Helena might well have been referring to the fact that Lord Rampton had not relinquished his hold on Rose. In fact, he was holding her tenderly as if both were smelling of April and May.
He saluted them both, squeezed Rose closer and announced in expansive tones, ‘It may come as a greater surprise to you that Rose has just agreed to become my wife.’
The smile he directed at Helena was so imbued with pleasure and goodwill that Rose could not doubt that his decision to wed her stemmed from desire for her, pure and simple. She forced back the kernel of doubt that honour and coercion had had their roles to play.
‘Isn’t that right, my love?’
It must have been the dazed expression on her face that caused him to laugh out loud and kiss her quickly upon the lips before releasing her to the expected gestures of congratulation from her family.
‘How very clever of you, my dear Rose,’ her sister-in-law murmured as she touched her lips to Rose’s cheek. ‘And it is what I directed you to do. Just make sure you are not greedy with the benefits.’ She gripped her wrist, whispering, ‘And that you remember those who facilitated your good fortune.’
‘I’m afraid you’ll be sailing without her,’ said Rampton, stepping forward to reclaim his intended and who seemed unable to wipe the grin from his face.
‘Rose was to travel alone,’ Charles said, casting a troubled look at Helena. ‘Our plans have changed, for we intend to remain some while longer in England. I had hoped to,’ he looked nervous, ‘find a means of securing the funds we need to repay you. We have expectations that an aunt of—’
Rampton cut him off. ‘No need to lose sleep over a trifle when this marriage obviously negates that.’ He levelled a fond look at Rose. ‘Though I hesitate to call it a trifle when it was the means of bringing your sister into my orbit.’
Rose felt as if she were in a different orbit. Lord Rampton … holding her as if he could not bear to let her go? Speaking as if their marriage were the most marvellous outcome?
Raising his hand to halt Charles’s sputtering gratitude, Rampton went on, ‘Let us return to town and tell Arabella and Felix the happy news.’
‘Expect Arabella’s congratulations to be more muted than you might have expected,’ Helena said. As always, she managed to find a way to dampen Rose’s happiness. ‘Arabella is nursing a broken heart.’
‘Yarrowby?’
Rose felt as much as saw Rampton’s relief. All he said, though, was,‘ My commiserations. Perhaps my alliance with her sister may aid her future prospects.’
Rose’s heart leapt. Might Rampton really be generous to her family even after having been so thoroughly duped? She realized that any prospective suitor for Arabella would have withdrawn on account of the scandal Rose had caused. Indeed, her misery of the past week had been as much due to her guilt over Arabella’s injured prospects as in accepting that Rampton was lost to her.
Now there were the legalities of their union to be seen to, with Rampton declaring his intention to get a special licence so that they could be married without delay.
Rose opened her mouth to speak but Rampton squeezed her hand and went on, ‘After that, I think a protracted bridal tour sounds in order. The world needs to know this is a love match.’
A love match. Rose existed in a state of euphoria that nothing Helena could say, and not even Arabella’s unhappiness, could dampen.
Sadly, Rampton’s mother put an end to their planning a protracted bridal tour by pleading a severe chest ailment that, she insisted, was mortal but the wedding ceremony was held at St Mary’s three days later with a sprinkling of well-wishers.
Rose had never been more nervous in her life. The last thing she had expected when she set out from the West Indies was a glittering match.
And while a glittering match was all very well, it was the man himself who set her pulses racing; each time she glanced at him she had to pinch herself to realize that the fairy tale had come true.
Except that it wasn’t all a fairy tale.
Scandal was inevitable.
But it need not be attached to her name indefinitely. She would see to that. The gossip-mongers who asserted that the new Lady Rampton had deceived her husband into marriage would search in vain for signs that all was not well between them. He himself had called it a love match.
She smiled at her husband and her heart leapt as she saw her pleasure reflected in the gaze he returned as they stepped out of the church, now man and wife. Tenderly, he caressed her cheek as she rested it briefly against his shoulder.
‘Try not to over-exert yourself at the wedding breakfast,’ he whispered. Tipping her face up towards his, he added with his characteristic wolfish grin: ‘You’ll need all your reserves for tonight.’
