by Sandra Heath
Katherine de Grey remained by the doorway. She was taller than her great-aunt, with a pleasingly rounded figure. Her gown was made of white brocade, short-sleeved and square-necked, and there was a golden belt at its high waist, immediately beneath her breasts. Her elbow-length gloves were aquamarine, embroidered in gold, and an aquamarine feather boa was draped lightly over her arms. She wore her long brown hair à l’égyptienne, with a golden headband from which sprang a flouncy white plume. She gazed at Rosalind for a long moment and then lowered her eyes to the floor.
Lady Eleanor’s closed fan tapped against her palm as she too surveyed Rosalind, but then she looked at Mr Beaufort. ‘Well, sir?’
‘Has Richardson explained anything?’ he asked in reply.
‘He told me of the arrival of an American lady who is making some rather startling claims concerning Philip.’
Mr Beaufort made a faint gesture toward Rosalind, shrugging and raising his eyebrows as he did so. ‘The lady in question,’ he murmured.
Lady Eleanor looked at Rosalind again. ‘I understand that your name is Miss Carberry.’
‘Yes, and I suppose Philip hasn’t mentioned me to you, either,’ replied Rosalind with a heavy heart.
The old lady pursed her lips. ‘No, he hasn’t.’
Rosalind glanced at Katherine de Grey, who was now her only hope. ‘Do you know anything about me, Miss de Grey?’
‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’
Mr Beaufort drained his glass. ‘Which all seems a little strange, don’t you agree? This, er, lady sports Philip’s signet ring and says he asked her to marry him, but not a single word has passed his lips on the subject. She’s quite obviously trying it on.’
Lady Eleanor’s lips twitched. ‘Trying it on? And what, pray, does that mean?’
He endeavored to conceal his irritation. ‘It means that she’s a fraud,’ he replied shortly.
‘All this newfangled vocabulary,’ she muttered disapprovingly, her fan still tapping. Then she eyed him. ‘Well, sir, since you quite obviously do not believe Miss Carberry’s story, I suppose I can understand your attitude, but understanding it and condoning it are two entirely different matters. You were being grossly offensive when I arrived, and I find that totally unacceptable.’
A quick flush touched his cheeks. ‘Lady Eleanor, the woman is an adventuress.’
‘In your opinion.’
‘If she isn’t, why hasn’t Philip said anything about her?’ he demanded.
She breathed out slowly. ‘That I cannot say.’
‘She isn’t about to become Lady Southvale, so what point is there in pretending?’
Rosalind looked sharply at him again. He really did seem very certain about her fate. Why? Was it solely because Philip hadn’t mentioned her, or did he know something?
Lady Eleanor studied him. ‘We don’t know that she isn’t telling the truth, sir, nor do we know that she isn’t about to replace Celia. While Philip remains so stubbornly and inexplicably absent from the arena, we can’t know anything at all, and so it rather ill becomes you to adopt such an irredeemable attitude. Philip may no longer be your brother-in-law – strictly speaking, that is – but he is still your good friend, and it just may be that he intends to marry Miss Carberry, so might it not be more prudent for you to follow my example and reserve judgment?’
He pressed his lips angrily together, and a nerve flickered at his temple. He turned abruptly away and poured himself another liberal glass of Philip’s cognac.
Lady Eleanor sighed and went to sit on a chair opposite Rosalind. Katherine went to stand behind her great-aunt, a hand resting slightly on the back of the chair. Rosalind felt very much under scrutiny, as if there were four people endeavoring to assess her honesty: Lady Eleanor, Miss de Grey, Mr Beaufort, and Celia herself, whose painted face seemed to be gazing down from the wall.
Lady Eleanor looked at her. ‘Tell me, Miss Carberry, how long have you known my great-nephew?’
‘Since the evening of the Fourth of July.’
‘That’s very precise.’
‘Yes.’
‘I happen to know that he left Washington toward the end of August, which doesn’t leave very long for your acquaintance to have developed.’
Rosalind couldn’t hide an ironic smile. ‘Lady Eleanor, we met on the Fourth of July, and he proposed to me on the fifth of July. Our wedding was arranged for the end of August, but he was suddenly sent back here three days before.’
