Lord Portman's Troublesome Wife (17 page)

‘Why, my dear,’ he said in delighted surprise. ‘I do believe you care.’

‘Of course I care. You are my husband and Annabelle’s papa. We would both be lost without you.’

‘I am flattered, but if anything should happen to me…’

‘Harry, you are frightening me. Do you expect something bad to happen to you?’

‘No, no, I only meant if something
should
happen, I have made ample provision for you and the child—’

‘Children,’ she corrected him. ‘Had you forgot our agreement?’

‘No, how could I forget that? It is etched indelibly in my memory. But there is no hurry, is there? I want you to enjoy being my wife first.’

‘That is kind of you, my lord—Harry—but I cannot help wondering if something is holding you back. Am I not what you expected and hoped for?’

‘No, you are not,’ he said, suddenly sounding angry. ‘Nothing like.’

‘You are being unfair,’ she retorted, realising, with a sinking heart, that her words had not encouraged him to confide in her. ‘I did nothing to deceive you. You knew exactly who I was and what I was.’

‘Did I?’ He looked at the woman he had married, longed to take her in his arms and tell her the truth, but a raucous voice, full of pain and yelling hatred at him, echoed in his brain. Would Rosamund be the same when giving birth? Would he kill her as he had killed Beth? He could not bear it if it happened again.

‘If you have disappointed me it is only that you have turned out to be altogether more lovely, both in appearance and nature, than I deserve. There are things about me you do not know, would never understand…’

‘You could try telling me.’

‘One day perhaps I will.’ He stood up and held out his hand to bring her to her feet. ‘Go and change for dinner. We must not be late at Chaston Hall or Louise will ring a peal over us.’ It was said light-heartedly, Lady Leinster was the most easy-going of hostesses, but Rosamund knew the question of having children was not to be broached again. His first wife was like a ghost hovering over them and she did not know how to banish her.

She found herself wondering about the gaming club her aunt had spoken of and what he had called the rigs they got up to. And something Francis had said echoed in her head and would not go away. He had offered to escort her when Harry was busy with his affairs. It had been said with heavy emphasis as if he were goading Harry about
amorous affairs in front of her. The little green god of jealousy fluttered in her stomach. If Harry had a mistress, and she supposed many men did and he was no different, then he had no problem making love to her.

In the two weeks between the Royal wedding and the coronation, Harry and Rosamund were rarely at home. If they were not attending entertainments, Harry was at the meetings of the Piccadilly Gentlemen, more frequent now than they had been, or Rosamund was shopping for gowns and fripperies because to appear twice in the same gown was not to be considered. And on the few occasions when they were both at home, they were busy with the arrangements for their own ball. Invitations, food, music, flowers and costumes, all involved endless discussion before decisions were made. There was no time at all to continue their conversation about fulfilling the terms of their marriage contract. Rosamund suspected it was deliberate on Harry’s part.

She had no intention of taking Francis up on his offer, but he was frequently at the same occasions they attended and he did his best to ingratiate himself with her, which puzzled her considering the gossip he had been spreading about her and her husband. Her nervousness of him was increased one evening at a concert given at Vauxhall Gardens in honour of the Royal couple. He minced up to them, hailing them and kissing Rosamund’s hand, as if it were a foregone conclusion he would be invited to join them. ‘You are in looks tonight, Cousin Rosamund,’ he said. ‘I felicitate you on that gown; blue is certainly your colour.’

She thanked him and he positioned himself between her and Harry as they promenaded, listening to the music. Harry, knowing how resentful his cousin was of his wife, wondered what he was up to.

‘Do you know,’ Francis murmured after a while, ‘I was given a milled guinea at White’s the other evening.’

Rosamund gave a stifled gasp, which Harry noted with puzzlement. ‘Were you now?’ he said nonchalantly. ‘I believe there are a lot of them about.’

‘Yes, but at a place like White’s…’

‘Do you know who passed it to you?’

‘Oh, yes, it was Chalmers.’

Rosamund gasped and held her breath, something not lost on Harry, though he pretended not to notice. ‘You mean Sir Maximilian?’ he asked Francis.

‘Yes. What other Chalmers is there? Of course I challenged him, but he said he had not noticed it was counterfeit and someone must have passed it to him.’

‘That is more than possible,’ Harry said evenly. ‘I don’t know why you had to bring the subject up.’

‘Thought you might be interested.’

‘Struth! Why should I be interested?’ Harry asked, using the exaggerated drawl of the macaroni while dusting imaginary fluff from the deep cuffs of his coat sleeve.

