by Jane Godman
“Damn it all to hell, are you determined to torture me, man?” There was the sound of a slap followed by a cry of pain from Poulter. Murmuring an apology, Rosie turned away, leaving Jack staring after her.
When Jack reached the foot of the stairs, Benson, the footman whose negligence had gained him entrance to the house, was loitering in the hall.
“Does this happen often?” Jack jerked a head towards the staircase as Benson handed him his hat and cloak.
“Falling down drunk? Yes.” The servant’s expression registered disgust. He had clearly not been part of a noble household long enough to have learned to hide his feelings. “Getting set upon and beaten black and blue? Not as often as me and the other servants would like.”
“You are not fond of Sir Clive, I take it?”
“Not exactly, my lord. In fact, you might go so far as to say I hate the bastard.”
Jack eyed him thoughtfully. “What of Lady Sheridan?”
Benson’s expression softened. “Ah, now there’s gentry for you. Always a ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and a kind word for each of us. What she’s doing with—” He coughed. “Well, like I say, a nice lady.”
“How would you like to help Lady Sheridan and earn yourself a few guineas at the same time?”
“Depends what you want. Sir Clive can be a right evil so-and-so.” Despite the note of caution, Jack could tell the mention of money had caught the footman’s attention.
“I’m not asking you to do anything dangerous. You’ve got my card. Just let me know if you think she might be in any trouble.”
“She’s married to him, isn’t she? I’d say that’s trouble enough. Although the maidservants say she keeps him at a distance of a night-time, if you know what I mean.”
Jack counted out several silver coins and dropped them into Benson’s outstretched hand. With a swift look over his shoulder to check no one was watching, the footman pocketed them. “Keep your eyes and ears open.”
Benson tapped the side of his nose in a knowing gesture and held the front door wide. With a final backward glance in the direction of the staircase, Jack left the house.
* * *
Lady Harpenden’s gaze had been known to reduce grown men to tears. Her reputation for delivering stinging putdowns was famous throughout London. She was not a warmhearted woman, and her only passion was the family name of Sheridan. When she regarded her nephew, a look of dislike—faint but undeniable—crossed her aristocratic features. Instability and scandal were abhorrent to her, and there was an increasing risk of both where Clive was concerned. Her expression warmed marginally when she turned to look at his wife.
“You look tired, my dear. It would appear that London air does not agree with you.” Those bright eyes missed nothing.
“I have perhaps been a little busier than usual, but your ladyship need not fear for my health,” Rosie assured her.
“Cordelia said you have no interesting news to impart?” Lady Harpenden’s eyes dropped inquisitively to Rosie’s stomach. Blushing, Rosie shook her head. “It is to be hoped that there will be another child soon. That will lay to rest some of these distasteful rumours.” Shifting in her seat, Lady Harpenden turned to Clive. “It would not do for you to neglect your duty in that respect.”
“Your blunt speaking is uncalled for, Aunt.” There was a hint of petulance in his tone.
Subjecting him to an intense scrutiny—under which he visibly squirmed—for several minutes, she eventually dropped the subject and talked of other matters. Lady Harpenden’s obsession with the history of the English aristocracy was at least equal to that of Rosie’s father, who had been a noted historian and genealogist. Her motives were infinitely less pure than Mr. Delacourt’s. Lady Harpenden used her extensive knowledge to marry members of the Sheridan dynasty into the oldest, most prestigious and wealthiest families in the land. At first she had been quite horrified to learn of Clive’s marriage to Rosie, a girl who she instantly wrote off as a “country nobody”. When she later discovered Mr. Delacourt had been able to trace his ancestors back to the time of the Conqueror and Rosie’s fortune was extremely generous, she unbent a little. On the whole, having met Rosie and subjected her to an intense and gruelling scrutiny, she had decided she approved of Clive’s choice of bride. She had done Rosie the honour of informing her she was a well-brought-up girl with pretty manners, who was unlikely to bring disgrace upon the family. Rosie hid a smile now, thinking back to that conversation. If only Lady Harpenden knew the truth!