Her words fell into a stunned silence, and it was Mr Beaufort who recovered first. He gave a disparaging laugh. ‘Such an instant flame of passion? So vibrant and undeniable affaire de coeur? And yet Philip hasn’t felt it necessary to inform us about it? How very curious.’
Rosalind lowered her eyes, for Philip’s inexplicable silence was very disquieting.
Lady Eleanor spoke again. ‘Miss Carberry, do you have any proof of your claim, other than your possession of the signet ring?’
Rosalind raised her eyes reluctantly. ‘Not with me. He did write to me from Falmouth, but I left the letter at home in Washington.’
Mr Beaufort studied his glass. ‘How very convenient,’ he murmured.
Lady Eleanor shot him a dark glance and then returned her attention to Rosalind. ‘There is nothing else?’
Rosalind thought for a moment. ‘He told Mr and Mrs Penruthin about me.’
‘Mr and Mrs Penruthin?’ repeated the old lady, the names evidently meaning nothing to her.
Katherine leaned down to her. ‘Mr Penruthin is the landlord at the inn in Falmouth, Great-aunt. He’s known Philip for quite a long time.’
‘I see.’ Lady Eleanor looked at Rosalind again. ‘And this Mr Penruthin therefore knows about you?’
‘Yes.’
Lady Eleanor studied her. ‘We could, of course, approach these people in Falmouth, but that would take over a week, and I expect Philip to return in that time. He has a very important meeting at the Foreign Office, concerning his forthcoming assignment in St Petersburg, and the only thing we do know about his movements is that he intends to be back here in time to keep that appointment. Miss Carberry, is there any other way that your claims can be substantiated?’
‘Well, Signora Segati knows about me. She was staying at the inn and I drove to London in her chaise. I know that Mrs Penruthin told her why I was in England.’
A rather disapproving expression descended over the old lady’s face. ‘Signora Segati? The opera singer?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I see.’ The words were uttered very tersely.
Mr Beaufort gave a dry chuckle. ‘My dear Miss Carberry, Segati is renowned as being one of the most incurable fibbers in Christendom. Her powers of invention are as legendary as her voice, and no one in their right mind would accept anything she said without taking a very large pinch of salt. How very appropriate that you should drop her name, for, to be sure, you and she are birds of a feather.’
‘Mr Beaufort,’ snapped Lady Eleanor angrily. ‘Unless you desist, I shall have you removed from the house!’
‘But—’
‘One more word and I shall ring for Richardson,’ she threatened.
He sighed and said nothing more.
Lady Eleanor looked at Rosalind. ‘My dear, Signora Segati isn’t an ideal witness for your defense, for she is indeed an inveterate teller of tall tales. The last time she was in London, she told everyone that the Duke of Wellington was going to divorce his duchess in order to marry her, but it turned out that the duke hadn’t even met her, let alone proposed marriage. So, you see, I can hardly approach her on the matter of your claims concerning Philip.’ She paused for a long moment. ‘No, there’s only one thing for it: you must stay here at Southvale House until Philip returns.’
Mr Beaufort was appalled. ‘Lady Eleanor, you can’t possibly be serious.’
‘I’m not in the habit of jesting, sir,’ she replied in a chilly tone.
‘But to invite her to stay beneath this roof!
Surely it would be wiser to find her a room at a suitable establishment? Grillion’s, for example?’
‘I hardly think that is a very sensible idea, sir,’ replied the old lady coldly. ‘What if Philip confirms everything Miss Carberry has said? The whole of London will then learn that we declined to offer a welcome to the next Lady Southvale. That won’t do at all.’
Katherine de Grey suddenly spoke to Rosalind. ‘Miss Carberry, you said that you met Philip on the Fourth of July. Would you mind telling me where?’
Rosalind was a little surprised at the question. ‘It was at a ball at my home, my parents throw a grand ball every year on that day, it’s become quite a social tradition.’
‘Will you describe the outside of your home?’
