Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) Read Online Free

He rubbed at the arm. ‘Bit old though. You’d think they’d have better in a house like this.’ He examined his fingers. ‘Dusty too. Not been done for weeks, I’ll be bound.’
    Muffled thuds and mutterings drifted through the open door. ‘Sounds as if they’re getting our things inside at last.’ He folded his hands across his ample stomach. ‘Have a look, girl. Make sure they go to the right rooms.’
    Araminta took herself into the hall. Two men struggled to manoeuvre the largest of her three trunks across the threshold. The younger one let a corner slip. Despite his heroic attempts to stop it, the trunk slid out of his grasp. One corner scraped the side of his ankle on its way to the tiles. His face turned puce. Strong white teeth gripped his lower lip against a curse in case the young miss should dismiss him out of hand.
    ‘Take care,’ Araminta said, not noticing the damaged ankle. ‘That trunk has my looking glass in it.’
    ‘Yes, miss,’ the stressed young man gasped. ‘Sorry, miss.’
    The next hour passed quickly for Araminta. She stood on the main landing calmly directing laden men to this room or that. When the last small box had been deposited she told them to wait in the hall and returned to the drawing room.
    Her father lay slumped in his chair, head lolled back, eyes closed. Loud snores emanated from his open mouth. Araminta tapped his shoulder. He did not stir. A snore, louder than most, thundered across the delicate room. She tapped again. The merchant snuffled, wriggled his nose and opened his eyes.
    ‘They’ve finished, Pa.’
    Archibald Neave struggled upright. ‘Ah. Well. All done?’
    Araminta nodded. ‘Yes. The trunks are in our rooms and the footmen and maids are in the kitchen with our cook. The porters are in the hall with the drivers.’
    ‘Right. They’ll be wanting their pay.’ He levered himself out of the armchair and waddled out of the room.
    Minutes later the men trooped out of the front door, rubbing their shoulders or flexing their fingers and clinking coins into their pockets. One young man was limping. The drivers climbed onto their boxes and flicked the reins. Calls of ‘Walk on’ had the horses stepping off. The carriages and fourgon pulled away.
    A scowl followed them from a first floor window next door.
    ‘Exactly what I’d expect,’ Lady Fosbury muttered to no-one. ‘Not even well-bred enough to have them use the lower entranceway.’ She scowled more fiercely until the men had disappeared. Half-turning from the window, she paused. A figure was advancing across the square. A thin, female figure, on foot, entirely unaccompanied by footman or maid. Worse still, the creature carried a large portmanteau. Her ladyship squinted in an unbecoming fashion. She should really stop refusing to consider spectacles. ‘Now what? Are we to be invaded by more inappropriate persons?’
    She leant closer to the glass. Something about the figure looked familiar. Her ladyship squinted harder. Lines crinkled beside her eyes and across her forehead. After a second her head whipped back.
    ‘Good heavens. Wilhelmina Orksville. Whatever is she doing here?’ The horror of an unnoticed calling card afflicted her. A greater horror followed. Wilhelmina Orksville did not approach the Fosbury abode. She went instead to the house next door.
    ‘Good heavens,’ her ladyship repeated. ‘Whatever can it mean?’
    It meant, as Araminta found when Miss Orksville was conducted into the drawing room some moments later, that her trials had begun.
    Rigidly upright on one of the drawing room’s fragile chairs, Miss Orksville looked from father to daughter seated uneasily side-by-side on the sofa opposite. ‘I have devised the strategy for Araminta’s entrance into the
ton
. Once she has been dressed in a manner more suitable to her situation . . .’ A disapproving glance took in the scarlet and gold patterned gown that matched Araminta’s red pelisse. ‘We will endeavour to create