‘No choice? Damn you to hell!’ He spat the words in her face. ‘And your brat with you.’
‘We aren’t going anywhere, Jago,’ she quietly informed him. ‘Certainly not to hell. And there will be no repeat of that dangerous business on the cliff top. It would be most unpleasant if your brother were to hear of how you risked the young baronet’s life in that foolish display of bravado. Do you not agree? I’m sure Mr Wrayworth would also be most interested to hear of it.’
Her eyes held his, reflecting a steady challenge, watching as he absorbed the import of her threat.
‘This is blackmail.’
‘What a very nasty word. Not one I would ever use. I merely state the facts, as I see them in my role as guardian.’ And with a swirl of her full skirts, she spun on her heel and walked from the office, softly closing the door behind her.
Rose kept on walking, shaking too much to even think where she was going. It was only too evident that she had made an enemy this day. But then hadn’t she faced worse in her life already, losing her dream of America, and her entire family along with it? Rose absolutely refused to allow herself, and more importantly dear Rosalind’s son, to be bullied or threatened by this man. She would have no life at all were it not for the generosity and courage of that child’s mother, and if it came to it, she would willingly sacrifice her life for his.
Gwenna was waiting for her out in the hall, arms folded and looking far from happy. ‘So what are you up to now, getting all cosy with Jago? I thought we’d agreed that you would keep well away from him.’
Rose sighed. She really didn’t have the time, or the patience, for Gwenna’s foolish jealousy. ‘You need not fear. We were discussing estate business, nothing of a personal nature at all.’
‘I’ve only your word for that. How do I know you aren’t lying?’
‘Why don’t you ask Jago? I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you as he did not at all like what I had to say.’
Doubt now registered on the other girl’s face, as obviously the prospect of tackling a less than happy Jago was not something she cared to risk. Instead, she changed tactics. ‘I wouldn’t recommend you argue with Jago. He’s been running this place for years, even when Sir Ralph was alive, so he won’t take kindly to you sticking your nose in where it’s not wanted.’
Now Rose smiled. ‘That was basically the drift of our conversation. Did Sir Ralph ever raise objections to the way Jago ran things, do you know, or was he satisfied?’
‘Oh, they were constantly at loggerheads,’ Gwenna candidly revealed. ‘They’d go at it hammer and tongs some days. But as Sir Ralph wasn’t in the best of health he was always grumpy, and in no position to judge.’
Or to do anything about it if he wasn’t satisfied, Rose thought, which was interesting. She rather hoped Sir Ralph might have approved of her efforts to provide better living conditions for his servants. In which case she would quietly continue the battle on their behalf. Grasping the other girl’s hands, she gave them a little squeeze. ‘You should encourage Jago to name the day, or at least present you with a ring, even if you are obliged to keep the engagement secret until the period of mourning is over.’
‘Oh, he will give me a ring soon, I know he will,’ she said, rather too hastily.
‘I’m sure he will. That might stop you worrying so much. But I promise you, I would not dream of encroaching upon your territory. I have no interest in Jago. In the meantime you and I can continue to be friends.’ There was little sign of this so far, but Rose lived in hope.
‘I’m sure there’s no need for me to worry,’ Gwenna said. ‘But I just need you to be aware that I’m watching you.’ And under this implied threat, she knocked on the estate office door and, without waiting for an answer, lifted up her skirts and flounced inside. Rose stood watching, a hand pressed to her mouth to stop the laughter that threatened to bubble over.
Jago looked up in surprise from a letter he was writing to his bank manager. The stupid man was objecting to the fact that his personal account was overdrawn, due to a slight disappointment at Newton Abbot racecourse recently. Rose’s interruption had not helped his temper; now he sighed in exasperation as he saw Gwenna’s mournful expression.
‘What’s wrong, you look rather out of sorts? Not torn your best gown, have you?’ he quipped.
