The Second Lady Southvale (12 page)

Katherine wasn’t aware of the perusal. ‘There must have been something in one of the letters that were waiting for him, I can’t see that it could have been anything else. It upset me to see him suddenly so unhappy, and I really did my best to cheer him up. As I said, I tried to make him tell me about Washington, and that’s when he described the ball at your home. It was just
after that that he ordered …’ Katherine broke off, coloring a little and lowering her eyes.

‘That he ordered what?’ prompted Rosalind curiously.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Rosalind looked intently at her. ‘I think it does, Miss de Grey. Please tell me what you were about to say.’

Katherine drew a reluctant breath. ‘Very well. He ordered Celia’s portrait to be returned to the drawing-room.’

Rosalind’s lips parted briefly and she turned her head quickly away.

Katherine’s voice continued unhappily. ‘Just before he left for America, he had the portrait removed to Celia’s rooms, for he said it made him feel sad to look at it.’

Rosalind didn’t know what to say or what to think. Yesterday she’d begun to suspect that Philip had changed his mind about marrying for a second time because he was surrounded by memories of his beloved first wife. Now it seemed that that suspicion may prove correct. She couldn’t help a wry, ironic smile, for she remembered what she’d been dreaming when Annie had awakened her. In the dream Philip had discarded her because of Celia, and from what she’d now learned from Katherine, it was a dream that could easily become reality.

Katherine touched her arm apologetically. ‘I’m sorry if what I’ve said has upset you.’

‘I did insist upon being told,’ Rosalind reminded her. She gave a slight smile. ‘Perhaps I’d have been wiser to have listened to my brother …’ She broke off, suddenly remembering who it was that Katherine resembled. It was Elizabeth Mackintosh, who would have married John had it not been for the accident.

Katherine looked at her in concern. ‘Is something wrong, Miss Carberry?’

‘No, it’s just that you’ve been reminding me of someone, and I couldn’t think who it was. I’ve just realized that you’re very like my brother’s late fiancée, Miss Mackintosh. He loved her very much, and even though it’s more than a year since she
died, he’s still not over her.’ Rosalind smiled ruefully. ‘Perhaps he and Philip aren’t that much unalike, after all,’ she murmured.

Katherine understood her meaning. ‘Because Philip has had Celia’s portrait returned to the drawing-room, and it’s well over a year since she died, too?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘Miss Carberry, if Philip loved you enough to ask you to marry him, then you may take my word for it that he’s
recovered
from any grief he felt over Celia.’ Katherine gave a rather irritated sigh. ‘Oh, how I loathed her! She was the very worst thing that ever happened to my brother.’

Rosalind’s eyes widened. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said.

‘I loathed Celia, and she loathed me. Believe me, it was
thoroughly
mutual, although Philip never realized it. She never put a foot wrong in front of him, but when he wasn’t there, she was a
chienne
. I didn’t shed any tears when I learned she was dead.’

Rosalind stared at her, for the conversation suddenly contained very clear echoes of another conversation, with Mrs Penruthin at the Black Horse in Falmouth.

Katherine smiled, a little amused by Rosalind’s obvious astonishment. ‘I see no reason to pretend about Celia, Miss Carberry, for apart from always having been a difficult and at times unpleasant sister-in-law, she was also responsible for the singularly most wretched experience in my life. Did Philip ever tell you that I’d had an unhappy love affair?’

‘Well, yes, he did mention it, but not in any detail.’

‘I was a fool, I loved too much and too unwisely. Celia
deliberately
introduced him to a fascinating widowed countess who made me seem dull, and he left me for her. Celia did it simply to cause me as much pain as she could. She wrongly thought I was to blame because Philip refused to buy her a diamond
necklace
she particularly wanted, but I hadn’t said anything to him, he’d decided against it because he heard that the Duke of Newbridge was taking legal action to reclaim it from the
jeweler, because it was supposed to have been stolen from Newbridge Place two years ago. Celia decided it was all my fault, though, and her subsequent actions were based on
nothing
more than spite. It all happened just before she left that last time for Ireland, and I was so miserably unhappy that poor Philip became quite anxious about me. Of all things, he tried to make her stay behind to comfort me!’ Katherine gave a short laugh. ‘She was the last person on earth I wished to have around me, and I was glad when she insisted on going. Miss Carberry, I’ve never let him know how much I disliked her, and I would be grateful if you wouldn’t tell him.’