‘You are married to the fellow’s sister.’

‘What is that to the point?’

‘Can’t have the family name blackened, can we?’

‘Take care, Frank,’ Harry said, dropping the accent. ‘You are as like to blacken it as Chalmers. And I beg to remind you Lady Portman is present.’

‘I beg my lady’s pardon,’ Francis said, turning to her
and executing a flourishing bow. ‘But it don’t look good, it don’t look good at all.’

‘I am sure my brother did not know it was a counterfeit coin,’ Rosamund said, wondering if Harry had heard the gossip his cousin had been spreading about their marriage and whether it bothered him. ‘I understand that it is easy to mistake the genuine from the counterfeit.’

The concert was then beginning and they strolled towards the orchestra and took their places, but Harry could not concentrate on the music. He found himself wondering how Rosamund knew so much about counterfeit coins, unless she knew Max was passing them and had seen and handled some of them. That would make her an accessory and put a whole new complexion on his dealings with the coiners and with his wife. He did not want to believe it, but Max Chalmers was present when he found the first coin at White’s and there had been others since.

He was impatient to return home and study the lists Mr Mackreth had given him. And if it transpired that Max’s name appeared on each list, what would he do? He had spent a year tracking down the coiners and one of the biggest operations was within his grasp. O’Keefe. Rosamund had mentioned the man’s name. True, it was in a different context, but how much did she know?

It was on the way home in the darkness of the carriage, he introduced the subject. ‘Rosamund, I have not made any headway in tracing the Barnstaple Mining Company. Are you sure there is nothing else you can tell me about it? Any little thing…’

‘No, I have teased my brain over it, but that is all Mr Tetley was able to tell me.’

‘Perhaps I should ask him,’ he said to test her. If she had something to hide, she would not want him quizzing the lawyer.

‘My lord…’ she began.

‘Harry,’ he corrected her. She was definitely ill at ease; he could feel the tension in her body as she sat beside him and, dark as it was in the carriage, he felt, rather than saw, that she was twisting the cord of her reticule in her lap.

‘Harry, I know I said I wanted that man O’Keefe brought to book, but on reflection, I can see that nothing can be gained by it and Mr Tetley’s advice was sound. He said men like that are dangerous and I should leave well alone. I do not want you to be hurt. I would as lief forget the whole thing.’

‘As you wish, my dear.’ He put his hand over hers and felt her muscles slowly relax, which only served to confirm his suspicions. Could the business of the shares be connected with the counterfeit coins? The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was. And his wife, whom he had married in haste without affection and who had since become the pivot of his life, might be implicated. He prayed she was not. Never before had his duty been in conflict with his personal feelings and it was tying his gut into knots.

As soon as he arrived home, he said goodnight to Rosamund and shut himself in the library to study Mackreth’s lists. Sure enough, Max Chalmers had been in the club on each occasion when fake coins had been passed. It was not proof, of course. There were others
whose names appeared more than once on the list, but it was enough to set him thinking. Chalmers could have bought wine at the vintners where he had picked up the first one. He had certainly provided an ample quantity of drink at the wedding and the second guinea was found at the same wine merchants soon after that. The proprietor of Ranelagh Gardens had given one to the Excise the day after he had met Rosamund and her brother there. He fetched out all the coins he had collected and studied them carefully. Each one, including the one Francis had given him, had been clipped in exactly the same way, done by the same craftsman. It was beginning to look damning, damning enough for him to sit with his head in his hands and groan aloud.

Rosamund lay awake with tears trickling unheeded down her cheeks. Francis and Max between them had ruined any chance she might have of becoming closer to Harry. Why, oh, why did Max have to pass those coins instead of handing them over to the Excise men as he had been advised? Mr Tetley knew about them and he knew she knew. Why had she been so foolish as to tell Harry about Mr O’Keefe and the Barnstaple Mining Company? If he went to see Mr Tetley, the whole dreadful truth would come out and though she had always wanted to know what had happened in the days before her father died, now she wished with all her heart that it could be buried and forgotten. Once Harry found out about the counterfeit coins, she would be banished and the marriage annulled. He would not risk his good name being tarnished; that was what Francis had said and he had been right. Where could she go if
that happened? How could she live without the man she loved? The future looked very bleak.

