by Carol Arens
Ever since she’d opened his message, she had been puzzling why he had chosen to meet her in such a public place. When they’d parted early this morning, his invitation had been to Chelwood and she had been cherishing the thought that she would visit the home he loved, this time as his sweetheart. She had imagined them walking and talking together, just the two of them, exchanging confidences, exploring feelings. A tryst at Chelwood would have been so much more romantic than the hubbub that surrounded them here in Rye. An uncomfortable thought sprang at her. Was that why he had changed their meeting place—because Chelwood was too intimate? Had last night been too good to be true and he was already regretting their lovemaking? He would wish to let her down gently by meeting as promised, she hazarded, but he had chosen a place in which to distance himself.
The chimes of St Mary’s great blue-and-cream clock rang out the hour. She looked up as she passed beneath the tower and the slightest of shivers nipped at her spine. The clock’s stern message, For our time is a very shadow that passeth away, seemed even sterner today. There was no sign of Justin and she walked quickly past the church door, impatient to be with him and shake off the dreadful doubts that had overtaken her. Rounding the corner buttress, she saw with relief his figure in the distance, the bright halo of his hair glistening beneath strong sunlight. Dressed in the palest of grey, he could have been a classical statue dropped amid the dark lichen of the gravestones. But he was not alone! Lizzie stopped in her tracks. Had he been waylaid by an acquaintance perhaps and was even now being stopped from meeting her by the church door as he’d promised? She looked again. It was a woman, a young and shapely woman. A voluptuous figure curved itself from the clinging folds of the dress she wore and an abundant tangle of long, dark hair hung down her back. It was Rosanna!
The two of them had their heads together as though in intimate conversation. Whatever it was they were saying, it seemed to engage them to the exclusion of all else. Lizzie waited, half-hidden by the old stone buttress, her mind churning. What was he doing with a woman they both knew to be their enemy? Justin had said that Rosanna had nothing more to tell him and had sworn that he would have no further dealings with the smugglers. So why was he talking to her? Rosanna had sufficient charm to deceive any man, even Justin, but surely he would not trust her a second time—unless he was so fascinated that he couldn’t help himself. The thought that Justin might be no more steadfast than any other man she’d known, made Lizzie feel suddenly unwell.
At last the conversation was ended and they were smiling a farewell. He was walking in her direction now and she moved out of the shadow of the church into his path. She thought she saw an expression of guilt flit across his face.
‘Why were you meeting that woman?!’ she demanded.
He looked shocked at her curt greeting, but answered readily enough. ‘She asked to meet me, Lizzie.’
‘But why? You said you would have nothing more to do with her or with the Chapman gang.’
‘I agreed to see her because I’ve not yet discovered what happened to Gil and I thought she might provide a last chance.’ His voice was quiet, but she sensed his growing displeasure. It made no difference. Inside her a fiery ball was unfurling—a ball of misgiving and anger.
‘She will tell you nothing—you said so yourself. She simply wants to dupe you again.’ And lead you into danger and misery, she thought.
‘Things may have changed,’ he said evenly, trying, it seemed, to defuse the tension. ‘Rosanna learnt today of my attempts to infiltrate the gang and reasoned that if I was prepared to go to such lengths, the matter must be far more important than she’d previously thought. After all, the gang boasts some very dangerous men—she, herself, is fearful of them.’
Lizzie’s laugh was short and scornful. ‘Fearful? Rosanna? She is Thomas Chapman’s lover and hangs on his every word.’
‘She was his lover,’ Justin corrected, ‘but she is disenchanted with Chapman and regrets keeping company with his gang. Above all, she is desperate to be free—of them and all their doings—and has promised to aid me in return for helping her to settle elsewhere.’
Lizzie wanted to hit him and hit him hard; she could not believe that such a clear-sighted man could be so badly taken in.
‘And how precisely does she propose to aid you?’
‘She knew Gil a great deal better than she admitted to me when I last spoke to her.’
‘Of course she did. That has always been evident—at least to me. But she has not previously been forthcoming, so why is she talking now?’
‘I told you. She knows I was in the gang. It has made her realise how important the matter is to me—and it has given her the chance to break free.’
‘And you believe her?’
‘Why are you so suspicious, Lizzie? I had not thought you would fall into jealousy.’
The remark served only to stoke the fires of her anger. ‘Jealous of Rosanna? No, indeed! But I am a woman and not so easily deceived.’
He glowered, but she went on, ‘You did not see her with Thomas Chapman. If you had, you would not believe she would ever leave him, let alone work against him.’
‘It’s possible for people to change,’ he said slowly. ‘She may well have been infatuated, but she has come now to see his true nature and she doesn’t like what she has discovered. I believe her—and my judgement must prevail.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Your judgement of Rosanna has proved faulty in the past. Why can you not trust me when I tell you that she is still deceiving you?’
‘I believe your woman’s heart is leading you astray—what, after all, has she to gain by deceit?’
