Lady Rosabella's Ruse (10 page)

A soft laugh greeted her words. ‘It’s not friendship I want, my dear Rose. But it will do for now.’

Her heart rattled back to life. It seemed they’d reached some sort of understanding. He would chase and she would run. Oh, how she wished she could stand still.

By two in the afternoon, all the guests, including a rather wan-looking Lady Smythe, gathered in the drawing room looking for something to do. There would be no escape for Rosa today.

‘It is such a lovely day, why not ride out to some local beauty spot?’ Mrs Mallow suggested.

‘Why not a picnic?’ Fitzwilliam said, his round face beaming. ‘On the shore.’

The sea was a bare two miles away. ‘I love the sea,’ Mrs Phillips enthused.

‘There are no bathing machines there, old girl,’ her husband said.

‘A walk on the beach would be pleasant,’ Mrs De Lacy said. ‘After a day indoors.’ She turned to Lady Smythe. ‘That is, if you feel well enough?’

Lady Smythe smiled. ‘I thought I was going to have one of my sick headaches, but the powders Lady Keswick sent along did the trick. I am feeling much more the thing.’

‘Then it is agreed,’ Lady Keswick said, beaming. ‘A picnic on the shore it is. Rose, please ask Cook to put up some baskets. Have two carriages prepared. The ladies can drive, the men can ride. A sea breeze will do us all good.’

‘I must change,’ Lady Smythe said.

‘I’ll need my parasol,’ Mrs De Lacy announced.

The party broke up to prepare and Rosa started off to complete her tasks. ‘A moment, Rose, if you please.’

She had never heard such a stern note in her employer’s voice. Had Lord Stanford broken his word? Oh, why had she trusted the man? She should have gone to Lady Keswick first thing this morning and owned up. With sinking heart she went to stand before her employer. ‘Yes, my lady.’

The elderly lady peered up at her. ‘Are you quite well? You have dark shadows beneath your eyes.’

Lack of sleep. ‘I am fine.’

Lady Keswick frowned. ‘It’s not one of these young reprobates upsetting you, is it? You are worth ten of any of them.’

If only it was something so simple. She shook her head. ‘Perhaps, like Lady Smythe, I was affected by the stormy weather.’ Hope sprang into her mind. ‘Though I would prefer to stay at home today and rest, if I may.’ She could slip out to Gorham Place.

‘Nonsense, young lady. A sea breeze will put colour in those pale cheeks of yours.’

No point in arguing. Her employer never listened.

Lady Keswick cocked her head on one side. ‘And don’t wear black. You will be far too hot. I must say, I really am tired of those widow’s weeds of yours. Too gloomy by half.’

‘But—’

‘Your husband passed on more than a year ago. It is time you came out of mourning. You impressed Phillips with your singing yesterday, now impress him with your looks. Ellie told me you have other gowns.’

The maid assigned to help her dress. Rosa bobbed a curtsy. What could she say? And Lady Keswick was right. Because if she didn’t find the will, she needed a way to make more money than she would ever make as a companion.

Impressing Mr Phillips might indeed be the best course of action. Not that he would think her any great beauty.

Chapter Six

I
t was a surprisingly short time before the company was ready to leave, the ladies in the carriages and the gentlemen on horseback. If anyone was surprised to see Rosa dressed in a muslin of pale peach and a chip-straw bonnet instead of her usual black, they were too polite to say. Or perhaps no one had noticed. After all, she was barely more than a servant in this house.

Happily, all seemed in high spirits—even Lady Smythe seemed to have regained some of her colour. She had chosen to wear a white muslin sprigged with forget-me-nots and looked less like a married woman and more like a young débutante. She allowed Lord Bannerby to pay her outrageous compliments as he helped her into the carriage. Stanford had merely raised a careless eyebrow.

Was the young matron trying to make him jealous? If so, it wasn’t working. And for some reason, Rosa felt glad as he rode along beside the carriage which she, Lady Keswick and Mrs De Lacy occupied. Mr Fitzwilliam rode on their other side and the rest of the gentlemen accompanied the second carriage. Two liveried grooms sat behind each carriage, their role to carry the baskets and blankets to the chosen spot on the beach and help Lady Keswick into her chair.

After half an hour, the carriages turned a corner and the sparkling blue of the sea spread out before them. The white sails of ships plying the coast added to the charming picture.

‘Did I not tell you Camber Sands was one of the loveliest spots in all of England, Mrs De Lacy?’ Lady Keswick said. ‘It was the reason I bought The Grange. I love the sea.’

The widow smiled. ‘You did, my lady. And you were right.’

The coachman drew the carriage off the road and into the sand dunes. ‘It is lovely,’ Rosa agreed. She’d known that before they set out. Another reason she had thought to cry off. Too many memories.

‘Charming,’ Mrs Phillips said, joining them as they walked across the dunes to the beach. ‘Simply delightful.’

While the footmen unpacked the food, the sunshades and the blankets under Lady Keswick’s eagle eye, the party walked to where the sea lapped on the long stretch of golden sand.