She fell asleep at last, but was suddenly awake again. There was someone outside her room. She waited a moment and then heard the sound again. Whoever it was had passed and was going downstairs. She left her bed and went to open the door a crack to peer out. A man was creeping down the stairs in the dark, his shoes in his hand. There was a lamp glowing in the hall as there always was and as he reached the bottom stair it revealed her husband in a brown stuff coat, thick breeches and a brown scratch wig. He tiptoed to the front door, slipped into his shoes and quietly let himself out. She went back to bed to lie awake, trying to make sense of what she had seen. He would hardly go to a mistress dressed like that. What could he be up to?

She had been sure it was Harry, but now doubts began to surface. Perhaps it had not been Harry, but an intruder. He had looked uncommonly like that highwayman who had held up Harry’s carriage. Ought she to raise the alarm? It was too late now, he had gone. She left her bed, slipped into a dressing gown and went to Harry’s room, smiling to herself as she did so. Was this the opportunity she had been waiting for? A frightened wife needing comfort? She knocked and entered. Harry was not there. He had not been to bed.

I
t was becoming more and more difficult to leave the house as Gus Housman and Harry was afraid he had missed O’Keefe at the Nag’s Head. If only he knew where that farm was, he could set others to watch it. He had employed trustworthy men to follow O’Keefe from the tavern but the man seemed to have a sixth sense when anyone was on his tail and soon threw them off. For the first time since he had joined them, Harry was half-regretting his membership of the Piccadilly Gentlemen. He hated deceiving Rosamund, especially since that acquisitive cousin of his had hinted of affairs. It was not hard to see that he wanted to undermine their marriage. And why.

Late as it was, the Nag’s Head was noisome and noisy, but for once O’Keefe was there. But so was Francis. He was in a crowd of drunken companions who evidently thought it great fun to visit taverns and mix with the low life. Harry hurried past him, his face averted, and slipped into a seat opposite O’Keefe with
his back to the room. ‘It’s too crowded in here,’ he complained. ‘Can we go elsewhere?’

‘They won’t bother us,’ O’Keefe said. ‘Too drunk. And they are off to a dog fight soon. I need more genuine coins. What have you brought me?’

‘Naught. I’ve a mind to see ’ow they’re worked on. What say I bring ’em to your ken?’

‘You ain’t proved ye’self yet.’

‘I reckon I ’ave.’ Harry said, using the rough tones of the uneducated. ‘Didn’ I ‘old up tha’ there carriage and bring you a purse full of good yeller boys? Seems to me I’m takin’ the risks and I ain’t gettin’ a fair return. Le’ me in, a fair share same as the others.’

‘Not my decision.’

‘Then whose is it?’

‘That would be tellin’. I’ll give you a few milled megs to pass on. See how much you can get in real change. Meet me two days from now at noon. Bring me more genuine yeller boys and I’ll see what I can do.’ He put his hand in his pocket and produced a purse that jingled as he passed it across. ‘There’s ten ’ere, an’ fer Gawd’s sake don’ confuse good with bad.’

‘D’yer wan’ to see what I’ve bought with ’em?’

‘No. Just make sure what you buy don’ cost much. The more change the better.’

Harry put the purse in his pocket and stood up. The noisy party, which included Francis, had left looking for new entertainment. Much relieved, he set off for home, musing as he went. He would hide the coins with the others in his safe and use his own money again for the change. His life was becoming very complicated, made more so by having Rosamund in town with him and
having to escort her to functions. But he did not regret that. He enjoyed having her with him. But that was more than half the problem. He liked her and admired her and felt horribly guilty about the way he had persuaded her to marry him. He ought to set her free. And yet the thought of that depressed him more than he would ever have believed possible at the outset. She had become an important part of his life.

‘O’Keefe wants more genuine coins, but I can hardly rob myself again,’ Harry told Ash the next morning. They were sitting at the table in their usual meeting room at Trentham House, waiting for the rest of the Piccadilly Gentlemen to arrive, and Harry had been updating his friend on the progress he had made, though he had been careful not to mention Max. That was something he would have to sort out himself. ‘And until I provide them, he is not inclined to take me to the farm.’ He paused. ‘Would you object if Gus Housman robbed you?’

Ash laughed. ‘Not at all. But surely they trust you now and you can simply say you have done it without having to make a theatrical performance of it?’

‘No, they are a cagey lot, and I need someone to witness it and describe the robber, which is why I wear that ridiculous spotted neckerchief.’

‘You are laying yourself open to arrest, you know that, don’t you? And then what would your wife say?’ He regarded Harry with his head on one side. ‘Or is that of no consequence?’

Harry looked sharply at him, wondering if his friend had guessed that his relationship with Rosamund had
grown from where it had started to something deeper and far more important than simply getting her with child, but decided not to comment. ‘I have to risk it, just once more. I am close to being admitted into the gang.’

