Lord Portman's Troublesome Wife (15 page)

‘They sold him worthless shares in a company I feel sure does not exist. I cannot think why he was so gullible. He lost everything.’

Her version tallied with her brother’s, so he was inclined to believe it was true. ‘What was the name of this company? I might be able to track it down for you.’

‘The Barnstaple Mining Company.’

‘I have never heard of it. Do you know anything else about it?’

‘According to the family lawyer, who says he
advised my father against investing, its headquarters was the Nag’s Head, Covent Garden, and the man who sold him the shares was a Mr Michael O’Keefe.’

Harry managed to turn his exclamation of shock into a grunt. He took a gulp of coffee to gather his wits. ‘Rosamund, the Nag’s Head is a low tavern, hardly the place from which to run a legitimate business.’

‘I realised that as soon as I saw it.’

‘You went there?’ She continually astonished him. ‘When was this?’

‘The week after Papa died. I hoped to meet Mr O’Keefe and persuade him to buy back the shares. I was angry. I am still angry when I think about it. The man should not be allowed to profit by his crime.’

The conversation was becoming unreal and he had to be careful what he said. If she had met, or even been seen by, O’Keefe, they could all be in trouble. ‘The Nag’s Head is a dreadful place, a den of thieves,’ he said. ‘It is a wonder you were not set upon and robbed.’

‘Do you know it?’ she asked. It was hardly the sort of place someone in his position would frequent. There was so much she still had to learn about him.

‘Only by reputation,’ he said guardedly. ‘Did you see this Mr O’Keefe?’

‘No, the landlord denied all knowledge of him.’

He breathed a sigh of relief and put out his hand to cover hers and it had the same effect his touch always had; her heart began to race and she felt the warmth flooding her face. ‘Rosamund, my dear,’ he said, apparently unaware of the tumult he caused in her breast, both by his touch and his endearment. That neither meant anything to him she was well aware. ‘You must
never go there again. You are married to me now and you do not need anything from that man and his Barnstaple Mining Company. He would not give it to you anyway. He would undoubtedly say your father invested of his own free will. You have no legal redress at all.’

‘Max says neither the man nor the company exists. The names were invented to fool my father.’

‘In that I am inclined to agree with your brother,’ he said, patting her hand and pouring more coffee. It had gone cold and he rang for a servant to bring more. ‘Now, what are you planning to do today?’

As far as he was concerned the subject was closed and she knew better than to persist. ‘Mr Travers has found a quiet little pony for Annabelle,’ she told him. ‘I was planning to teach her to ride, with his help. And I thought we might go for a walk later. Would you like to join us?’

He hesitated. The more he was in her company, the more he realised he was becoming enmeshed in a life he had never intended. Him, playing the family man! It was laughable. And yet he did not laugh. Instead he said, ‘Why not? Travers has his work to do. I can teach the child to ride.’

They spent the morning teaching Annabelle to ride the little grey pony. She was an apt pupil and they were soon laughing at her enjoyment. In the afternoon they took a picnic with them on their walk. They found a quiet spot under a tree which hung over a stream and spread the cloth and unpacked the basket while Annabelle discarded shoes and stockings and paddled in the shallows, bunching her skirt up in her hands.

‘She has made great strides, thanks to you,’ Harry told Rosamund as they sat side by side on the ground beneath a tree, both fondly watching her.

‘She is her father’s daughter. Bright as a button. I only have to tell her something once and she has the measure of it. Have you noticed she is speaking so much better? There is hardly a trace left of the vulgar tongue she learned at the farm.’

‘Yes, I had. Has she forgotten her life there?’

‘Not entirely. Now and again she says something that makes me realise that her early upbringing is engrained deeply.’

‘I am sure, with your help, she will soon put it behind her.’

‘Thank you, my lord. Already I love her dearly.’ She paused, took a deep breath and went on. ‘But I think she misses the other children. To her they are her brothers and sisters.’

‘Ridiculous! I am not having them at Bishop’s Court if that is what you are thinking.’

She turned to him in shocked surprise. How could he be so obtuse? How much more of a hint did he need? ‘No, my lord, I was not thinking of other people’s children at all.’

