The Second Lady Southvale (20 page)

She closed her eyes, as if to shut everything out, and she tried
to whisper Philip’s name. Philip, I love you. I love you …

He ripped at the buttons of her pelisse and then at the throat of the gown beneath, but then, quite suddenly, he gave a grunt and his hold relaxed. He released her, whirling about, and then his head jerked back sickeningly as someone’s fist caught him violently on the jaw.

Rosalind was frozen, unable to move as she watched him slump to the floor. She stared at him, her thoughts so scattered and frightened that she didn’t know what had happened.

‘Rosalind?’ Someone was touching her again, trying to hold her close.

‘No,’ she screamed and battered her fists against him. ‘No, leave me alone! Don’t touch me!’

‘Rosalind, it’s me, Philip.’

The helplessly beating fists became still and her breath caught. ‘Philip?’ She looked at him then, and tears of
unutterable
relief stung her eyes. ‘Oh, Philip …’

He crushed her close, his hand holding her head tightly against his shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’ he whispered. ‘Did he…?’

‘I’m all right,’ she said softly, her voice barely audible because of the bewildering emotions spinning wildly through her. She was safe, she was safe …

For a long moment they stood there, and then he gently drew back. ‘Are you really all right?’

‘Just shaken, that’s all. Oh, Philip, if you hadn’t come when you did …’ She looked at him, searching his face. ‘But why have you come?’

‘It’s a long story; I’ll explain later. For the moment, however, we have to make sure of Gerald.’ He glanced at her jockey bonnet and the long gauze scarf trailing from it. ‘We’ll tie him with your scarf.’

She nodded, turning slightly for him to untie the scarf, then she watched as he knelt by Gerald, who was just beginning to stir. Philip rolled him roughly over onto his stomach, almost
wrenching his arms behind his back and tying his wrists tightly with the scarf, wrapping and knotting it so many times that it couldn’t possibly be worked free, no matter how diligently Gerald may twist his hands.

Gerald’s eyes flickered and opened.

Philip immediately pressed his face to the damp floor. ‘You’ll pay dearly for what you’ve done, Beaufort.’

‘I’ll deny everything.’

‘Deny it if you wish, it makes no odds, for I intend to have your heart out for this. I curse the day I ever heard the name Beaufort.’

Gerald’s mouth was distorted against the floor, but he still managed a mocking grin. ‘You have a Beaufort wife, de Grey, and nothing’s going to change that. There aren’t any letters now, because your paramour threw them into the lake. Now you’ll never prove anything against Celia.’

Rosalind bent to pick up the letter she’d detached from the bundle, and she showed it to Philip. ‘I did’t throw them all away, Philip, and this one says all you need to know.’

Getting up from the floor, he read the letter, then he smiled at her. ‘Not even Celia can deny this.’ He held out his hand to her, drawing her close.

Her lips trembled as she raised her face to his, and she closed her eyes as he kissed her.

Then he pulled away, putting the letter in his pocket and taking out a large, freshly laundered handkerchief, which he proceeded to unfold and roll into a makeshift rope to tie around Gerald’s ankles.

‘That should keep him still for the time being,’ he said, straightening again. ‘I’ll send some men down to collect him in a short while.’

Gerald tried to twist his head to look at him. ‘What are you going to do with me, de Grey?’

‘The law can deal with you. Assault is a serious charge.’

‘I’ll see to it that her name is dragged through every morsel
of mud I can find, just remember that.’

Philip didn’t say anything, but took Rosalind’s hand again, leading her to the door and down the steps to the grass below.

Annie was sitting up and leaning dazedly against the tree trunk, for not only had Gerald struck her, but she’d hit her head when she’d fallen. She was aware of where she was, but was momentarily confused as to why she was there. Then memory returned, and with a gasp she tried to get up, but Rosalind put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Annie, it’s all over now.’

‘The letters—’

‘They were there, just as you said,’ interrupted Rosalind
reassuringly
, glancing across the bridge to where Philip’s
foam-flecked
, sweating horse was standing.

Annie looked anxiously at her. ‘Will you be staying with us, Miss Carberry?’

Rosalind smiled. ‘Yes, Annie, I will.’

The maid closed her eyes with relief, but then looked puzzled. ‘I was watching you climb the steps to the tree house, and then—’

‘I think Mr Beaufort struck you.’

Annie stared at her. ‘Mr Beaufort?’

‘He’s still up there, his lordship knocked him down and tied him securely. Do you think you can stand, Annie?’

‘I – I think so.’