Gulls wheeled overhead in anticipation of crumbs. Rosa had the urge to take off her sandals and paddle as she had as a child when her parents visited this beach.

Happy times and, surprisingly, looking back was not as painful as she had expected.

‘May I say how delectable you look,’ a dark voice murmured behind her.

Delectable. He made her sound edible. A thrill of something dark ran through her as she swung around to meet Lord Stanford’s mocking gaze.

‘I am delighted to see you out of mourning.’

‘At Lady Keswick’s request. She thought I would find the heat of the sun unbearable.’ Why explain? From the look on his face, he thought she had dressed for his benefit, and to her shame, she had wondered about his reaction as Ellie had helped her dress.

‘Then we have the sun to thank for a lovely sight,’ he said smoothly.

The man was a practised rake and seducer. Such pleasantries would drip from his tongue for any female on whom he set his sights, but still, the compliment pleased her. More fool she. Because no matter how she tried to retain a calm appearance, her passions ran hot beneath her skin. Why shouldn’t she enjoy the attentions of a handsome man for one afternoon? As of tonight, her time here was done. Just for one day she would like to forget her troubles, pretend she was an ordinary young woman out on a picnic with her peers.

She twirled her sunshade and smiled at him. ‘You are very kind.’

His expression warmed. ‘Shall we walk?’ He held out his arm. She rested her hand on it and strolled beside him.

The party wandered in twos and threes along the beach, while Lady Keswick sat queenlike in her wheeled chair beneath a sunshade.

‘Is this not just divine?’ Mrs Mallow called out as she strolled towards them on Mr Hapton’s arm. Her peacock-blue muslin gown left nothing of her lower limbs to the imagination as the wind moulded it to her form.

‘It is, indeed,’ Stanford said, raising his voice to carry over the hiss of breaking wavelets. ‘The sand is so flat when the tide is out, I thought we might play a game of cricket after lunch. The ladies against the gentlemen.’

‘Capital idea,’ Fitzwilliam said, bringing Mrs De Lacy to join them.

The widow hooked her arm through Rosa’s. ‘You do play, don’t you, Mrs Travenor? And may I say, it is so good to see you out of black. Not that it didn’t suit you,’ she added hastily. ‘But that shade of blush looks stunning on you.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Lord Stanford said with a wink and a devastating smile.

Her heart picked up speed. Her breathing shortened. She felt as if she was in a runaway carriage heading downhill. Dash it all, no matter what her head was telling her about him, her stupid heart basked in his approval.

Lunch over, most of the party once more dispersed along the beach. Garth remained stretched out on the sand, peeling an orange for Lady Smythe. He’d deliberately chosen to sit beside her on the blankets, hoping for a quiet word. Penelope had looked thoroughly nervous when he sat down. And so she should.

Mrs Travenor, on the other hand, didn’t know the meaning of fear. He glanced at her seated beside Lady Keswick, her fingers drawing patterns in the sand, her thoughts clearly far away.

In her dreary blacks, she had been exotically unattainable. In peach-coloured muslin, it was as if an orchid had bloomed. His first sight of her waiting to board the carriage had taken away his breath. She’d dressed her hair differently, too, no doubt to accommodate the fetching straw bonnet’s low crown and wide brim. Black curls framed her face, and a low knot of thick black ropes nestled at her nape.

He wanted to see that hair unbound. Spread around her shoulders. Preferably her naked shoulders.

He handed another orange segment to Lady Smythe, aware of Rose’s darting glances and puzzled expression.

Inwardly, he cursed.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t keep two women dangling, but he would have preferred to devote his whole attention to Mrs Travenor. Penelope was a self-imposed duty, but one he could not abandon. Not and look at himself in the mirror, at any rate.

‘You don’t look well, Penelope,’ he murmured so no one else could hear. ‘You don’t belong here. Why not go home?’

She bit her lip, then lowered her voice. ‘Home to what? Mark has gone away on business.’

He wanted to curse.

She twisted the ends of her bonnet’s ribbons around her fingers. ‘Mark doesn’t care what I do and I don’t care what he does.’

He blinked at the bitterness in her voice. And the hurt.

It occurred to him that the blame wasn’t all on one side. Not once in the year of Penelope’s come out had she behaved with anything but utmost decorum until she met Mark. For all her brave smiles, she was clearly out of her element here. Why hadn’t he seen that? ‘What did Mark do?’

She turned her face away. ‘Why would I tell you?’ she said in a low voice. ‘You are his friend. You would just take his part.’

A cold fist clenched in his gut. Dear God, was she about to cry? He looked around desperately for some help. Rose studiously avoided his gaze, though Lady Keswick was watching him with narrowed eyes.

‘Look, Penelope, I don’t know what Mark did, but—’

She pushed to her feet. ‘I’m going for a walk. And no, I don’t want your company. Or anyone else’s.’ There really were tears in her eyes.

Damnation. He didn’t deal with crying women. They cried. He gave them diamonds and left.

‘Go with her, Rose,’ Lady Keswick said, suddenly.

Garth glanced at her in surprise.

‘See if you can find out what is wrong with the poor dear,’ the old lady said. ‘You know how these things are for young brides.’