‘On your head be it,’ Ash said. ‘When and where do you propose to do the deed?’

‘It will have to be done at night because I have to creep out of the house without Rosamund seeing me.’

‘Why don’t you tell her what you are doing?’

‘I cannot.’

‘Why not? I am sure she can be trusted not to blab about it. And she is no wilting violet, not likely to swoon, is she?’

‘No, she is not, but I have my reasons. Perhaps one day…’ His voice tailed off and he was silent for a moment, then, suddenly pulling himself together, added, ‘When will it be convenient for you?’

Ash roared with laughter. ‘I never yet heard of a robber asking his victim when he would like to be robbed.’

‘Be serious, Ash.’ But his own lips were twitching. ‘Tomorrow is Coronation Day and I am going to be at Lord Trentham’s ball in the evening.’

Ash stopped laughing. ‘Do it then. I am going to a celebratory reception given by the Admiral I served when I was at sea, at his house in Piccadilly. It is just down the road from here. I will point it out when we leave. When I arrive at precisely nine o’clock, I shall leave my purse on the carriage seat, but remember it and go back for it five minutes later. You will, by then, have taken it and be making your escape and I will make a hue and cry over it.’

‘Rosamund will be with me.’

‘You do not need to be at her side all the time, do you? It ain’t done to dance attendance on one’s wife, you know.’ He received no answer to this and went on. ‘His lordship will arrange for you to have somewhere to change and you can slip out and be back before you are missed. It will give you an alibi if O’Keefe should be sharp enough to twig who Housman really is.’

‘You may be right,’ Harry admitted, delving into his pocket and withdrawing a purse, which clinked as he put it on the table in front of Ash. ‘Take this. Don’t want you losing your own money.’

‘You should not have to lose yours either, my friend. How much has this quest cost you to date?’

‘It is of no consequence. I can bear it and it will be worth it to see O’Keefe hang.’

Ash put the purse in his pocket just as James arrived, followed by the other members of the Gentleman’s Club, including Lord Trentham, who said he was glad to escape from the turmoil the ball was causing in his household. They discussed the plan with him and then settled down to other business.

Rosamund was sitting opposite Mr Tetley again. She was relieved that Harry had not been to see him, but it left her wondering just what her husband was up to. She put that to one side as she explained why she had come. He was gravely courteous as he listened.

‘But, my lady,’ he said when she finished, ‘I cannot refuse to tell Lord Portman what he wants to know, an’ it is in my power.’

‘But you said you did not know any more than you have already told me.’

‘Nor do I, but if his lordship were to ask to see the documents relating to the shares, I cannot refuse him, can I? As your husband, he has a right.’

‘I know, but if you were to destroy them…’

‘My lady, why are you asking this? Have you discovered something about the Barnstaple Mining Company?’

‘No, nothing.’ She hesitated. ‘It is just a feeling I have that whatever we discover will not be to my father’s credit and I am afraid…’

‘You are thinking of those counterfeit coins?’

How sharp he was, she thought. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I cannot help but think the two things are connected.’

‘But I understood Sir Maximilian had handed the coins to the Excise as I advised.’

She did not enlighten him. ‘But that does not absolve my father, does it? I am convinced he was duped, but I doubt I would be believed.’

He looked at her with his head on one side and she felt as if he could see right through her and could sense she was not telling him everything. ‘You do not wish me to continue my enquiries into Mr O’Keefe and the Barnstaple Mining Company?’

‘Have you been making enquiries?’ she asked in surprise. He had seemed reluctant to do so when she spoke to him previously.

‘Yes, my lady. If the law has been broken…’ He shrugged. ‘One must do one’s best to bring criminals to justice.’

She wished she had not come. Instead of ensuring Harry would learn nothing about that bag of coins, she had roused the lawyer’s curiosity. She thanked him and left, wishing she could throttle that brother of hers.

She climbed into her coach, unaware that Harry and Ash were strolling down the road towards her and had seen her leave the lawyer’s premises.

‘I am going to leave you here,’ Harry said. ‘I have a call to make.’

Those privileged to be at the abbey to witness the coronation were required to be in their places hours before the ceremony began and Rosamund was woken at dawn by Janet with her chocolate drink and hot water for her to wash. Early as it was, the crowds were already gathering; she could hear them in the street, calling to each other and cheering the little road sweeper who came to clean the road of ordure.