Rosalind and Philip helped her to get up; she swayed for a moment, feeling a little weak and giddy, but then she smiled again. ‘I’m all right, truly I am, I …’ Her voice broke off in horror as she saw Rosaslind’s torn clothes.

‘It was Mr Beaufort, but I’m quite all right. I’ll tell you about it later,’ said Rosalind quickly, not feeling ready to talk about it just yet, it was all too painful and fresh.

Philip looked at the maid. ‘We’ll get you across the bridge and put you on my horse to go up to the house.’

‘Thank you, my lord. My lord…?’

‘Yes?’

‘I shouldn’t be here, her ladyship dismissed me.’ Annie’s conscience weighed heavily.

‘I know, I’ve been told all about it this morning.’ He smiled a little. ‘Your position here is secure, so have no fear on that score.’

Tears came to Annie’s eyes. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

He lifted the injured maid into his arms and carried her across the bridge, putting her gently on the horse. ‘Hold on tightly, now,’ he instructed, ‘for it wouldn’t do for you to fall and hurt yourself again, would it?’

‘No, my lord.’

He turned to Rosalind, his blue eyes tender, then he held out his hand to her. ‘I’ll confront Celia with the letter tonight,’ he said softly. His fingers closed warmly and lovingly around hers, and they began to walk away from the lake.

Constables were sent for to deal with Gerald, who tried to claim that he was there to keep an assignation with Rosalind, but the constables made it plain they didn’t believe him. They’d come up against Mr Gerald Beaufort in the past and knew him for a slippery, untrustworthy, unscrupulous blackguard, one whom they were only too delighted to take into custody.

One of the constables happened to be Mrs Simmons’ cousin, and he lent a very sympathetic ear to her request that Rosalind’s name was to be protected at all costs. The housekeeper had as little desire as everyone else to see Celia given any advantage, including the possibility of Philip’s new love being falsely shamed in. court. The constable lost no time in privately
warning
Gerald to drop all mention of Miss Carberry’s so-called participation in a liaison with him, otherwise there would be other charges brought against him, the nature of which the constable hadn’t yet decided, but they ranged from demanding money with menaces to horse-stealing.

Knowing that the man would carry out his threat and would concoct a variety of imaginary charges, Gerald wisely decided to omit Rosalind’s name from everything from then on. Philip preferred to protect her as much as possible, and so it was decided to charge Gerald with the assault upon Annie, and not with the attempted rape in the tree house. It meant a less severe sentence, but at least Rosalind’s name and reputation wouldn’t
be called into question in court.

When Gerald had been removed from the estate and into custody, Philip, Rosalind, and Annie drove back to London with the letter, with which it was intended to face Celia when she came to Southvale House at seven o’clock that evening.

It was late afternoon when the carriage turned in through the gates from St James’s Place, and Richardson hurried out
immediately
, a glad smile breaking out on his face when Philip quickly told him that all was well. Katherine ran down the stairs to meet them in the entrance hall, and although appalled and outraged to hear of the depths to which Gerald had sunk, she was overjoyed to see the single surviving letter.

Lady Eleanor was pleased, too, but couldn’t allow herself to be too certain that the letter was definite proof until Philip’s lawyer, Sir Henry Baillie-Drummond, had examined it. An urgent message was sent to Sir Henry’s residence in Conduit Street, and he came immediately. He declared that the letter would indeed satisfy any court that Lady Southvale had betrayed her marriage vows, and that the other letter, from Portugal, would satisfy that same court that the infidelity had continued for well over a year. He pronounced that under such circumstances, Philip was certain to be granted his
freedom
.

Seven o’clock was approaching, and Philip prepared to face his wife in the library. Rosalind, Lady Eleanor, and Katherine gathered silently in the adjoining-room, which was separated by tall folding doors through which the conversation could be clearly overheard.

Rosalind had taken great care with her appearance and wore the gray velvet evening gown. Celia wasn’t likely to arrive
looking
anything less than her glorious best, and even now Rosalind was conscious of how powerfully beautiful and fascinating her adversary was. Celia was bound to do her best to deny the letter, or to explain it away, and there was still the ghost of a chance that she could stir Philip’s heart to memories of the past.
Rosalind knew that he no longer loved Celia, but she also knew it would be a foolish woman indeed who underestimated a foe as clever and enterprising as Celia Beaufort.

The clocks were just beginning to strike the hour when a carriage drove into the courtyard. Philip heard it and went to take up his position by the library fire, standing with his back toward it, his hands clasped behind him. He wore a purple corded-silk coat with black velvet lapels, and white silk breeches. A diamond pin flashed in his neckcloth, catching the mixture of firelight and candlelight, and his coal-black hair was a little tousled, for he’d run his fingers through it a moment before. He didn’t relish the thought of the forthcoming
interview
, for he’d loved Celia very much in the past, but given her present intention to return to him under the cover of a barrage of lies – and to return at Rosalind’s expense – he knew that she had to be faced with the truth and that he was the one who had to do it.