‘Good.’ He called to Annabelle to come and sit down to eat and Rosamund realised she was getting nowhere at all. From being happy and relaxed, they became tense and distantly polite with each other and the walk home was a silent one and, on her part, miserable. She had done what she had warned herself against: she had fallen hopelessly in love with her husband.

H
arry was nowhere near as obtuse as Rosamund thought he was. He could readily believe she wanted children of her own; he could see she was a born mother. After all, she had agreed to marry him to give him an heir. So why could he not oblige her? What had Ash said to him?
Women do have a choice, to marry or not to marry, and most, if you ask them, would certainly say they want to be married and to have children. It is their lot in life and they know it.

Until today he had not thought Rosamund minded that he had done nothing to bring it about, might even have been relieved. But it seemed he had been wrong. His whole being was doing battle with itself. Duty fought compassion, desire fought fear, his newfound love for his daughter fought the image of a dead face. If only he could talk to Rosamund about it, tell her how Beth’s dying curses haunted him, ask her if she knew what was involved; not just the sexual act, but the giving birth, the pain and the risk. But whenever he came close
to it, he shied away. For a man who took risks as a matter of course, who could hold his own in a fight, both physical and verbal, who prided himself on his sang-froid, he was behaving like an untried boy.

He went back to town the next day. There was a meeting of the Piccadilly Gentlemen to attend and he wanted to go to the Nag’s Head. If O’Keefe was there, he would try to persuade him to initiate him into the gang, not only to bring about the arrest of some of the most daring and blatant coiners, but to find out what he could about the Barnstaple Mining Company. Like Max, he did not think it existed, but O’Keefe had managed to convince Sir Joshua that it did. And Sir Joshua had conveniently died, leaving O’Keefe with his ill-gotten gains. If he did nothing else for Rosamund, he could try to obtain redress for her and prevent the man from gulling others in the same way. But nabbing the coiners had to come first.

The members of the Society for the Discovery and Apprehending of Criminals were all in attendance and the main item on the agenda was the security of George III, both at his wedding, now only a few days away and, more importantly, at the coronation, which would follow two weeks later. The wedding would be a private affair, but the coronation was for the populace who loved a grand pageant. London was crowded with sightseers coming to see the king and queen in their magnificent robes being conveyed to Westminster Abbey. Even those who had retired to their country estates for the summer were coming back. Entertainments were being arranged, balls, routs and fireworks, almost as if it were a second Season.

‘And in any crowd there are bound to be pickpockets,’ Jonathan added.

‘And people passing counterfeit money,’ Harry put in. ‘The coiners haven’t had such a golden opportunity for years, if you will forgive the pun.’

‘I have spoken to Sir John Fielding,’ James went on, smiling at Harry’s little joke. ‘He is recruiting more Bow Street Runners to mingle with the crowds. I have said we will all be available to give assistance. I hope I may have your co-operation.’

They murmured agreement.

‘I have had an invitation to the coronation,’ Jonathan said. ‘Louise can think of nothing but what she will wear.’

‘You are not the only one of us invited,’ James said. ‘I think we all are, in recognition of the work we do.’ He gave them each an envelope inscribed with the royal coat of arms, though Sam Roker, not being a man of rank, was omitted. He took no offence, knowing he would feel like a fish out of water in that company.

‘With all of us in attendance, who would dare raise his hand against the king and queen?’ Harry said, with a laugh.

They went on to discuss the role each would play on the days leading up to the ceremony. When the meeting was concluded, Harry and Ash left together as was their wont. ‘Have you heard any more of your coiners?’ Ash asked.

‘No, I have a feeling O’Keefe is avoiding me. I went to the Nag’s Head earlier today, but I was told he had not been in the tavern for weeks. He knows I want to be admitted to the gang and he is reluctant to share the profits any further than his existing cohorts, but I shall
persist. With the festivities drawing near, he might emerge on the streets. The opportunities for passing bad coins will be too tempting to ignore.’ He could not say anything about the Barnstaple Mining Company without implicating Rosamund and that he would not do.

‘Will you bring Lady Portman to London for the celebrations?’

‘Naturally I will.’

