The Second Lady Southvale (17 page)

Dawn was a long time coming, and when it did, the mist swiftly dispersed, leaving the air oddly and unpleasantly humid after the wind of the day before. Low clouds dulled the sky, and sound seemed to travel a long way. Rosalind knew that Lady Eleanor had been right: there would soon be a thunderstorm.

When Annie at last brought the morning tea, she told Rosalind that it was proving very difficult to hire a chaise, because word was out of a famous prizefight taking place that afternoon on Crawley Down, on the Brighton Road, south of London. Such was the interest in the fight, which had had to be arranged at the last moment because such encounters were
illegal
, and their whereabouts were always kept secret for fear of intervention and arrests by the law, that every available chaise had been snapped up, and so had every livery horse, for it seemed that most of London’s gentlemen would be sallying forth to watch the celebrated encounter. Nothing could be promised until late that evening, and there was nothing for it but to wait until then.

Rosalind hadn’t brought all that much luggage with her, so there was no need for Annie to begin packing until the evening. Rosalind could therefore choose to wear anything from her somewhat limited wardrobe, and she decided upon the
primrose
sprigged muslin gown that had the matching pelisse and wide-brimmed hat. She’d worn this outfit to drive into London,
so why not wear it again to drive out?

She maintained an admirable composure as she sat before the dressing table for Annie to comb and pin her hair. Memories of what had happened in the rotunda during the night seemed to be all around her still: she could feel Philip’s arms around her, taste his lips, and hear the loving words he’d said. Leaving him would be the most difficult and heartbreaking thing she’d ever had to do, but she knew she had to go, for she had no right to love another woman’s husband, and that husband had no right to turn his back on his wife.

There was a discreet tap at the door and Annie hastened to open it. It was Philip. He was dressed very formally in a black corded silk coat and white silk breeches. A tricorn was tucked under his arm, and he wore silk stockings and highly polished black pumps. He glanced pointedly at Annie, who took the hint and withdrew, then he looked at Rosalind.

‘I was evidently seen arriving last night, for word has been sent this morning summoning me immediately to the Foreign Office.’

‘About St Petersburg?’

‘Yes.’ He put the tricorn down, smiling a little
self-consciously
. ‘One is required to wear the correct togs for such high places.’

‘You look very elegant.’

‘Rosalind, Richardson tells me that you’re still insisting on a chaise.’

‘Yes.’

‘He also tells me that because of the prizefight, there
apparently
isn’t a chaise to be had until late this evening.’

‘Yes, but I should still be able to travel a little way out of London.’

‘Then you’ll still be here when I return from Whitehall.’ He paused. ‘I don’t want to keep this appointment, Rosalind, but I have to. When I come back, I’d like to spend a little more time with you before you leave.’

She rose slowly from the dressing table. ‘Is that wise?’

‘No, but I’d still like to be with you.’

‘And I with you,’ she said softly.

He hesitated, and she went to him, slipping her arms around his waist and holding him tightly. He returned the embrace, his cheek resting against her hair. For a long moment they just stood together, then he pulled away, turning to pick up his tricorn before leaving the room.

Her lips trembled, and she swallowed, determined not to succumb to the tears that seemed ever-present.

She didn’t know Katherine had come in until she spoke.

‘Are you all right, Rosalind?’

Rosalind turned quickly, giving a brave smile. ‘Yes, of course I am.’

‘It’s just that I saw Philip leaving this room a moment or so ago, and now I’ve found you almost in tears …’ Katherine’s peach-and-white-striped gown whispered softly as she came farther into the room, closing the door behind her. ‘What did he say to you?’

‘Just that he’d like to see me when he returns from Whitehall.’ Rosalind hesitated, but then couldn’t help telling her what else had happened. ‘He still loves me, Katherine, he told me so last night in the rotunda.’ She explained everything.

Katherine’s eyes widened. ‘Celia’s been in Portugal?’ she said at last.

‘So it seems.’

‘With a lost memory?’ Katherine’s lips twitched
disbelievingly
. ‘Do you think it’s true?’

‘Not after what I was told by Mrs Penruthin.’

‘What were you told?’ Katherine asked attentively, sitting down on a fireside chair. ‘I do hope it blackens Celia’s
character
beyond redemption.’

‘It blackens her character, all right, but I’m afraid it’s
guesswork
.’ She explained about Dom Rodrigo and the rides on the moors above Falmouth. ‘He has estates near Lisbon,’ she
finished on a meaningful note.