In the adjoining-room, where only firelight illuminated the darkness, the three women waited with bated breath. Lady Eleanor couldn’t bear it and sat by the fire, out of earshot, but both Katherine and Rosalind stood by the folding doors, Katherine with her ear pressed to the wood, Rosalind managing to peep through the tiniest crack. She couldn’t see a great deal, just the corner of a great writing desk and the velvet curtains at one of the windows.

They all heard the main doors of the house open and close and the murmur of voices as Richardson admitted Celia. The butler had been well-primed as to what to say, and he gave no sign that anything was amiss as he conducted his old mistress up to the library.

He tapped on the door and then opened it, announcing her. ‘Lady Southvale, my lord.’

Celia’s skirts rustled richly as she entered, and she halted right where Rosalind could see her. She looked as
breathtakingly
beautiful as Rosalind had suspected, her dark hair dressed
up in shining curls through which strings of tiny pearls had been looped. There were more strings of pearls around her throat and resting against the curve of her creamy bosom. Her gown was made of oyster taffeta, with a very low and daring square neckline and little puffed sleeves. She wore long pale-pink gloves, and there was a lacy shawl of the same pink draped over her slender arms.

Her lilac eyes shone and her lips were soft as she smiled at Philip. ‘I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again, my darling,’ she whispered, and to Rosalind’s amazement and reluctant admiration, she managed to squeeze some tears so that they shimmered adorably on her long lashes. Her lips
trembled
with emotion, and she gave every appearance of being overcome with emotion just at seeing him again.

It was an acting
tour de force
; in the past it would have exerted its intended spell over Philip, but tonight it didn’t touch him. ‘You’re looking as beautiful as ever, Celia,’ he observed, almost conversationally.

‘Is that all you have to say?’

‘No, Celia, I have a great deal to say.’

She hurried to him, out of Rosalind’s sight.

Philip caught Celia’s hands as she reached up, meaning to link her arms around his neck. ‘No, Celia, for I do not intend to take you back.’

She drew slowly away, her lilac eyes suddenly guarded. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean exactly what I say.’

‘But I’m your wife, Philip.’

‘A fact that you seem to have conveniently forgotten for some time now.’

Celia turned away, her fingertips dragging lightly across the corner of the writing desk, then she turned to face him again, standing where Rosalind could see her. ‘I suppose I can guess whose hand is behind this,’ she said, managing to put a sad little tremble in her voice. ‘You must know by now that I met your
Miss Carberry this morning. She made it plain that she would stop at nothing to get her scheming hands on you, and this is obviously the result. I nearly died in that shipwreck, Philip, and would have died if that Portuguese ship hadn’t passed by. I’ve been very ill, and very frightened. Have you any idea what it’s like to have lost one’s memory? I didn’t know who I was, where I came from, or anything …’ She turned away, her voice
catching
on a very convincing sob.

‘You missed your vocation, Celia,’ he said, ‘for you should have gone on the stage.’

‘How can you say that,’ she cried, swaying a little to signify that she was almost overwhelmed with hurt and disbelief.

‘Oh, stop all this, Celia, for we both know it’s an act,’ he snapped, placing the two letters on the writing desk before her. ‘Look at these, and then let’s see what you have to say.’

She turned quickly, her eyes flying to the accusing sheets of paper. The sobs halted on a gasp and a little of the color drained from her face, but she recovered quickly. ‘I have no idea what they are,’ she said, so admirably feigning bewildered innocence that even Rosalind could have believed her.

Philip picked the love letter up and began to read: ‘My
dearest
, most beloved Celia, Words cannot describe how empty I feel this morning after waking up alone in the bed where you and I shared nights of incomparable passion …’ He looked at his wife. ‘Shall I go on?’

‘If you wish to read out the scribbles of an infatuated admirer of mine, then please do.’

‘Dom Rodrigo was an infatuated admirer, was he?’

‘Yes. He was very persistent and became troublesome, but in the end he accepted that I didn’t wish to have anything to do with him. I was never unfaithful to you, my darling.’

‘Weren’t you?’

Immeasurable hurt shone reproachfully in Celia’s
magnificent
eyes, fresh tears shimmered on her lashes, and her lips trembled appealingly. ‘Oh, Philip,’ she whispered, ‘How could
you doubt me?’