Having ripped the reputations of numerous notables to shreds while consuming several cups of strong tea, Lady Harpenden turned her attention to a subject closer to home.
“Now perhaps you will be good enough, Clive, to explain why you have a black eye and fat lip? Then you can tell me the real reason you have chosen to glorify my home with your presence this morning? Particularly since I believe it is not your custom to rise before noon?”
“A slight accident, nothing more. I slipped and fell on some cobblestones.” Clive slid a finger between his cravat and his neck as though attempting to loosen the garment. “As to my reason for coming to see you, I find myself under something of a financial constraint, Aunt Alberta, and would appreciate your help in the matter.”
Rosie felt a crimson tide of embarrassment flood her cheeks. So this was what Clive had in mind when he suggested calling on Lady Harpenden. She had begged him not to appear before his aunt in his current bruised and battered state, pointing out that her ladyship would want to know the details of what had happened, but he had ignored her. Clearly his need for money had been more important than his dignity—or his wife’s. Wishing the ground would open up and swallow her, she concentrated on the contents of her teacup.
“I suppose it would be useless to enquire as to the nature of your financial constraint?”
Clive weighed the question. Rosie was glad when he decided not to tell his aunt the precise details of those activities that caused such a drain on his purse. She had a feeling that Lady Harpenden, a stickler for the proprieties, would not approve of even the tamest of her nephew’s hobbies. Instead of answering, Clive shrugged, an insolent gesture which infuriated Lady Harpenden.
“You have come to ask me, for the second time this month, to advance you money.” Her voice cracked out, and he flinched as if she had whipped him. “Have the goodness not to also bring the manners of the stables into my drawing room.”
“I have had a run of bad luck at the card tables.”
“Very well. I appreciate your honesty.” Businesslike now, she began to write out a note to her man of business. “In return, I am going to categorically state that this is the last time I will help you in this way.” She held the letter out to him, and he almost snatched it from her hand. “Make sure this is used to stave off the most pressing of your creditors. I don’t relish the thought of my money being used to prop up a gaming hell or a brothel.”
His face turned a violent shade of red. “You are offensive. I am not some scrubby schoolboy to be spoken to this way.”
Lady Harpenden sighed. “No, indeed. A schoolboy would learn from his mistakes instead of persistently repeating them. Pray do not insult me by attempting to deny it. Unfortunately, the scandal about you is such that it has reached even my ears.” With a sound like a strangled frog, Clive marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Rosie stared at the floor, unsure what to do next. “Pray forgive my plain speaking, my dear.” When Rosie looked up, Lady Harpenden stretched out a hand in her direction. Her ladyship suddenly looked very old. Rosie went to her and, yielding to an impulse, bent to kiss her cheek. Lady Harpenden patted her hand. “You cannot be unaware of my nephew’s excesses. When you married him, I had hoped you might be able to curtail them, but I suspect he was too far gone before you met. I suppose you have heard the stories about his mother?”
“I never knew Clive�
��s mother, my lady. She died before I was born.” Rosie didn’t add that there had always been gossip and speculation in Derbyshire about the last woman who had borne the title Lady Sheridan.
Lady Harpenden seemed to be lost in her memories. When she spoke it was as if she were viewing a window into the past. “Clive’s father married a beauty, but she was possessed of a strange fragility and a recklessness that did not sit well with the requirements of her position as wife of the squire. Her wildness became something of a legend, as I’m sure you have heard. She came to an unhappy end when, a few short weeks after Clive’s birth, she drowned in the river which flowed through her husband’s land.” Rosie knew there was still local speculation surrounding the circumstances of her death. Mrs. Glover would, whenever the subject was mentioned, purse her lips and say that no good ever came of trying to cultivate a wild flower. “Clive’s father, for whom duty and responsibility were the watchwords by which he lived, forbade any further mention of her name. He was known to take his riding crop to Clive’s back if he detected any of his mother in him. Yet I see her ways in my nephew every day.”