Katherine stared at her. ‘Are you quite sure?’

‘It’s what Mrs Penruthin said. She was convinced they were lovers, but couldn’t prove it.’ Rosalind went to the window, looking up at the gray skies. A wind was beginning to stir through the park, and leaves fluttered through the air. There weren’t many people strolling on the Queen’s Walk, for it wasn’t the right kind of day. Her glance came to rest upon a solitary woman wearing a rich dark-blue velvet cloak. She was slender and seemed rather nervous, but Rosalind couldn’t see her face because the cloak’s hood was fully raised. She was walking south toward the Mall, and she glanced now and then toward the house, but her face remained invisible. A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.

Katherine came to stand next to her. ‘My great-aunt was right, we are going to have thunder. She’s seldom wrong, she can always tell by her headaches.’

‘How is she this morning?’

‘Still in her bed. She insists she still has the headache, but I think it’s as much because she’s upset about you. She really has taken to you, you know. Just as I have.’ Katherine smiled,
linking
her arm. ‘I really can’t believe fate is being so cruel. You and Philip love each other, but are going to have to part because of a vixen like Celia. And now it seems he’d begun to doubt her even before she was supposed to have died, and that he’d
probably
fallen out of love with her before then, too.’

Rosalind felt the salt tears pricking her eyes and hurriedly blinked them away.

Katherine squeezed her arm. ‘I feel so wretched for you, I just wish there was something I could say or do to help.’

‘There isn’t anything.’

‘Oh, if only we could prove she’d been up to no good during this past year – and before, come to that.’

‘She may have been the perfect wife all along,’ reminded Rosalind.

‘Pigs will fly over Mayfair first,’ replied Katherine succinctly.

Another growl of thunder spread across the distant sky outside, and they both looked out again. Rosalind noticed the cloaked woman once more. She was walking north toward Piccadilly now and still seemed to glance occasionally toward the house.

Katherine looked at Rosalind suddenly. ‘Was Philip quite certain that that letter was written by a Dom João?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘What if he was wrong? What if it was Dom Rodrigo?’

‘It would be very convenient if it was, but I don’t think Dom Rodrigo or Celia would write a letter that so closely
incriminates
them. The letter states that Celia had lost her memory and that she’d only remembered everything after a riding accident. Dom Rodrigo was with her in Falmouth, and quite definitely knew who she was then. He’d have had to lose his memory too not to have been able to identify her all this time.’

‘That’s very true, but I’d still like to see the letter. Philip seldom destroys his letters, not even those that displease him, so I’m pretty certain this particular one will still be somewhere in the house. In his study, probably. I think I’ll go and have a look.’ Without waiting for Rosalind to reply, she gathered her skirts and hurried away.

Rosalind sighed, for it was hardly likely that anything to her advantage would result from the letter. She looked out at the windswept park again. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, and as another roll of thunder followed, the first scattering of
raindrops
struck the windowpane.

The woman in the dark-blue velvet cloak was standing motionless on the Queen’s Walk, staring toward the house. Her hood was still raised and her face in shadow, but there was no mistaking her interest in Southvale House. Another jagged flash of lightning illuminated the clouds, closely followed by a clap of thunder so loud that it made Rosalind start.

A stronger gust of wind blew across the park, suddenly
flinging 
back the woman’s hood, and Rosalind saw with a gasp that it was Celia. Rosalind’s heart missed a beat, for it was almost as if the drawing-room portrait had come to life; she was seeing Celia Beaufort against a thundery sky …

More rain dashed against the glass. Celia quickly pulled up her hood and began to hurry away directly across the park, following a much smaller path than the broad gravel walk.

Rosalind didn’t hesitate, but went swiftly to the wardrobe to take out her own cloak. Putting it quickly around her shoulders, she left the room and ran down through the house toward the terrace. The wind caught the cloak, billowing it wildly as she hastened toward the little flight of steps at the far end of the terrace.

Rain was falling heavily now, but she hardly noticed as she went down toward the postern gate and then out into the park. There she paused for a moment, gazing toward the middle of the park, in the direction she’d last seen Celia. She caught a brief glimpse of the dark-blue cloak, then it vanished between the autumn trees somewhere near the icehouse.

Gathering her own already-wet cloak, Rosalind hurried after it. A vivid flash of lightning dazzled her, and her heart pounded fearfully as a tremendous clap of thunder shook the very ground. The rain had become a downpour, and she could feel the cold seeping through to her shoulders.