‘Don’t tease, I’m bored and desperately lonely.’ Gwenna flung herself into his lap, wrapping her arms about his neck and giving him a long and passionate kiss. Jago was not against enjoying this unexpected free offering and responded with enthusiasm, slipping his hand down the neck of her gown so that he could fondle those deliciously plump little breasts.
Pushing his hand away, she stuck out her lower lip in a sulk. ‘You’re so cruel to me, Jago.’
He tickled that delightfully pouting lip with his tongue, curling it around the shape of her mouth, then plundered her mouth, making her gasp. Sliding lower, he licked the bud of her nipple, smiling as he felt it harden under the sensitivity of his tongue. ‘Do I not make you the happiest girl in all of Cornwall?’
Gwenna purred, barely able to breathe. ‘Oh, you could easily do that, if only you would name the day. Perhaps in the autumn? We could get secretly engaged right away, if you like.’
He was chuckling as he pushed the gown further from her shoulder, still busying himself with her breasts. ‘We could certainly consider the possibility. You know how important your happiness is to me.’
‘Is it? Oh, but I’ve been so upset lately as you seem to be ignoring me. You’re spending far too much time with that Rose.’
Lifting her from his lap, Jago sat Gwenna on his desk, slipping one hand under her skirts while he continued to nibble at the delightful arch of her throat. ‘Now you know there is no one for me but you. I cannot stand the woman, have in fact just sent her packing with a flea in her ear.’ He chuckled, not wishing it to be known that he had in fact been the loser in that little contretemps. ‘Now how can I make my best girl happy again?’
And pushing her back onto the desk he set about the task with vigour, until Gwenna was squealing with delight and had quite forgotten her sulks.
Chapter Twelve
Rose could hardly believe she was once again on board ship, crossing the Bay of Biscay en route for Biarritz. As this was now autumn 1906, it was more than twelve months since that previous voyage to America. She couldn’t help thinking how different her life would have been had she not been suffering from influenza on that occasion. If she hadn’t coughed, and her eyes been all inflamed, she would have gone through customs with the rest of her family and even now be enjoying life with them in New York.
The thought always brought heartache as she still desperately missed them. She’d written many letters in recent months to her aunt’s home in America, and, to her joy, had eventually received one in return from her mother. Several more letters had been exchanged between them and it felt wonderful to be in touch again, to know that her family was well. Micky had found a job as a shoe boy in a fine hotel, hoping to work his way up the promotional ladder to porter one day. Mary and Clara were attending school and the twins would be following them there very soon. Her mother too had found employment as a seamstress, so they’d all settled in well.
One extra benefit from these letters was that Rose was able to learn more about America. Her mother had described to her the apartment they all occupied in the basement of a brown stone building. She’d learnt of the deli on Forty-Seventh Street where they liked to eat pancakes for breakfast as a special treat on a Sunday, of the milk-cart horse called Bud, and the excitement of Thanksgiving. All of these small details helped Rose to answer the myriad questions which came her way from various members of the Tregowan family, and add credibility to the great deception that now held her in a seemingly unbreakable grip. A string of lies constantly waiting to trip her up.
Sadly, she’d been compelled to lie yet again, to her own mother for goodness’ sake! Nervous of an envelope arriving addressed to Rose Belsfiel
d, she’d told Annie that her name had been changed to Tregowan to suit the family she was working with. Since this was a fairly common occurrence among domestic servants in society households, it seemed a perfectly reasonable explanation to offer.
Rose had also felt obliged to make up a suitable tale to go with it, all about how she and Joe had managed to find employment at this fine house in lovely Cornwall. She explained that Joe worked in the stables and as a chauffeur, that she herself was a housemaid. And when her mother asked to hear about this new life she was living, Rose would describe the tasks Tilly was engaged in, as if it were herself that was doing them. She made no mention of what had happened on the ship with Rosalind, nor little Robbie.