Helena was the first to offer her congratulations after the ceremony, mustering an impressive display of sincerity as she kissed Rose. She was radiant in primrose silk, her dark hair caught up in an ivory comb in a simple style that accentuated her high cheekbones and dark, smouldering eyes.
‘Brother-in-law,’ she said, eyes dancing, holding out her hands, forcing Rampton to walk forward and take them. ‘May your impulsive gamble on a wicked Chesterfield pay off.’ It was a bold and familiar speech ameliorated by every evidence of humour but it nevertheless caused Rose deep foreboding, which was only allayed by her husband’s obvious pleasure in his own union.
‘Congratulations are due to my clever wife for realizing before I did what a crotchety old bachelor like myself really needed,’ he said.
Proudly he led her across the threshold and into the vast marble-floored hallway of her new London home. The household servants stood in two ordered lines from the foot of the sweeping staircase.
Having introduced them to the new Lady Rampton, the newly-weds preceded the guests into the saloon, where the sumptuous wedding breakfast was laid out.
‘I didn’t think you had it in you, Rose. You have triumphed.’
Helena had not wasted an opportunity. Finding Rose alone for the moment, the silken tones hid the unkind insinuation.
‘My good fortune is all due to you, my dear Helena,’ Rose responded. ‘It was, after all, you who sent Charles looking for me the day the painting was finished, was it not?’
‘I am always so conscious of your shining halo, my dear Rose, I had not anticipated that he would find you so compromised.’ Helena’s smile did not reach her eyes. ‘A lucky thing for you that Lord Rampton is an honourable man, otherwise you’d be languishing, a lonely and maligned spinster in the West Indies for the rest of your days.’
‘I’d have had company when Charles finally brought you home.’ It was an effort to sound brighter than she felt. Helena could be depended upon to find her most vulnerable places. ‘Tell me, Helena, what really keeps you in England? It wasn’t the debt, was it? You’d have found some way of brushing that under the carpet, or otherwise appeasing Lord Rampton.’ Rose was pleased to see that this found its mark. A shadow crossed Helena’s face before she resumed smoothly, ‘Our overseer appears to be doing a better job than Charles – or you – ever did. The plantation is prospering and now that you’ve landed yourself such a catch, Rose, and I no longer have to tiptoe around the ballrooms with eyes lowered and necklines up to my ears my enjoyment has just begun. Besides, if I play my cards right Charles might find his way to furnishing me with a diamond necklace.’
‘Like Lady Barbery’s?’
‘Exactly. Only I don’t mean one that’s been stolen, my dear Rose. What a perplexing mystery that was.’
It was wrong to feel such vitriol for anyone on this most joyous of occasions. Five years of training enabled Rose to say with reasonable equanimity, ‘You achieved nothing, Helena. Rampton knows I am innocent.’
Helena’s eyes widened with mock concern, ‘Rose, you surely didn’t imagine that my insistence that you should wear the necklace – though I admit, I was uncertain as to its origins – was prompted by malice? Why, I wanted to test Lord Rampton, see how he’d champion
you if indeed there were something havey-cavey about the gift.’
This was too much. Fighting the urge to hustle her sister-in-law into a nearby antechamber and simply have it out with her, Rose said in a low voice, ‘You really think me so credulous? That I’ll believe whatever you choose to tell me? What about the timing of Charles’s visit to Rampton’s tower room. You orchestrated that, too. Tell me the truth, Helena.’
Helena put her head on one side as she said, brightly, ‘The truth, Rose, is that it’s entirely due to me that you and your handsome, rich bridegroom are here today and I’d like a little credit. My, what a lovely bride you make.’ Dropping her voice she skimmed her gloved hand along the length of Rose’s forearm, feigning affection. ‘Of course, marrying your viscount was the easy part.’ She drew back and her smile faded as she added, almost as if it were a vow, ‘And may you be as happy as I’ve been the past five years.’