‘It’ll be a good day for it,’ Janet said, busying herself about the room, fetching out the clothes Rosamund was to wear.

Unable to break the habit of being frugal, even when Harry had told her to spend whatever she needed, she had bought a blue silk gown trimmed with satin bows and lace inserts. When she showed it to Harry, he had told her very forcefully it would not do. ‘It is nothing but an ordinary everyday gown,’ he had said. ‘I see I shall have to come shopping with you.’ And with that he had ordered out the carriage and taken her to one of the most expensive mantua makers in town, which had astonished the good lady, who had fallen over herself offering him a seat and bringing out bolts of silks, satins, brocades, gauze and lace in all the colours of the rainbow, striped, plain and flowered.

He had been at his most foppish as he fingered them all, talked knowledgeably about fashion and insisting
on looking at patterns, commenting on each—this is not at all flattering, this will make you look too thin, this colour would not suit you, now this is better, but not rich enough—until Rosamund’s head was spinning. She wanted very much to please him and be a credit to him and he did seem to know what would suit her, so she had fallen in with his choice. Now, as Janet helped her to dress, she knew she had been right to do so, though the dress and its accessories had cost a fortune. The brocade gown, embroidered in silk thread with long swirls of silver, pink, palest green and sky blue, was worn over a panniered satin petticoat. The stomacher was of pleated net over cream satin. She could hardly breathe when she was laced into it.

‘Janet, for heaven’s sake, loosen it or I shall swoon,’ she said.

Janet, smiling to herself, let some of the silk cord out and then helped her into the bodice, which was of the same material as the skirt and had a square neckline that was rather more revealing than she was used to, but a handkerchief swathed round her shoulders and pinned into the top of the corsage with a diamond-and-amethyst brooch, a present from her husband, made her feel a little more comfortable about it. The sleeves were straight to the elbow and ended in net ruffles.

‘Beautiful,’ Janet breathed. ‘Now for your hair.’

Rosamund suffered her maid to pull the front of her hair up over some wool stuffing to make buckle curls. The back was tied in a knot on top and the ends allowed to curl naturally over her ears. The whole creation was decorated with silk flowers and plumes. Looking in the mirror afterwards, Rosamund was confronted with a
fashion plate that she was not sure she liked. At least it would allow her to look the part of Lord Portman’s wife, even if she did not feel like it.

Slipping into her satin shoes and taking up her fan and reticule, she made her way in stately fashion to the drawing room where Harry waited for her.

He was in cream silk: plain breeches, tied at the knee with red ribbons, his coat and waistcoat embroidered in gold and silver. Unusually for him, he was wearing a white wig with three buckles at each side and the back confined in a large ribbon bow. He swept her an elaborate leg and then examined her through his quizzing glass. ‘La, madam,’ he said in his macaroni drawl, waving the glass in a circular movement around her. ‘Stap me, if you won’t outshine the whole company.’

In spite of her nervousness, she laughed. ‘Harry, I wish you would not act the coxcomb. You are far too sensible and clever for that.’

‘Ah, but this is the public me,’ he said, mincing round her to inspect her from the back. ‘And today we are to be in the public eye.’

‘I prefer the private one.’

‘Do you, my dear? I am gratified.’ He was back facing her, the quizzing glass once more dangling from his neck. ‘But we shall keep that to ourselves, shall we? What would the
ton
make of me if I suddenly changed my ways?’

‘Would that matter? I had not thought you were one to mind what people thought of you.’

He was pensive for a moment. He could tell her the reason that he had started it was to disguise his hurt and
guilt over Beth, but, as Rosamund had pointed out to him, habits were difficult to break. And since his involvement with the Piccadilly Gentlemen it was a good cover for what he was really doing; the fop could not be further from the dirty Gus Housman. He could have said all that and might have done, if he had not been plagued by his cousin’s revelations about Chalmers and the clipped guinea and the little he had learned from Mr Tetley, who had been decidedly cagey in answering his questions. He had to get to the bottom of that, which made his determination to inveigle his way into the counterfeiters’ gang doubly important. He prayed she was innocent. If she were not…He could not bear to contemplate the consequences.

‘They might think marriage had wrought the change,’ he said, a half-smile playing about his lips because it had—a big change. ‘And we cannot have that, can we?’

She did not answer, realising there were three Harry Portmans: the coxcomb who stood in front of her, the gentle, caring husband and father she knew at Bishop’s Court and the scruffy individual who crept about at night and gave her nightmares. She pulled herself together and smiled. ‘No, I can see it would be a dreadful blow to your pride.’