‘The outside?’ Rosalind was a little taken aback. ‘Well, it’s a large house in the classical style, and it’s known locally as the Carberry mansion. It’s set in its own grounds, but the specimen trees my father chose aren’t very well established yet. They will be soon, though, and then it will all look much better. There’s a terrace overlooking my mother’s rose garden …’
Katherine smiled suddenly. ‘With a little summerhouse?’
‘Yes.’
Katherine looked at Mr Beaufort. ‘I think you may have to eat your words, Gerald, because Philip told me about that night. I asked him about Washington society, and about Washington itself, and he said that some of the houses there were as grand as anything here in London. He also told me about attending a Fourth of July ball at one particular mansion, and he mentioned the rose garden, because he knows how much I love roses. He was very strange when he told me about that night, and he said that it was one of the most important and momentous occasions of his life. Of course it was, for he met Miss Carberry!’
Rosalind felt a surge of relief, for at least one person here now believed her. But her relief was short-lived, for Gerald’s next words reminded her of one salutary fact: Philip had chosen not to mention her to anyone.
Gerald faced Katherine. ‘If it was so important and momentous because of Miss Carberry, why in God’s name didn’t he say so? Why all the mystery? Why not simply inform us all that he intended to marry her? Well? What explanation have you got for that, Katherine?’
She lowered her eyes. ‘I haven’t got one,’ she replied reluctantly. ‘All I know is that one moment he was on top of the world, the next he was so sunk in gloom and despondency that I was quite alarmed. Well, perhaps it wasn’t quite like that. I was on my own here when he returned, and I rushed out to greet him when he got out of his carriage. He was happier than I’d ever seen him before. He swung me up in the air and told me he had something wonderful to tell me, but that first of all he’d attend to whatever letters had arrived for him during his absence. He told me to have tea served here in the drawing-room, because he wouldn’t be long, he’d just check that there wasn’t anything of pressing importance. When he joined me in here, he was very quiet and low, different in every way from the man who’d arrived shortly before. I tried to make him smile, but it was impossible, and that’s when I asked him about Washington.’
Gerald shrugged. ‘Anyway, it’s all academic, because I can tell you quite categorically that Philip isn’t going to marry again.’
Katherine was vexed with him. ‘The trouble with you, Gerald Beaufort, is that you don’t find it easy to admit you’re wrong. Miss Carberry isn’t an adventuress or a fortune-seeker, she’s a lady from a very wealthy background, and such ladies don’t leave their homes for no good reason. She’s come here to marry Philip, and has his ring to prove it, which is good enough for me when set beside what he said about the Fourth of July.’
Lady Eleanor nodded. ‘I’m more than inclined to agree with you, Katherine. It’s settled then, Miss Carberry will stay here with us until Philip returns and sheds some light upon the mystery. Miss Carberry, I take it you’ve brought your maid with you?’
‘Well, I did, but she fell ill with a fever during the voyage and has remained in Falmouth with the Penruthins.’
The old lady looked up at Katherine. ‘Celia’s maid, Annie, was kept on, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes, Great-aunt. She never accompanied Celia on visits, and Philip didn’t think it right to dismiss her. She’s been with us ever since.’
‘Ring for Richardson, if you please. The pagoda room must be put at our guest’s disposal, and Annie must be instructed to wait upon her.’
As Katherine went to pick up the little silver bell on a nearby table, Lady Eleanor gave Gerald a firm look. ‘Now, then, sirrah, I don’t wish to hear any more argument from you. Miss Carberry is to be my guest, and unless you’re prepared to be civil, I suggest you keep away from this house for the time being. Do I make myself clear?’
Gerald hesitated, but then sketched an elegantly acquiescent bow. ‘I promise to be the personification of civility, Lady Eleanor,’ he murmured.
‘See that you are,’ she replied tartly.
Rosalind had lowered her gaze to the fire. Well, one way or another she was to be made welcome in Philip’s house, but it wasn’t the way she wished it to be. She was desperately worried as to why Philip had omitted to tell anyone about her, and she wished Hetty was with her, instead of two hundred and fifty miles away in Cornwall.
Suddenly she raised her eyes and found herself looking into Gerald’s almost speculative gaze. He didn’t glance away, but gave a slight smile, raising his glass to her.