“I believe that the more mental pressure Clive is under, the greater the hold his vices have on him. It is a cycle that I do not know how to break, or if it can be done at all,” Rosie confessed.
“There is one thing that puzzles me above all others.” That piercing look was back in Lady Harpenden’s eyes. “My duty is to the Sheridan name, and I am grateful to have you as part of our prestigious family, my dear. But I am at a loss to understand what motivated you to wed my nephew.”
Chapter Seven
Rosie regarded the unexpected visitor with undisguised bewilderment. It was surprising enough that Lady Kendall had chosen to pay Lady Drummond a morning visit—they were hardly kindred spirits—but when her ladyship’s mission emerged, it became even more astonishing.
“I have come to crave the indulgence of your company on a riding expedition I am organising to the countryside on the morrow, Lady Sheridan.” Something of Rosie’s thoughts must have shown on her face, because Lady Kendall gave a tinkling laugh. “I do declare, you look quite confounded. I have the sweetest little mare called Firefly, who does not get enough exercise. You will be doing me the greatest favour if you will ride her for me, and I vow ’twill be the most delightful jaunt imaginable.”
Rosie tried to disguise her horror at the prospect. She could not conceive of anything worse than a day spent in the company of Jack’s mistress. And probably Jack himself. “Your ladyship is too kind, but I already have plans.” How easily the lie sprang to her lips. Having once killed a man and been forced to flee from justice, getting out of a social occasion with a woman she disliked was an easy task in comparison.
Or so she thought. She had not bargained on Lady Drummond’s interference. “Have you, my dear? I am surprised you did not mention them to me, because I distinctly remember asking you and you said you had no engagements tomorrow.”
Lady Kendall’s smile remained in place, but her eyes probed Rosie’s countenance. Anything less than diplomacy and acceptance now would mean committing one the greatest sins of the polite world…rudeness. “You are right, of course, Lady Drummond.” She pinned her best smile on her face and turned back to Lady Kendall. “Your ladyship must forgive me. My days are so busy lately, my wits appear to have gone begging. I am confusing the events of the morrow with those of the day after. I will be delighted to join you.”
If there was a hint of gritted teeth about Rosie’s response, Lady Kendall appeared not to notice it. Once she had secured Rosie’s agreement, she stayed only another ten minutes, talking of the merest commonplaces. Then, with a swish of chintz, she was gone, only the lingering musk of her perfume remaining to remind her stunned hosts that she had been there at all.
“Good heavens.” Lady Drummond was, for once, at a loss for any other words.
“Should I cry off, ma’am? If you think I should not go, I will not do so.” Rosie hoped her voice did not reveal her desperate eagerness to refuse the invitation. No matter how much she wanted to see Jack, the prospect of encountering him in Lady Kendall’s company was unbearable. “I thought her ladyship was not, perhaps, a proper person with whom to keep company?”
“Lud, child! Louisa Kendall may be a wanton, but she is received everywhere and ’twould not do to offend her. No, you must join her on this expedition. She is famous for her skill in the saddle.” Lady Drummond giggled naughtily. “If that is what it is called these days. Now, let us consider, will you wear the lavender habit? I do think, my dear, that perhaps we should purchase some new ribbon for your straw bonnet, that flowered lilac does not enhance your pretty face as it should…”
Rosie was able to switch off from her ladyship’s chatter while she contemplated the forthcoming jaunt. Jaunt? Torture, more like. Had Jack discussed her with Lady Kendall? Was this an elaborate way of showing her he had moved on? Or was it Lady Kendall’s way of showing a rival how deeply enamoured he was of his new mistress? She didn’t think the disreputable Lady Lou was that insecure. And she knew for a fact Jack hadn’t moved on. The kiss they had shared the other day had told her that more powerfully than words ever could. He might be sleeping with her, but he still loves me. The thought made her shiver, saddening and delighting her at the same time. Or perhaps she was overthinking things, and it really was as simple as a horse called Firefly needing more exercise.