‘Perhaps because both these letters are in Dom Rodrigo’s hand. Evidently your shared nights of incomparable passion soon became eminently forgettable as far as he was concerned, for in this other letter he’d have me believe he didn’t even know who you were. Quite astonishing, don’t you think?’

She couldn’t think of anything to say.

‘Aren’t you going to deny it all, Celia?’ he inquired.

‘It would seem a little pointless.’

‘Yes, it would indeed. How very foolish of you to leave those letters behind.’

‘How were they discovered?’

‘Because I chose to redecorate Greys, and because the maid you’d so heartlessly and casually dismissed found them. She meant to use them to force a reference out of you.’

‘Annie is responsible for this?’ she whispered venomously.

‘No, Celia, you are responsible. Oh, I’d long suspected you of adultery, but you were too clever to be caught, and in the absence of any proof, I felt I had no option but to accept that you were, after all, a faithful and loving wife. Even after I fell in love with Rosalind, I was prepared to give her up because I felt I had a duty toward you, but in the end you’ve been the architect of your own downfall, Celia. If you hadn’t been so disagreeable in the past, if you hadn’t been so selfishly
determined
to have your own way at no matter what cost to anyone else, you’d have succeeded in worming your way back here. But you treated Annie with contempt, and so she kept the letters when she found them. You pulled the rug out from under your own feet, and if you’ve fallen flat because of it, you have no one to blame but yourself.’

‘I’m still your wife.’

‘Not for much longer. I’ve already instructed Sir Henry Baillie-Drummond that I wish to end our marriage.’

She stared at him. ‘I don’t believe you, you can’t be doing this!’

‘I am doing it, Celia, and as soon as I can, I intend to marry Rosalind.’

‘Gerald will call you out!’

Philip gave a short laugh. ‘He’ll have to do so from behind bars, I fear.’

Her eyes widened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s in custody, Celia, for assaulting Annie.’ He made no mention of the attack on Rosalind.

Celia exhaled slowly, placing her hands on the writing desk and bowing her head for a moment. ‘So he didn’t go to the prize-fight,’ she said quietly. Then she looked at him. ‘I’m not one to fight against insuperable odds, Philip. Set me aside if you wish, for I cannot deny the letters.’

‘I intend to, and I would be grateful if you’d leave this house right now.’

The lovely eyes swept brightly over him. ‘I made a very
foolish
mistake when I allowed myself to become infatuated with Rodrigo, for I can see now, when it’s too late, what I turned my back on.’

‘Just go, Celia,’ he said quietly.

Without another word, she turned and walked from the room.

Katherine hurried away from the folding doors, peeping secretly out onto the landing as Celia passed toward the
staircase
. Rosalind opened the folding doors and went to Philip.

He still stood by the desk, and he turned the moment he heard her. He caught her hand, pulling her quickly into his arms, and held her tight. ‘It’s over now, my darling,’ he
whispered
, his voice muffled against her hair. ‘I love you so much, dear God, how I love you!’

‘And I love you,’ she whispered back, savoring his closeness.

‘I don’t know when I’ll be free, but I promise you that I’ll make you the second Lady Southvale the moment I can.’

‘I know.’

‘When I think how close we came to parting forever—’

‘But we didn’t,’ she interrupted softly, ‘and now we’ll always be together.’ She lifted her lips to meet his.

About six weeks later, on a dark Christmas Eve night, the air was so cold that stray flakes of snow fluttered down over London. Holly, mistletoe, and ivy decorated doors and windows, and the sound of carols could be heard in the streets. Stagecoaches were laden with passengers and luggage as people returned to their families for the festive season, and thoughts of war, either with America or with France, were temporarily set aside. The war with France was still very much in evidence, however, and a war with America was still very much in the cards, for Philip’s errand from Washington had as yet come to nothing.

But at Southvale House the atmosphere couldn’t have been more happy, even though Philip would soon be departing for St Peterburg. Gerald was still behind bars – and would be for quite a while yet, because the judge took a very poor view of a
gentleman
assaulting a poor maid. Celia had tactfully removed herself to her astonished family in Ireland, who had to contend not only with her apparent return from the dead, but also with the scandal of a divorce, proceedings for which were now well under way.

London society had been equally as astonished to learn what had been happening in Lord Southvale’s household, but few spared a great deal of sympathy for Celia, whose conduct was deemed to be odious in the extreme. Rosalind was made welcome wherever she went, and everyone wanted to hear the story in detail. It was thought to be romantic and almost gothic for Philip, the grieving widower, to have fallen in love with a beautiful American, only to have his vindictive, malicious, and spiteful wife return to resume her claim to him.