A frowning Rosa got to her feet. ‘I—’

‘Go on,’ Lady Keswick urged. ‘Before Bannerby sees she’s alone.’

‘She doesn’t belong here,’ Garth said, watching Rose catch Penelope and walk by her side.

The old lady looked at him for a moment. ‘I know. Where on earth is that husband of hers? He should have been here by now.’

Right. Where was Mark? He’d taken to disappearing quite a bit over the past year. Garth swallowed. Surely his friend didn’t have a mistress? He’d seemed so happy with his wife. ‘I don’t know where he is.’

‘Well, if he doesn’t arrive soon, he’ll have a good deal of trouble on his hands. Perhaps Rose can find out what is going on.’

Rose. A woman who searched other people’s houses at night. He wasn’t sure how she could possibly be of help. He wasn’t sure he ought to let her anywhere near Mark’s wife and yet he trusted her a good deal more than he trusted any of the rest of them.

A surprising admission.

Penelope was such a dainty little flower. To Rosa she looked as if she might fly away in a high wind. Fortunately today was calm. Rosa hesitated, her stomach churning even as the question formed in her mind. ‘Did Lord Stanford do something?’

Lady Smythe gazed out across the waves. ‘No.’

Gladness rushed through her. Good Lord, had that horrid feeling in her stomach been jealousy? Surely not? ‘Was it someone else? Lady Keswick will speak to them if one of the men…’ Oh, goodness, what on earth did one say? ‘I mean. If one of them…’

‘It is nothing so simple.’ Lady Smythe turned her head and looked at Rosa, her bottom lip trembled, her clear green eyes filled with tears. ‘It is Mark, my husband. He went away with another woman. I saw them together at the coaching house.’

‘Oh,’ Rosa said, nonplussed. ‘You are sure it was your husband?’

A tear rolled down her face and she dashed it away. ‘Positive.’

‘Might he have been with a friend or a relative? Someone he was seeing off?’ Rosa felt as if she had one foot in a very rocky boat.

‘He followed her in. He was going to S-Scotland.’

‘Did you suspect something was wrong? Is that why you followed him?’

‘No.’ She sounded so woebegone, Rosa couldn’t help but put an arm around her shoulders. The slight body shuddered beneath her arm. ‘I knew he was going away. On business. We had an argument and I w-wouldn’t k-kiss him goodbye. But I felt so bad I went to tell him I was sorry before he left and I s-saw him.’

Rosa winced. ‘Did he see you?’

‘No. I turned and ran.’

‘You know, there might be some reasonable explanation.’

Lady Smythe started walking again, her gaze fixed on her feet. ‘He was expected home two days ago. I thought he would come. I thought he would come riding up and explain it all. And say he was sorry. Now I’m stuck here with all these horrid men.’

‘No, you are not,’ Rosa said. ‘You don’t have to stay.’

‘What if there really is an innocent explanation? I’ve ruined everything. It’s my temper.’ She touched her hair. ‘He’ll never believe nothing happened.’

‘You love him.’

‘Yes.’

‘And he loves you.’

‘I thought he did. He said he did. Mrs Mallow said all men are like that. They marry for gain and abandon their wives.’

‘Not all of them.’ Her father didn’t abandon his wife, even when society turned their backs. And that’s why she wouldn’t believe he’d abandoned his daughters. ‘If he loves you, he will believe you.’

‘If I had known Stanford would be here, I never would have come here in the first place.’

None of this was making any sense. The nasty feeling had returned. ‘You said he didn’t do anything.’

‘He’s Mark’s best friend. He keeps telling me to go home.’

Rosa felt her jaw drop. Never would she have imagined Stanford with such chivalric tendencies. ‘He’s right, you know. Better to face the music than have your husband come and fetch you away.’

‘Do you think so? I thought it would be romantic.’

‘Like a knight on a white charger?’

She nodded.

Rosa huffed out a breath, because she honestly didn’t know. She didn’t have any experience at all. She’d been locked up in a girls’ school until a month ago. ‘You know your husband better than anyone. It is something you must decide. Or perhaps talk to Lady Keswick. She’s very…shrewd about the ways of the world.’

Lady Smythe stopped walking and turned to face Rosa with a tentative smile. ‘Thank you. It is such a relief to have someone to talk to.’

‘I’m glad I could help.’ If only her own problems were as easily solved. Not that she thought Lady Smythe would have an easy time of it, but if her husband truly loved her, it would surely work out in the end. Rosa, on the other hand, knew in her heart that she was putting off confronting her deepest fears.

They continued walking in silence. Rosa bent and picked up a cockle shell, striped orange and white on the outside. It was pale pink on the inside. ‘This is pretty, don’t you think?’

‘Y-yes.’ She took a shuddering little breath and pointed with her toe. ‘There is another. I don’t think I have ever seen a shell that shade of lilac before.’

Rosa picked it up and handed it to her. Lady Smythe gazed at her with a measure of composure. ‘I beg you will not say anything to Mrs Mallow about what we discussed.’ She waved a hand. ‘She would think me such a ninny.’