On the following day, any hopes Rosie might have harboured of the weather thwarting Lady Kendall’s plans were put swiftly to flight when, as the housemaid opened her bedchamber curtains, a beautiful sunny day greeted her. With a sigh, Rosie sat up in bed and gloomily sipped her hot chocolate.
Lady Kendall sent a carriage for her so she could join the party at the agreed meeting point on Clapham Common at noon. When Rosie arrived Jack was already there, seated astride a glossy, black horse. He turned to observe Rosie’s arrival as Perry hurried forward to hand her down from the carriage. Jack’s frown of annoyance did not escape her notice, even as she smiled up at his friend. She watched as he threw Lady Kendall a questioning glance. Clearly, he had been unaware that Rosie was to form one of the party.
Rosie noted with surprise that the expedition—which had sounded so grand—consisted only of six people: Lady Kendall, Rosie, Jack and Perry, together with two competing admirers of Lady Kendall’s. Initially, it was impossible to ride more than two abreast, and Rosie was content to ride with Perry, while Jack and Lady Kendall rode ahead of them and the two men reluctantly brought up the rear.
Perry was, as always, delightful company. He proceeded to devote himself to Rosie’s entertainment by maintaining a steady stream of flirtatious nonsense. He did this so successfully that she soon forgot her initial dismay at Jack’s apparent irritation at her inclusion in the party. By the time they had travelled a few miles, Rosie was laughing at Perry’s outrageous comments.
Before long the road widened and they were able to ride in a group. Lady Kendall was quick to introduce the gossip that was taking London by storm.
“Have you heard the latest news? A reward of twenty thousand pounds has been offered for information leading to the arrest of the Falcon.” Her eyes held an excited sparkle that reminded Rosie of Harry’s expression when he spoke of the legendary outlaw. “Why, ’tis close to the amount offered for Bonnie Prince Charlie himself. Do you not think, Lady Sheridan, that there is something prodigiously appealing about this masked hero who has evaded capture for so long?”
Before Rosie could answer, one of the admirers cut across the conversation, his voice dripping disapproval. “I see very little to admire in a traitor, Lady Lou. His Grace of Cumberland did a fine job of quelling the rebellious Scots. This plaguey blackguard who calls himself the Falcon is naught but a damned attention seeker.”
Lady Kendall’s smile was alight with mischief. “A man such as he can have my undivided attention any time he wants it, Sir An
thony.”
“So let me understand you…all a man has to do to win your heart is harangue the English soldiers who occupy the highlands, rescue hundreds of Scots lawbreakers from the gallows and generally thumb his nose at the Crown?”
“Let us just say I would like to know such a man better.” There was a general ripple of laughter. “So if any of you”— Lady Kendall cast a glance under her lashes in Jack’s direction—“happen to know his identity, do put in a good word for me, won’t you? I am quite determined to become acquainted with him.”
Perry nudged his horse forward so that it was alongside Lady Kendall’s. “Is there to be no hope for the rest of us, Lady Lou? Must we be cast into the shade by this dastardly lawbreaker?”
“How could I fail to be interested in such a man? Look around you at the next London gathering and tell me if you see a single real man among the peacocks and popinjays. Such men bore me to the point of despair.”
“Your words wound me.” Perry placed his hand over his heart.
They rode off together, still bantering. Sir Anthony and his rival, sensing they had been outmanoeuvred, set off in pursuit. Rosie, left alone with Jack, experienced the strangest sensation. It felt a lot like shyness brought on by a lingering reminder of the explosion of passion between them at their last meeting. Even so, the thought almost made her laugh aloud. How could she possibly feel shy with Jack?
“We seem to have been abandoned.” There was a trace of amusement in his voice. He was right. Their companions were nowhere to be seen. “Shall we cut across the fields?”
Rosie cast a longing glance towards the open countryside. She missed her own dear horse Cleo and her daily rides in the Derbyshire countryside dreadfully. The dawdling pace of town life and riding along narrow lanes did not suit her. “Oh, yes, I should like that above all things.”