Her lies were now so legion that Rose would mockingly tell Joe she should really start keeping a record, just to make certain she could remember them all. Not that she would ever be so foolish as to do such a thing, but they tripped off her tongue with practised ease. Rose had almost convinced herself that some of them were actually true. But the sense of guilt never left her.
Yet not for a moment did she regret staying to protect her darling Robbie. Wasn’t his safety far more important than any possible threat to herself? Already walking, he was growing into a bright and sturdy little boy. It was hard to credit how far she had come since she’d last ventured overseas, returning rejected from Ellis Island. But despite the stormy weather on this voyage, she didn’t feel in the least bit seasick. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was coping much better with the inclement weather than poor Tilly, for instance, who had spent most of the passage shut in her cabin. Robbie too appeared to have developed a good pair of sea legs, although he wasn’t terribly steady on them yet.
Tilly was still his nursemaid as Rose had managed to resist all efforts on the part of Lady Tregowan to appoint a nanny in her place.
‘Tilly is good with him. Better still, Robbie loves her.’
Several nannies had appeared for interviews, each one reciting their ‘rules and requirements’. Fortunately, either Lady Tregowan herself did not approve of them, Rose found some good reason to object, or Robbie just screamed and they went quickly away.
But what a joy the child was to her. There was no question in Rose’s heart that he was her son, in every way that mattered. She devoted herself entirely to his care, with Tilly’s excellent help. Having this precious boy in her life was one good thing which had come out of the nightmare. And had she stayed in America, she would never have set eyes on the enigmatic Bryce Tregowan.
To her shame, Rose couldn’t decide whether that was a good or a bad thing.
She’d spent the last several months deliberately avoiding close contact with him. Fortunately, that hadn’t been difficult as he’d been very caught up with his new chandler’s business. Bryce might appear quite friendly on the surface, but his thoughts ran deep and any conversation with him nearly always ended with him asking pertinent questions about her past. Did he persist with these interrogations out of genuine friendship and affection, or was he truly suspicious of her? She could never be certain.
Rose didn’t care to consider the hours she spent thinking about him, of how many wakeful nights she had lain in her bed recalling his smile, weighing his words as he gently teased her. And the way he would so often catch her eye, making it quite impossible for her to break away, was most confusing. She really had no wish to confront her mixed feelings about him, how one minute she could dislike and distrust him, the next be blushing like a silly schoolgirl simply because his arm had accidentally brushed hers.
Jago, however, had turned into her sworn enemy. There was no question about that. Rose was now a regular visitor to Tilly’s family in Polruan. She’d liked them on sight, being genuine, salt-of-the-earth Cornish folk, and they’d become dear friends to her. Thankfully, she had successfully spared them eviction, so the confrontation with Jago had been worth it.
Surprisingly, he had not engaged in reprisals, or none that Rose could quite put her finger on. But there was something about the manner in which his narrowed gaze would watch her, following her every movement as she went about her daily life, that sent a shiver down her spine. It was almost as if he knew her secret, that she was an impostor, and he was simply waiting for the right moment to expose her.
But how could he know?
There had been one occasion when Rose had felt certain that her belongings had been searched. Even if that were true and not simply her own fevered imagination, she had few possessions of her own, most of them being dear Rosalind’s, so what would such a search reveal? Rose could think of nothing that would condemn her, save for the document they’d all signed making her Robbie’s guardian. And this she kept safely secreted beneath the loose floorboard under the bed, where no one would ever think of looking.
Nevertheless, Rose didn’t trust him an inch. For that reason alone she was glad to have Tilly by her side on this trip, as only her friend fully understood this silent battle of wills. Joe was entirely unsympathetic to her concerns, making it very clear that he thought she fussed and fretted too much.
‘No one will discover the truth so long as you keep playing your part, which you are doing marvellously,’ he would say whenever she expressed her doubts.
Rose would draw some comfort from his faith in her, and from the sight of Robbie thriving and growing into a fine little boy. What possible risks could she be running by telling a few little fibs?