Before her spirits had quite plummeted to her toes, Rose was relieved to see Rampton advancing, wearing the well-satisfied smile that filled her with happiness and banished her fears regarding their future together. Helena had not seen him. She was still eyeing Rose with a distinct lack of felicity. It was this which enabled Rose to feel charitable. She must remember, she told herself, that dissatisfaction was not a crime and nor had Helena committed anything beyond achieving, in fact, Rose’s happiness. Helena’s discontent with Charles did not mean she was a disloyal wife in more than thought, and if she could find happiness as the feted Lady Chesterfield in London’s drawing rooms, Rose would be glad.
‘Rampton … darling.’ What power Rose felt to purr those words and have her husband respond. In front of her jealous sister-in-law.
‘My clever wife has brought me to heel, Helena, and long before time, too. Now, my dear …’ He put an arm around Rose’s waist and was about to draw her away before good manners intervened as he glanced at Helena’s empty hand. ‘Shall I fetch you an orgeat, in case you’ve developed a taste for the sickly liquid, sister-in-law?’ He smiled wickedly. ‘Or should it be champagne? I keep forgetting that you are the worldly married Lady Chesterfield.’
‘Just as long as you remember that dear Rose is your innocent and unworldly wife.’ Helena’s eyes glittered, but her laugh was mirthless. ‘Though for someone so innocent and unworldly she has done a fine job achieving what a great deal more designing misses have failed to achieve, I must say.’
***
Rampton assigned his housekeeper, Mrs Hopkins, to show Rose the house of which she was now mistress. The wedding had been conducted in such haste that Rose had only seen the entertaining rooms.
Now, while Rampton was ensconced in his library with his man of business, preparing to leave for Larchwood, his country estate, a few days later, Rose trailed after Mrs Hopkins as the venerable retainer flung open the doors to Rose’s private apartments.
Her bedchamber was decorated in green and gold. Once sumptuous, it now had a faded charm about it.
‘This used to be her ladyship’s room, but his lordship says it is to be redecorated to your liking.’ Mrs Hopkins did not look encouraged by the prospect.
Rose was about to ask what her ladyship, languishing, apparently on the point of death in the country just now, might have to say about that, but then thought better of it. Mrs Hopkins looked as if she might enjoy explaining the point.
Rose’s trunks had been unpacked. Her nightdress – in sheerest lawn, exquisitely embroidered – lay upon the bolster, her gowns and underclothes had been folded and put away. Upon the rosewood dressing-table her bottles and brushes were neatly arranged. Unexpectedly Rose was visited by the acute sensation of being but a passing visitor. Staring into her new bedchamber she felt like a stranger imposing upon another’s hospitality. It had all been so unexpected.
The chill of it made her tremble and she had to grip the carved post of her new bed while she tried to comfort herself with the thought that this must be what every new bride felt like.
Certainly, the warmth of her husband’s reception and his surprising equanimity towards their marriage had chased away most of her fears. She felt assured of his support and, surprisingly, his love. Surely she could not have mistaken the force of his ardour or misinterpreted his patent desire for her.
But what of the servants?
Mrs Hopkins, cold and erect, nodded stiffly as Rose dismissed her. Was she one enemy in a houseful of hornets? Did the minions downstairs make malicious remarks about their mistress’s dubious claims to her new title? Had they heard the rumours surrounding the new Lady Rampton’s wicked deception? Did they know she had been implicated by Lady Barbery in the theft of that lady’s diamond necklace?
As Edith had decided to remain with Arabella, a plain, sour-faced young girl called Beth had been assigned as Rose’s lady’s maid. Though Rose would rather have had Edith as an ally in her new home she feared for Arabella’s welfare with Helena as her protector. Her younger sister’s happiness was now Rose’s chief concern. Once the scandal Rose had created had subsided – as Rampton had assured her it soon would with him by her side – she hoped the girl would be settled before too long. Helena was quite capable of forcing an unpalatable alliance upon Arabella if there were advantages for her and Charles.
‘What does my lady wish to wear for dinner?’ Beth’s tone was courteous but, as she awaited instruction. Rose saw no warmth, no desire to do more than simply her job.
