be of assistance. She didn’t know the first thing about babies.

Immediately she’d written him a letter, telling him she was very relieved that the birth two nights before had gone well but that she did not feel she could contribute what was necessary for the felicitation of mother and infant. This had resulted in a short, acidic response. Araminta was to leave London the following day or her father would come and fetch her back to The Grange, where she’d remain for the rest of the season.

So now Araminta was being rattled about in a carriage, returning to the estate for which her father had reminded her she’d been prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice in order to be its mistress: marry the heir presumptive, her late bacon-brained cousin Edgar.

Fortunately, Edgar had tragically drowned in an accident involving Lady Julia Ledger, but it was sobering to recall how close Araminta had come to ruining her life.

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