Rosamund was not sure she wanted to go. It meant leaving Annabelle and as the child was settling into her new home and taking lessons with a governess, she felt it might put her back to be left.

‘What about Annabelle?’ she asked, when Harry showed her the elaborately decorated invitation that evening, having returned from town only an hour before.

‘What about her? She will be perfectly happy with Miss Gunstock and Mrs Rivers. And we will only be gone three weeks.’

‘But do you really need me?’

‘Of course I need you. What would it look like among the
ton
if I turned up without my wife on such a formal occasion? The gabble grinders would have a field day.’ It was said rather impatiently, but he was well aware that his need of her went much deeper than his reluctance to invite gossip. It was at the core of his being and nothing could shift it.

‘Very well,’ she agreed, admitting to herself that she would enjoy going to town as Lady Portman and taking her place in Westminster Abbey alongside her husband. ‘When do we leave?’

‘Tomorrow. Do you think you can be ready?’

‘Yes, of course. I will give Janet her instructions when I go up.’

‘Did you have a good day today?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Annabelle rode her pony round the yard. She is keen to ride out, but I told her it was too soon, she must become more proficient before she goes on the road, on account of other traffic. We walked into the village and took comforts to the sick and stopped to watch the harvesters. This afternoon we read a book together and Miss Gunstock gave her some arithmetic problems to do.’

‘A busy day by the sound of it. You will perhaps be glad of a change of scenery.’

‘But I love it here. The air is so clear and fresh, not like the dirt and fog of London. The villagers are so friendly. And I love being with Annabelle. You know, she called me Mama for the first time today.’

‘And that pleased you, I do not doubt.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. There was only one thing that worried her about that. If she never had a child by him, never gave him the heir he wanted so badly, then he might send her away and annul the marriage and she would not see Annabelle again. Or him. But how did he expect her to fulfil her undertaking if he did nothing to bring it about? He had given no indication that he was repulsed by her; on the contrary, he was careful of her, frequently complimentary, and often took her hand or reached out to push a stray curl from her cheek. His touch always made her breath catch in her throat, as if it might be a prelude to something more intimate, but then that strange haunted look would come over his face
and it was a minute or so before he had himself under control and was smiling again.

‘Mrs Rivers has been singing your praises,’ he said. ‘And that is no mean achievement on your part. She is very particular.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘Rosamund, I wish you would not address me so formally when we are alone. You know my name, pray use it.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ They both laughed aloud when she realised what she had said. ‘Habits are hard to break, aren’t they?’ she added.

‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘And the longer you have had the habit, the harder it becomes.’ He paused, wondering whether to go on and try to explain himself. ‘I have perhaps become too used to my own ways to change easily. I fear I am poor company.’ Which was not what he meant to say at all.

‘You are not ill company, my…Harry, quite the contrary. When you are at home, you are always ready to accommodate me and fall in with whatever I am doing. I like having you at home.’ Which was not what she meant to say either.

‘Thank you, my dear. When you come to Portman House with me, we shall be more in each other’s company. Besides the coronation, there will be any number of social occasions to which we shall be invited. We could perhaps hold our own entertainment. What do you think?’

‘If you wish, but I have had no practice at being a society hostess, although when my mother was alive she entertained a great deal and I often helped her.’

‘I am persuaded you will do splendidly. Shall we hold a Coronation Ball?’

A ball was rather grander than she had bargained for, but she wanted to please him. If she pleased him enough, he might remember why he had married her and make her truly his wife. ‘That would be splendid.’

As always when Harry was at home, he spent some time in the library going over accounts and investments, some time with his steward and Travers, keeping up to date with events on the estate and discussing future plans, but more with Rosamund and Annabelle. The child had lost her fear of him and would chatter away about things she had seen and what she was learning, not only from her stepmama but from Miss Gunstock. The governess was the daughter of a baronet fallen on hard times, which was one of the reasons Rosamund had hired her; she was only too aware that she had only just escaped a similar fate herself. Miss Gunstock could not have been more inaptly named; she was thin and pale and softly spoken, but she was a good teacher and Annabelle had taken to her.