She was disappointed. Having the respect of one’s lady’s maid was important to bridge the divide between upstairs and downstairs. Rose would have hired a girl herself, except that the dowager had assigned Beth to Rose specifically after hearing that Rose’s old nurse would not join her in her new home. Rose wondered whether the act had been kindly motivated, or the opposite. Judging by her new maid’s sharp features and thin mouth, young Beth had an uncertain temperament.
‘Whatever you think most suitable.’ It would be a test to see how competent the girl was.
While Beth laid out her clothes Rose walked over to her dressing table. She looked well. Her blue eyes were bright beneath their dark, arched brows. Her gleaming chestnut hair, released from the pins and coils which Edith had used to create a regal and lovely style fit for her wedding now shone in fine ripples over her shoulders, and her bare skin gleamed. It was better to look like the cat that had swallowed the cream, rather than something the cat had dragged in. And if she were already branded a scheming fortune hunter, well, it was better to be considered anyone’s match than a poor, dispirited creature of whom everyone assumed they could take advantage.
‘An apt choice,’ she remarked, with more than a hint of irony when she saw that Beth had laid out the most daring and revealing of all the gowns she’d had made in such haste during the three days available: a low-cut confection of deep-red silk.
Although these were not the words he used, Rampton’s greeting as he stood awaiting her in the dining room went something along the same lines. But there was a sly gleam in his eye which banished any suggestion of disapproval.
‘You’re quite at liberty to tell me to change my dress,’ Rose responded as she slid into her seat at the opposite end of the table, ‘if you think it sends the wrong message to the servants.’
‘I was thinking what a fine choice it was.’ Tension crackled between them. He felt it as much as she, she could tell, as they locked glances.
When the wine was poured and the footman had retreated to his silent post by the sideboard, Rampton raised his glass. As he was about to make his toast, a light breeze stirred the curtains and caressed the flesh exposed by Rose’s evening gown. She shivered.
‘My dear, you’re cold,’ said Rampton, beckoning to the footman to close the window.
‘No, please. Keep it open,’ said Rose. Her reaction had been prompted by memories of that first fateful dinner with Lord Rampton when she had deceived him into thinking she was Helena. What a novel experience it had been pretending to be a married woman.
And now she was
married.
‘What is it?’ Rampton was looking at her anxiously.
Realizing that she was frowning, Rose forced a smile. ‘I was remembering how I sat here only a couple of months ago …’ She nibbled the inside of her lip. ‘And how much I enjoyed deceiving you.’ Despite her sly smile, doubt still gnawed at her. ‘I never expected to marry you.’ She glanced across at him, wanting his reassurance.
‘Just as long as you enjoy the marriage part as much as you enjoyed the deception.’ To Rose’s surprise Rampton was on his feet, advancing upon her while the first course was being cleared. ‘You really are not quite the thing, are you, my dear?’ he said, his voice solicitous for the benefit of the servants. His eyes, however, danced wickedly as they travelled from Rose’s surprised face to her décolletage. ‘That nervous headache has laid you low once more, hasn’t it, dearest?’
The temerity! Rose thought with delicious wickedness as he concocted the lie for the benefit of the servants, struggling to hide her delight as he murmured, ‘Allow me to escort you to your bedchamber.’
Not risking an objection he caged her hand upon his arm before she had answered, and led her from the table. ‘That will be all,’ he dismissed the servants, turning as they reached the doorway.
At the foot of the staircase he lowered his face and with complete disregard for whoever might be watching, kissed her thoroughly upon the lips. ‘I’ve had enough of charades,’ he declared, as he swept her into his arms and mounted the stairs, ‘including pretending to enjoy dinner when I’ve only one thing on my mind.’
Chapter Ten
ROSE WASN’T SURE whether she was sorry or otherwise that the Dowager Lady Rampton was not present to observe her son’s obvious self-satisfaction – and satisfaction with his new wife – at breakfast the following morning.
Any qualms she’d had regarding her ability to please her husband in the bedroom as his legal wife, as opposed to the woman he had obviously intended to take for his mistress, had not been realized.
A Little Deception Page 13