A double flash of lightning split the sky, followed by an explosion of thunder that reverberated between the trees. She’d thought it was already raining as heavily as it could, but the downpour became a veritable cloudburst, and she could barely see where she was going. She could just make out the silhouette of the icehouse, and made her way toward it, pushing
thankfully
inside.

The rain rattled on the ruin’s crumbling roof, and the
drawing
wind stirred the dank air. Water still dripped into the pit, but more persistently now, as the storm water seeped swiftly through the holes in the roof.

There was a sudden movement in the shadows, and with a sharp gasp Rosalind turned quickly, her eyes widening.

Celia stood there, her lilac gaze full of malevolence. ‘Well, I had hoped to avoid the woman who so vainly presumed she could usurp my place, but it seems we’re destined to confront each other, after all, Miss Carberry.’

Rosalind stared at her, caught off-guard not only by the other’s unexpected presence in the icehouse, but also at being addressed by name.

Celia smiled a little. She was as lovely in the flesh as she was in the portrait, and there was such an air of sweetness about her that it was impossible to believe she wasn’t what she appeared to be. Outside there was another flash of lightning and a roll of thunder that seemed to growl for a long time across the leaden skies. There was no lessening of the cloudburst, which pounded into puddles by the doorway and rattled on the roof as if it would come directly in to where the two women stood facing each other.

Another faint smile curved Celia’s lips. ‘Have you nothing to say, Miss Carberry?’

‘How do you know who I am?’

‘Oh, you fit your description, my dear, and I did see you looking out the window. I didn’t think you’d seen me, however, but you did, and here you are.’

‘How long have you been in London?’

‘A week or more.’

Rosalind’s lips parted in astonishment. ‘And you haven’t come to the house?’

To be with those two tabbies while Philip was away? Hardly, my dear.’

Rosalind studied her, wondering what was going on in her mind. ‘He came back yesterday,’ she said, ‘but then you already know that, don’t you? Your brother has been keeping you informed about everything.’

Celia smiled again. ‘Yes, he has.’

‘Have you been staying at his house in Piccadilly?’

‘Yes. I see no point in denying it. If Philip asks me the same questions, I shall say that Gerald said nothing because I
specifically
asked him not to, and that I stayed away from the house both until he was there and out of consideration for your unhappy predicament, my dear. He’ll think me so exquisitely sensitive and considerate to put your feelings before my own, and my hold over him will consequently be stronger than ever.’

‘Are you quite sure of that?’

‘Oh, yes, my dear, for I know how to captivate him, and I have the marriage bed in which to do it. My poor Miss Carberry, you’ll never share his marriage bed now, will you?’

The wind sucked through the icehouse, breathing coldly over Rosalind. She shivered a little, conscious of the wet cloak
clinging
against her. Lightning flashed again, followed by a rumble of thunder that seemed perceptibly farther away.

Celia was still intent upon Rosalind. ‘I suppose I can imagine how you felt when you learned that I was still alive.’

Rosalind lowered her glance. Yes, my dear Celia, but can you also imagine how Philip felt? He’s no longer the adoring husband you left behind; it’s me he loves now.

Celia was provoked by her enigmatic silence. ‘How very galling it must have been for you, my dear, to have come all this way to become the second Lady Southvale and to have achieved nothing but your own ruin. How will you face Washington
society
after this? The gossip will be rife, will it not? And all because I have returned from the dead.’

‘No, Lady Southvale, it’s all because you’ve come back from
Portugal,’ replied Rosalind quietly, her voice barely audible above the roar of the rain.

Celia’s lilac eyes flashed. ‘I was hardly on vacation there, Miss Carberry.’

‘Weren’t you? What happened, my lady? Did Dom Rodrigo tire of you, or was it the other way around?’

It was a calculated stab in the dark, but it found a target, for Celia couldn’t quite disguise the guilty start that resulted from the careful choice of words. Then a mask descended over her beautiful face. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Carberry. Who is this Dom Rodrigo you
mention
?’

Celia gave herself away with that single query, although she didn’t yet know it. Rosalind’s breath escaped on a long slow sigh of satisfaction, for suddenly it was quite clear that her suspicions about the real events of the past year were correct. She smiled at Celia. ‘Come, now, Lady Southvale, how can you possibly not remember Dom Rodrigo? He was the
gentleman
you shared such intimate moments with at Falmouth and with whom you’ve been near Lisbon for the past year or more.’

Celia’s eyes were veiled. ‘I don’t know a Dom Rodrigo,’ she said again, but there was disquiet in her glance.