Lydia considered it an essential part of the season that she spend winter away from the cold of England, relaxing in Biarritz, a beautiful and stylish coastal town close to the Spanish border. It was very popular with the British upper classes for its mild climate, stunning beaches, and sense of elegance and style. She always insisted on staying at the Hôtel du Palais, formerly the summer mansion of Napoleon III, which seemed reason enough for choosing it so far as Lydia was concerned. The hotel overlooked the main beaches and the Atlantic Ocean, and was decidedly chic and luxurious, a veritable honeypot for the very best people. Which meant, of course, that it was also the perfect place for society gossip. Lydia very much liked to keep abreast of who among her friends was having an affair, or considering remarriage. She might even keep her eye out for a likely new husband on her own account.
More urgently, Lydia wanted a good marriage for each of her sons. ‘Gwenna is a sweet child, and I can see that you are attracted to her,’ she remarked to Jago as they enjoyed a quiet nightcap together in her suite on the evening before the ship docked. ‘But I do hope you weren’t thinking of taking this relationship too far. I shall find her a suitable husband, of course. The dear child deserves to be happy. Sadly she is growing rather plump, which is perhaps the reason she has failed to take on her second season out. Too many comfort sweets, I fear.’
Jago’s thin lips twisted into a smile, although it did nothing to warm his features, which remained as cold and bland as ever. ‘Point of fact, she’s rather keen to marry me, increasingly so of late. Of course, she does have a fortune of her own.’
‘Of modest size. You can do better. I strongly recommend you leave the girl alone. I’ve seen you touching her, and taking her off for quiet little strolls. Be careful such dalliance doesn’t lead to expectations you cannot fulfil.’
Jago smirked. ‘I do take care, but a man must be permitted a few pleasures.’
‘Not with Gwenna. For you, my elder son, I have a far more interesting prospect in mind.’
‘And who might that be? Not one of your Bohemian friends?’ he asked, a suspicious glint in his pale eyes.
Lydia topped up his glass with a generous splash of whisky. ‘A certain person whose son, rightfully or not, has a claim to the title.’ Lydia had long ago resigned herself to the inevitable and, outwardly at least, accepted Robbie as the new baronet, albeit with some degree of resentment and deep reservations. But the problem could easily be solved if she could but arrange a match between the girl and her elder son. To Lydia’s practical way of thinking, that would be the perfect solut
ion. ‘You are fortunately not blood related, and it is vitally important to keep the money within the family.’
Jago laughed out loud. ‘And how do you suppose I might persuade her, since she has made it abundantly plain she hates my guts?’
Lydia raised an eyebrow. ‘Does she? Then you must change her mind by exercising more charm upon her. I’ve never thought of you as the modest sort when it comes to chasing women. And surely the end justifies the means.’
This time Jago’s smile was almost joyous, if one could so describe an expression which revelled at the prospect of causing misery to another, and this woman in particular. ‘It would be my pleasure. I rather think I might enjoy the chase, and the capture.’
Rose stood at the rail watching as the ship docked in Bilbao harbour. Life with the Tregowans was never dull, even exciting at times, but it was also quite terrifying. Rose never knew from one day to the next what new challenge she might have to face. She’d been astonished to find herself even included in this expedition, which had been as unexpected as it was unwanted. Lydia may have grudgingly come to terms with her presence at Penver Court, but hardly seemed to welcome it any more now than she had at the beginning. So why the invitation to join them in Biarritz? It was most puzzling.
The family had stayed quietly at home the previous winter, as they’d officially been in mourning, although the death of Lydia’s husband had not prevented her from inviting friends to stay for frequent and decidedly noisy house parties.
Rose had once found herself seated next to a Mrs West at dinner, who seemed a most pleasant lady. But when it transpired that she was no less than the Duchess of Manchester, Rose had frozen, not daring to speak another word all evening, let alone risk eating a morsel of food in case she spilt it, her hand was shaking so much.
My Lady Deceiver Page 15