‘You, for whatever reason. Rosanna is a female who gets her man. And you are now the man in her sights. She is aiming for you, Justin, even if you don’t or won’t see it.’
‘This is utter nonsense.’
‘Is it? Then consider—why did the gang decide to recruit you? You were a most unlikely candidate. The story you spun would not have stood up to any close inspection—unless, of course, Rosanna was urging Chapman to employ you and, to please her, he agreed.’
‘What!’
‘And you agreed as well, didn’t you? When they approached you, you accepted their proposition without hesitation. Was it in order to get closer to her? Did you become a smuggler because of her?’
‘Lizzie—’ he grabbed her by the arms ‘—I can’t believe we’re talking like this. I joined the gang because I thought they would lead me to Gil and I have no reason to believe Rosanna had anything to do with it. I can’t know, of course, if she suggested it to Thomas Chapman, but my motivation was clear. Just as it is now—Gil’s story is unfinished. I want to complete it and not just for my sake. Remember that his parents are living a nightmare. I want to be able to tell them the truth of what happened to their son. And if Rosanna can help, then I will take that help.’
Lizzie struggled free of his embrace and planted herself firmly in front of him. ‘If she is so keen to help, why did she not tell you today the information she has? You were speaking for long enough.’
‘We spoke for a few minutes only and she said that she dared not be seen talking to me. Whether she is still with Chapman or not, she is frightened of him. He is a very dangerous man and I was not willing to expose her to risk by keeping her here.’
Lizzie began to pace up and down, weaving backwards and forwards between the gravestones, only stopping when her shoes were dark from the damp of the long grass. He was wrong, utterly wrong, and she feared his refusal to believe her would one day return to haunt him. But it was the knowledge that he would rather trust Rosanna’s words than her own that filled her with despair.
But her voice when she spoke was level, almost indifferent. ‘So what now?’
‘She has promised to arrange another meeting at a time and place where she will not be seen.’
‘A lovers’ assignation?’
She could almost hear his teeth grind. ‘I would like to shake some sense into you, Lizzie. You must know how I feel about you.’
Did she? Did she really know how he felt? When it came down to it, all she knew was that he found her enticing and that he was a wonderful lover. There had been no vow of enduring love, no vow that they had a future together. She had come to meet him today, hoping to hear those words. Instead she had seen him talking secretly to another woman. And what a woman! Made desperate by the idea, she was stung into unrestrained speech.
‘I hardly know how you feel, but I am beginning to understand and that is my misfortune. Last night—’ and she broke off, struggling to keep her voice steady ‘—last night, in those moments that we lay together, not one mention of love passed your lips. Instead it would appear that you merely completed what Victor failed to.’
Her sentiments were bitter, but she wanted to hurt him. Perhaps she had; she had certainly enraged him for she had never seen him so angry. His hands clenched into fists, his eyes blazed dark and beneath the tan his face was deeply flushed. Even the golden halo of his hair seemed on fire.
‘You liken me to that man!’
‘Why not? He was a soldier and so are you.’ She was in the thick of it now, so why hold back? She was hurt, bleeding, and she lashed out indiscriminately. ‘Women are incidental to military life—I have always known that. My own father cannot be bothered with me. The focus of his world is elsewhere. Yours, too. I have been an entertaining interlude for you and that is all.’
‘I cannot believe you would say such a thing.’
‘But why not? A few hours ago I gave myself to you, yet I find you conversing intimately with a woman who has had half the men of this town. And not content with that, you intend to meet her again. And your reason? That she might just help you—another meeting, another delightful tête-a-tête,’ she mocked. ‘What else am I to think?’
‘If you value me so poorly, think it then.’
‘Is this the young lady, Justin?’
Startled, they turned to glare at the newcomer. Lady Lavinia rustled delicately up to them, looking interestedly from one inflamed face to the other.
Justin compressed his lips and said in a voice tinged with arctic cold, ‘Mama, this is Miss Elizabeth Ingram. She is companion to Mrs Croft—as I told you. Miss Ingram, allow me to introduce my mother, the Duchess of Alton.’
Lizzie curtsied briefly and received a nod in recognition. There was an uncomfortable silence while the duchess pinned a bland expression on her face and waited for one of them to speak. It fell to Justin.
‘If there is nothing further, Miss Ingram, Mama, I hope you will excuse me. A great deal of work awaits me at Chelwood and I should be returning there.’
And with that he strode off, his feet beating a tattoo on the uneven pathway. His mother looked thoughtfully after him and then turned to Lizzie, who had been shocked into speechlessness by the disasters of the afternoon.
‘Well, my dear, hats off to you. In all my misdemeanours, I have never managed to make Justin quite so furious—cold and unforgiving certainly, shocked and determined, too—but never quite so angry.’
Lizzie’s face had paled, but the duchess’s speech caused her to flush with embarrassment. ‘I do not take that as a compliment, your Grace. The conversation...I had not meant, you see...’