Another draft of cold, damp air made Rosalind shiver, and she glanced up for a moment as the rain lashed the roof. Water was dripping in many places now, and she could hear it falling into the nearby pit, the sounds echoing chillingly through the shadows. She returned her attention fully to Celia. ‘Why bother to deny him, my lady? You were never on that Irish ship, were you? For the past twelve months and more you’ve been living with him on his estates near Lisbon. The shipwreck cannot have come into your original plans, but it must have come as a welcome bonus, for it made it so easy for you to claim to have been saved and then to return to the life you’d so casually set aside for your own selfish pleasures.’

‘What a wildly improbable story, Miss Carberry.’

‘But fairly close to the mark, I think.’

‘You’d have to prove it, of course.’ Celia smiled. ‘How very tiresome for you, my dear, to have guessed the truth, but not to be able to do anything about it.’

Rosalind drew a long breath. ‘So, you admit it?’

‘I see little point in denying it any longer, since you’ve, er, rumbled me, as they say. I will deny it all to anyone else, of course, and will say that you’re just lying about me out of
jealous
spite.’ Celia’s eyes were a vivid lilac as another flash of lightning lit the skies outside. ‘You’re right about the
shipwreck
; it was indeed a bonus, but I’d intended to be lost
overboard
anyway. I didn’t go on the ship, but my baggage did, and so did a local Falmouth girl I’d paid handsomely for her services. She was dressed in my clothes, with a veiled hat to conceal her face, and she entered the cabin that was reserved for me. Then she left in her own clothes just before the ship sailed. When the ship arrived in Ireland, my absence would have been put down to my having been lost overboard during the crossing.’

‘Didn’t you care how much grief and pain you caused? Philip suffered tortures of grief over you, and I’ve no doubt that your family in Ireland thought themselves bereaved as well.’

Celia shrugged. ‘I was infatuated with Rodrigo and wanted to be with him.’

‘Not infatuated enough to simply inform Philip that you were leaving him for your lover. No, you laid your plans very
carefully
, always intending to return if things didn’t go as you wished.’

‘I don’t believe in burning my bridges, Miss Carberry,’ replied the other smoothly.

‘Oh, I’ve come to realize that, my lady.’

‘Yes, you probably have, but Philip still intends to take me back, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.’

‘Why did you decide to return?’

‘Because Rodrigo and I had grown tired of each other, and because I’d begun to yearn for the delights of London. Lisbon is a very dull place, Miss Carberry, and can’t hold a candle to this city. When I told Rodrigo I wished to return, he was only too willing to be of assistance. It was his letter that Philip received, for he said that it would be more convincing if the letter was in a hand Philip didn’t know. I’m sure he was right, for it added weight to the tale of lost memory and caring strangers in a foreign land.’ The lilac eyes sharpened and rested warningly on Rosalind. ‘Don’t think of trying to prove anything against me through Rodrigo, Miss Carberry, for he will deny everything. He doesn’t want me back, and I don’t wish to go to him, so we aren’t going to oblige your aspirations by betraying ourselves.’

Rosalind looked at her with loathing. ‘Philip really doesn’t deserve a creature like you,’ she said quietly, her words clear in a momentary break in the rain.

‘I’m still his wife, my dear, and he’s such an honorable man that he won’t hesitate to welcome me back into his arms. I don’t really care what his feelings are toward you; they are of no consequence. His duty lies with me, and it won’t be long before I’ve won him back entirely. As I said before, I have the marriage bed in which to convince him, and I intend to share it with him tonight.’ Celia gave a taunting smile. ‘I’m given to understand that you’ll have left London by then, Miss Carberry, but if you haven’t, I shall still lay claim to my husband, make no mistake of that. I’ll tell him that I thought you’d gone and that I wouldn’t have dreamed of causing you further humiliation by actually arriving in the house before you’d gone. He’ll believe me, my dear, for I’m an excellent actress. Take my advice, be out of Southvale House before seven o’clock this evening, for that is when I intend to return to my husband’s loving arms.’

‘Is that an ultimatum?’

‘Take it as you please, but if you’re still there, be prepared to see how effortlessly I can win him back. You’ll cease to matter within a few minutes of my return, Miss Carberry.’

Rosalind held her gaze. ‘And how long will it be before you’re bored again, my lady? How long will it be before Dom Rodrigo enters your life? Maybe I should stay here in London, to be on hand when next you betray your marriage vows. You’ve covered your tracks very well this time, but maybe next time you’ll slip up. He’s worth fighting for, Lady Southvale, and it seems to me that I shouldn’t give up hope of eventually winning him.’ Rosalind hardly knew the thought was in her head, and she certainly didn’t know if she meant it, but it was worth saying simply for the effect it produced.