Rosamund saved telling the child she was going away until bedtime when she was tucked up with a favourite rag doll, waiting to hear the nightly story Rosamund always told her, often one invented especially for her. When it was finished, Rosamund tucked her up. ‘Tomorrow, sweetheart, I am going to London with your papa and you must be a good girl while I am gone and do as Miss Gunstock bids you.’

‘How long will you be gone?’

‘Three weeks, I think.’

‘Three weeks is for ever.’

‘No, it is only twenty-one days. Miss Gunstock will help you to count them. I am going to King George’s coronation, so I will have wonderful stories to tell you when I come back.’

‘What’s a coronation?’

Rosamund was in the middle of explaining this when Harry crept into the room and joined in. By the time they had finished Annabelle was reconciled to their absence and was drifting off to sleep. They crept from the room and returned downstairs.

‘I have to do some paperwork,’ he said, as they reached the library door. ‘I doubt I shall finish before midnight so I will say goodnight now.’ He took her shoulders in his hands, looked down into her upturned face as if studying her features, then bent and kissed her on the mouth. She felt herself responding to the pressure of his lips with delighted surprise. It was not a duty kiss of a man dismissing a wife for whom he had little affection; it was real and gently demanding and aroused them both to undeniable passion.

The sound of footsteps impinged on his ears before she heard them, and he pulled away from her with a wry smile. She felt so weak, she had trouble keeping upright and put a hand on the back of a chair that stood against the wall to steady herself. The night-duty footman emerged from the back regions of the house to take up his position at the door. He walked past them, looking straight ahead, trying to pretend he had not seen them. It broke the tension and they both laughed.

‘Goodnight, my dear,’ Harry said and disappeared into the library, shutting the door after him.

She wondered whether to follow, but decided
against it. If she tried to push him too soon, she would defeat her own purpose. ‘One step at a time,’ she murmured to herself and made her way to the drawing room where she sat on a sofa and tried to read a book. She was still trembling, still in a cloud of pure euphoria and the words danced on the page. Giving up, she went up to her room where Janet was doing the last of the packing.

She could not believe she would need all those clothes for a three-week stay, but the maid insisted she did. ‘You will need to buy more when you arrive, my lady,’ she said, trying to fold a quilted petticoat into a small enough parcel to go into a trunk that was already overflowing. ‘You must be a credit to his lordship when he takes you to all the grand occasions. Mr Sylvester says he always sends his lordship out in the pink and it is important to send out your mistress befitting her lord and if I need any advice to go to him.’

Rosamund laughed. ‘I think Mr Sylvester has an exaggerated idea of his own importance, Janet. Lord Portman is perfectly able to make up his own mind what to wear.’

‘So he may be, Miss Rosie, but I often wonder why he puts himself about as a coxcomb when he is nothing like that when he is at Bishop’s Court.’

‘Country wear is not the same as town wear, Janet.’

‘That,’ said Janet in triumph. ‘is what I have been trying to tell you. You will need to go shopping.’

The packing finished, Janet helped Rosamund undress and then retired to her own room. Left alone, Rosamund lay in bed, wondering if Harry would come to her that night. But he did not. Still in a
dreamlike state brought on by that kiss, she was disappointed, but not downhearted. Perhaps when they were in London…

Harry sat at his desk looking at the report he was compiling for the Piccadilly Gentlemen, but his mind was elsewhere. He had been foolish enough to kiss his wife! He felt again the pressure of her lips as she responded and he knew something he had not been sure of before: she wanted him as much as he wanted her. The knowledge did nothing to ease his torment; it exacerbated it. He could still feel his arousal and it was damned uncomfortable and needed relieving. He was tempted to go to her and take her to bed. He had every right to do so. It was his duty to do so. It was his desire to do so. Only his tormenting ghost prevented it.

If only Rosamund had been plain instead of lovely, foolish instead of intelligent, if only he had been able to keep her at arm’s length and not come to enjoy her company so much, he could have been business-like about their bargain, like bedding a lightskirt, here today and forgotten tomorrow. Now it was impossible. She was his wife in every way except one. He groaned and went to the cupboard beside the fireplace and extracted a fat brown bottle and a large glass and proceeded to drink himself into oblivion.