13
Rosalind was too unsettled and worried to sleep well that first night in London. She lay awake for long periods, and when she slept, her dreams were disturbing. But it was the one she had just before being awakened by Celia’s maid, Annie, that disturbed her most of all, for it was so real that it could have been happening.
She was riding to meet Philip by the fallen tree near her Washington home. Her heart was racing and there were tears in her eyes. She wanted to ride faster, but something seemed to be holding her back, and the horse moved at no more than a very slow canter.
All around her the green summer woods were touched with gold by the setting sun, and shadows lay like bars across her path. The insect noise she remembered so well was throbbing all around, in time to the frantic pounding of her heart. A single thought consumed her: please let Philip be there as he’d promised, please let him be able to tell her everything was still all right.
She could hear John calling after her. ‘I’d never have brought him near the house if I’d realized this would happen.’ A sob caught in her throat. Should she be listening to her brother, or to her heart, which urged her on into the woods?
John called again. ‘He means nothing but heartbreak for you, Sis … nothing but heartbreak.’ Heartbreak, heartbreak, heartbreak … The calls died away like an echo and became lost in the insect noise.
The fallen tree was visible ahead now, and Philip was waiting, the reins of his horse swinging idly in his gloved hand as he leaned back against the trunk. He turned as he heard her, and his eyes were very blue and forceful. As she reined in before him, he came to lift her down to the ground. He smiled, but his fingers were hard and cruel, pinching her through the soft material of her riding habit. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he was strangely different, as if the real Philip de Grey had gone, and someone else was there instead.
‘Philip, you’re hurting me,’ she protested.
‘Forgive me, Rosalind, for the last thing I wish to do is upset you.’ They were words he’d really said to her in those woods, but in the dream they were cold and without feeling.
She searched his face, desperate for the reassurance that would sweep aside her deep uncertainty. ‘Do you still love me, Philip?’ she asked.
‘I love you, Rosalind, and have done so from the very first moment I saw you.’ More remembered words, but hollow now.
‘Do you promise?’
‘I want you to be my wife, to become the second Lady Southvale, and to come back to England with me.’
‘I’m afraid,
Philip.’
‘Marry me, Rosalind.’
‘Oh, Philip, of course I’ll marry you.’
He smiled again, but although his lips were inviting, his eyes were remote. He pulled her close, bending his head to kiss her. It was a hard, relentless kiss, another distortion of the reality she’d known before, but it was skillful, coaxing an unwilling response from her treacherous senses. As a lover he had no equal, but he was using her for his own pleasure, with no thought of her. She suddenly knew that she meant nothing to him, in spite of his honeyed words, but still her deceitful body responded to his touch. She was powerless to resist as a rich, voluptuous warmth spread beguilingly through her. A low moan escaped her bruised but wanton lips, but even as she surrendered, he suddenly thrust her aside.
‘What a fool you are, Rosalind,’ he said scathingly, ‘believing all I told you, and questioning nothing.’ There was nothing remembered about his words now, they were painfully new and uncompromising.
He turned away, leaving her as he walked toward the trees. Then she saw Celia. She was dressed in the same pale-pink satin gown as the portrait, and there was a mocking smile on her sweet lips as she turned to look at her vanquished American rival.
Philip’s fingers closed lovingly over his wife’s. The sun went in and a low rumble of thunder spread ominously across the darkening skies. Then the insects fell abruptly silent.
After a moment there was a new sound, a hissing sound that had no place there. Rosalind woke up with a start and then realized that the noise was the drawing back of the curtains on a new morning. Annie was by the windows, and once the blue velvet curtains had been tied back by their ropes, she folded back the shutters. Morning light flooded into the room.
Rosalind watched her for a moment. The maid was small and thin, with brown hair that she wore back in a very tight knot beneath her starched mobcap. Her face was pale and plain, with a scattering of freckles over the nose, and she wore a fawn linen gown that did little to assist her rather drab appearance. She seemed to be of a rather morose disposition, but was very capable and efficient, coming to the bedside the moment she saw that her new mistress was awake.