‘Don’t stay here if you wish to retain a shred of your
reputation
, my dear,’ Celia hissed. ‘Society’s sympathy will be with me, and I won’t lose an opportunity to stain your name or compromise you if I possibly can.’ Then she smiled. ‘But I doubt very much if you’ll carry out your threat, you’re far too noble and proper for that.’

‘Can you be sure?’

‘I think so. You’re already preparing to bow gracefully out of Philip’s life, and that proves to me that you’re a virtuous and high-principled young lady. You’re a credit to your parents and to your nation, Miss Carberry, and I shall always be eternally grateful to both.’ Celia adjusted her hood, for the rain had dwindled away now, although the storm itself still growled across the sky nearby. ‘Goodbye, my dear, I trust you suffer the tortures of
mal de mer
all the way home, as well as the tortures of knowing I’m in Philip’s loving arms. Remember now, be gone from that house by seven this evening, or I will crush your heart completely.’

Holding her hood in place, Celia slipped out of the icehouse. For a moment Rosalind didn’t follow, but then she left as well. She paused outside, for she could see Celia
hurrying 
away toward Piccadilly and the northern gates of the park.

The noise of the busy London thoroughfare carried an air that seemed to have been washed clean by the storm. A sea of umbrellas bobbed along the pavements, and the clink of pattens was clearly audible. Stagecoaches, wagons, and other vehicles splashed along through deep puddles, and another distant roll of thunder proclaimed the storm’s retreat to the south of the river.

Celia went out through the park gates and made her way across the street toward Gerald’s house, which Rosalind could see quite well from the icehouse mound. As Celia went up the steps to the door, it opened, and Gerald himself emerged,
looking
very stylish in a fawn coat and top hat, cream breeches, and peacock-colored waistcoat. He paused on seeing his sister, and they exchanged a few brief, rather angry-seeming words; then he hurried on down to the curricle that was waiting at the curb, unnoticed previously because Rosalind’s attention had been solely upon Celia. He drove off eastward along Piccadilly, cracking the whip to bring the two horses up to a smart pace, and Celia went into the house.

Rosalind turned away, retracing her steps across the wet grass toward Southvale House. So much she’d guessed about Celia was now confirmed, but at the same time it was impossible to prove. Oh, if only there was some way of giving Philip
undeniable
evidence of his wife’s infidelities and heartless scheming, but Celia Beaufort was a clever woman and had covered her tracks very carefully indeed.

The sound of a whip cracking made Rosalind stop, for it sounded like Gerald’s, and it came from St James’s Place. She moved to stand close to a nearby tree, watching the house, for if Gerald had called, she had no desire to return. She was wet and cold and in fear of catching a chill, but the thought of another confrontation with him was even more disagreeable. As she watched, he suddenly appeared on the terrace, going to
stand by the summerhouse, his gaze scanning the park. She moved hastily behind the tree, remaining absolutely still. Celia had obviously told him of the encounter in the icehouse, and it seemed that he must have called to explain his part. The fact that he was looking at the park meant that it was she, Rosalind, that he’d come to see. Surely he didn’t still intend to press his attentions upon her? Was he so insensitive? Or was it simply that he was so arrogantly sure of himself that he was convinced she’d be persuaded in the end? She could only conclude that it was a little of both, for he hadn’t hesitated the day before to tell her that he wished to be more than just her friend, and he’d said it when she’d just emerged in tears from facing Philip in the library. Celia’s brother was as loathsome and unpleasant as Celia herself.

At last he went away from the terrace, and a few minutes later she heard his curricle driving into St James’s Place. She hurried gladly toward the house, for she was now very cold and uncomfortable indeed.

Richardson was in the entrance hall as she made her way toward the staircase. His rather surprised glance flickered over her wet, somewhat bedraggled appearance, but he bowed politely, holding out a small silver tray upon which lay a folded sheet of paper.

‘Mr Beaufort called, madam, and he waited for a while, but then had to leave. He asked me to give you this.’

She took it reluctantly and read. ‘Miss Carberry. Under the circumstances, I’m sure you will agree that we should talk. I will call again in one hour’s time, when I trust you will receive me and allow me to explain. Gerald Beaufort.’ Well, he trusted in vain, for she had no intention of receiving him or of allowing him to explain anything to her.