‘I do see. No one better. In the heat of the moment words have a habit of running away with one, do they not?’
For the first time, Lizzie looked properly at the woman who had interrupted their bad-tempered tirade. The richness of her clothes was overwhelming, the perfume she wore expensive and the jewellery which clasped her neck and her arms surely worth a queen’s, if not a king’s, ransom. But though she exuded wealth and ease, behind the façade Lizzie sensed that she was looking at a lost and lonely woman. It made her more candid than she would otherwise have been.
‘I cannot help but feel as I do,’ she responded, ‘but I should not have said some of the things I did.’
Lavinia’s gaze was shrewd. ‘I am sure you will not relish my advice, but I will give it anyway. A simple adage only—do not let the grass grow beneath your feet.’
‘Whatever can you mean, ma’am?’
‘I have a difficult relationship with my son, Miss Ingram, but I am quite aware that he is a man worth winning and keeping. The winning I think has been easy for you, but the keeping...ah, that is a different matter entirely. And as a woman who has managed in her time to win the most appalling of men, and lose one of the best, I know what I am talking about. Don’t allow the wounds to fester—go to him as soon as you can!’
* * *
Justin had been sitting at his desk without moving for at least an hour. He had returned from the fair to work, but it was work that he could not do. The encounter with Lizzie had been short, sharp and devastating. It had never for one moment occurred to him that she would challenge his decision to talk again to Rosanna or misinterpret the woman’s presence in the churchyard. When he’d received Rosanna’s note, it had seemed sensible to name the same meeting place so that he might tell Lizzie what had been said. The meeting had gone to plan, but with a result far different from his imaginings. Lizzie had accused him of poor judgement and, even worse, the grossest conduct. She had refused to believe his denials, no matter how vehement. Instead she had chosen to believe her own fabrication and to accuse him of playing with her affections. It sickened him to think that she could believe he cared nothing for her, that last night he had been intent only on physical pleasure. She had accused him of not speaking one word of love and he had to plead guilty. Their lovemaking had been sudden, passionate, coming at the end of a night of turmoil and danger and he had been too astounded by the feelings she had released in him to find the right words.
But he had been right to keep silent. If he spoke words of love, she was entitled to expect more. For a while the dream of a different future had hovered before him, but he knew that it could not be. Chelwood might survive without him but a wife would not, especially not a wife such as Lizzie Ingram. He could not marry and then abandon her to go to war. She would not sit quietly and wait for his return from Spain, and he could not expect her to. God knew what mischief might ensue: marriage could be a disaster for them both. He was trapped, he thought, trapped by the allegiance he owed elsewhere, to the army, to his father.
And what if he were to lose all sense of duty, as he had been so badly tempted to do in the hours since he’d last seen her, would that result in happiness? For him, for her? How happy would he make her? She was a restless spirit constantly seeking distraction. She had poured scorn on marriage and no wonder, for she would find it a straitjacket.
A sudden thought made him grasp the pencil he’d been holding, so fiercely that it snapped clean in two. She would find marriage a straitjacket! She had no serious thoughts of a future with him, that was the truth. Why was he allowing himself to be torn apart by opposing loyalties when she could be the one who was guilty—guilty of playing with his affections? He was stunned by the notion, but their quarrel had come out of the blue, springing it seemed from nowhere. She had deliberately set her conviction against his, insisting that Rosanna was deceiving him, yet she had offered no sensible reason why that should be. Her accusations were ridiculous and she could not seriously believe them. They must be a ploy for detaching herself, a convenient ploy if she were regretting her indiscretion of the previous night! Was her outrage over Rosanna then simply bluff? If so, he had misjudged her utterly. He had thought her different from the society women he disdained—innocent and free spirited—but today’s bruising encounter had left him wondering how different. Was she just as manipulative, just as unfeeling, simply able to disguise it better?
That must be the case. It was clear to him now that she feared her freedom might b
e compromised and she was running from any serious commitment. His soldier’s life no doubt made him attractive to a girl who craved adventure, but what if he were no longer a soldier—he would bore her as thoroughly as the hapless Silchester. To think that he had opened his heart to her, confessed a vulnerability that he’d buried so deeply and so surely years ago. How could he have done that? Worse, how could he have allowed himself even for a second to contemplate relinquishing the army? He must have run mad. If he should ever doubt her need for excitement, he had only to remember the past. A child’s wish to find her father was forgivable, but did her uneasy relationship with Colonel Ingram make any soldier she met fair game? The incident with the wretched Victor—how forgivable was that? She had presented herself as the wronged innocent, but she had also admitted that she’d made up stories to deceive him, or to put it plainly, had told lies. Of course, the man was an unscrupulous philanderer and deserved all he got. And how dared she utter their names in the same breath!
There was a knock at the door and he lifted his head impatiently. He knew Mellors to be riding to a far distant tenant and had hoped that he would not see his bailiff for many hours.