Page 22 of The Lyon and the Lamb

Belinda wouldn’t be happy if the baby were to be sent away, either. Oh, what an accursed, agonizing mess this all was! As soon as she reached the carriage, Araminta subsided gratefully into its dim interior, determined never to go near the Lyon’s Den again—or Cleveland Row—or even this quarter of London.

She sighed and gazed unseeing through the window. She’d been pressured into the utmost folly and might not only hurt herself but everyone else into the bargain. Thank goodness she’d had the sense to call a halt before any more harm was done—just imagine the scandal she’d have created, marrying again so soon after Horatio’s death! There had to be another way out of her dilemma—she just needed time to think.

There was a sudden rattle of rain on the carriage roof—an April shower. Glancing up at the grey sky, she found that the weather matched her mood perfectly. The only thing that would cheer her up would be to find Belinda in good spirits when she returned to their rooms in Gordon Street.

Her sister was in the doorway the instant the carriage drew up before the house. However, her expression was hardly encouraging. As Araminta stepped down, Belinda rushed out to meet her, her face pale and anxious.

Araminta lifted her veil and attempted a smile. “What are you doing outside? You don’t have your shawl on, and it’s raining.”

“Oh, it will be done in a moment. Where have you been? We’ve been worried about you. A letter came—it must be important.”

Araminta hustled her sister indoors and immediately called for tea. Then, after divesting herself of her bonnet and gloves, she picked up the letter from the hall stand and took it into the parlor.

She recognized the writing, and her heart jerked uncomfortably. “It’s from Forty Court. I wonder what Mrs. Aldridge has to say to me?”

She’d hoped the Lamb estates had been left in good hands during her prolonged absence with the pregnant Belinda. The housekeeper and her husband, the steward, had reassured her everything would run smoothly, despite the recent death of their master. Were there financial issues? Problems with the planting at Home Farm, or sickness amongst the livestock? There was so much Araminta just didn’t know how to manage, had never been allowed to manage. If only she’d returned from the Lyon’s Den with a better outcome! Had she made a dreadful mistake in refusing Lord Aylsham’s suit?

She forced herself not to open the letter until she and Belinda were seated by the fire, with a fortifying cup of tea each and portions of Cook’s best currant cake. Then she read the missive through. Not believing her eyes, she read it again.

A cake crumb caught in her throat and she struggled to breathe. “How dare he!” she spluttered. “The infernal cheek of the fellow!”

“Drink your tea, Araminta. Don’t eat and speak at the same time—our poor, dead Mama would not have approved.”

Araminta made no comment. She dared not share this deeply unsettling news with her sister, lest the girl throw one of her sobbing fits.

“Would you mind terribly if we returned home, my dear?”

“What, leave London already? But we’ve only been here a little while. We haven’t seen Vauxhall Gardens, the Royal Academy, or even Hyde Park yet. Although I understand it may not yet be the weather for it. But I have my new pelisse and my woolen mittens that you made me. I’m sure I would not catch a cold.”

Thank goodness Belinda was focused on less weighty matters than their future security and comfort. “We’ll visit again when it’s warmer. But would you not like to return home, and feed the lambs, and help with the milking? There might even be a new litter of kittens from the farm cats.”

Belinda’s eyes brightened. “Is that what it says in your letter? I adore kittens.”

“Yes, it is mentioned.” Sometimes it was better to lie to Belinda than to tell her the truth. Out of the best possible motives, of course.

“What about the baby? Didn’t we need one? And don’t forget the orphans. I was hoping I could go and help with them. I’m sure Lord Aylsham would allow it if I asked him nicely.”

The mention of Lord Aylsham brought back the memory of his face as Araminta had last seen it, right before she’d abandoned him. Had that stricken look really been one of wounded pride? Or had he felt her desertion more keenly than she imagined?

No, surely not. They barely knew each other—except in that way, of course, where they probably understood each other better than many married couples.

Her cheeks heated. “Pray, do not mention him.”

“Have you come to blows again?”

“What makes you think we have ever come to blows?” Belinda didn’t normally notice anything outside her own narrow purview.

“I’m aware of more than you imagine, Araminta. I just don’t always know what to do about it—I’m so afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing. I have said, and done, many wrong things in the past, which I regret. Anyway, you don’t answer my question.”

“No—we have not had a fight.” Quite the opposite, in fact. They’d come to a very good understanding, until her brutal revelation. “I just realized that it was probably better for him if I didn’t trouble him anymore.”

“You were always very thoughtful.”

She’d always tried to be, but becoming the bride of Horatio Lamb had hardened her, and she was fighting to get back to the soft-hearted, compassionate person she’d been before.

“How long before you’re ready to make the journey? Will you be able to leave today?” She knew Belinda was not to be hurried—it took her time to become accustomed to any change of plan.

“Could we make it tomorrow? I so need to wash my hair and curl it—this damp weather treats it very shabbily. And there’s a tear in my traveling gown which I must mend. I know it isn’t far to travel, but one never knows what might happen—a wheel could come off, and we might have to spend the night at a country inn, and I would hate to be seen not looking my best.”