‘Of course I won’t.’

‘If you don’t mind my saying so, although you are obviously surprised at my candidness, you don’t seem surprised at what I’ve actually said about Celia.’

Rosalind lowered her eyes for a moment. ‘Mrs Penruthin also told me what my predecessor was really like. Celia wasn’t exactly popular at the Black Horse.’

‘I thought something must have happened there when she suddenly took to staying at a different inn. I didn’t believe her that it was just because it was more convenient to be down by the quay. What happened?’

Rosalind told her, but without mentioning Dom Rodrigo and the rides on the moors.

Katherine sighed. ‘Demanding a poor stableboy’s
punishment
? That sounds just like dear Celia. Oh, I still can’t believe that she so successfully pulled the wool over Philip’s eyes.’

‘Love is blind, or so they say.’

They were silent for a long moment, and then Rosalind remembered that Gerald was supposed to be calling later. ‘Annie tells me that Mr Beaufort is going to wait upon me later this morning.’

‘Yes. It was my great-aunt’s idea.’

‘Not one of her better ones,’ murmured Rosalind with
feeling
.

Katherine gave her a wicked glance. ‘But he’s so charming and pleasing,’ she said, her tongue firmly in her cheek.

‘I’d as soon be in the company of a snake.’

Katherine laughed. ‘Well, I have to admit that I’d feel the same way, if I were you. But I also have to concede that last night he did seem to have repented, and he gladly agreed to my great-aunt’s suggestion.’

‘Gladly? I find that hard to believe,’ replied Rosalind,
recalling
how extremely unpleasant he’d been when he’d first confronted her.

‘He’d been called away from a winning hand, and gentlemen with mountainous gambling debts don’t take too kindly to such interference.’

‘That doesn’t excuse him.’ Rosalind paused. ‘It’s strange, but several times last night, when he insisted that Philip wouldn’t marry again, I felt almost as if he knew something I didn’t.’

‘I know, I thought the same. He can’t know anything, though, because Philip and he didn’t meet when Philip returned from Washington. Philip was only in London for a day or so, and then he simply vanished.’

‘Hasn’t anyone any idea where he might be?’

‘No. I did wonder if he was at Greys, but when I sent a message there, Mrs Simmons, the housekeeper, sent word back that she hadn’t seen him at all. He could be anywhere, and it’s just not like him to be so thoughtless.’

Rosalind looked seriously at her. ‘Miss de Grey, why do you think he hasn’t said anything about me?’

Katherine met her gaze. ‘I really don’t know, Miss Carberry, I only wish I did. Since he returned from America he’s behaved in a way that’s totally out of character, but I’m sure he loves you. He wouldn’t have given you his ring if he didn’t.’ She turned quickly as Richardson entered, followed by three
footmen
carrying silver-domed dishes. ‘Ah, breakfast at last. I was beginning to think we’d been forgotten.’

The butler bowed apologetically. ‘Please forgive the delay,
Miss Katherine, but I’m afraid there was a mishap in the kitchens and everything had to be cooked again.’ He went to draw out a chair for her, and she sat down.

Then he drew out a second chair for Rosalind, but as she took her place and unfolded her napkin, she was thinking about Katherine’s reassurance that Philip still loved her. If he did, why hadn’t he told his family and friends about her? And why had he had his late wife’s portrait returned to a place of such
prominence
? They were two questions that didn’t augur well for the future happiness of Miss Rosalind Carberry of Washington.

As Rosalind and Katherine sat down to their breakfast in London, Philip was still only five miles away at Greys, where he’d been all along. Mrs Simmons, the housekeeper, had been instructed to reply untruthfully to Katherine’s message, and all the shutters were still closed, continuing to give the impression that the house was unoccupied.

He’d been up since dawn, and was now riding slowly down through the park on one of the largest and most capricious thoroughbreds in the stables, chosen deliberately to take his mind off other things. He wore a pine-green riding coat and pale-gray cord breeches, and hadn’t bothered to put on a top hat, so that the bright autumn sun shone on his coal-black hair. But for all his Bond Street elegance, he still looked and felt ragged, for sleep was proving hard to come by. The letter he’d struggled over had been written and sent, and all he could think of was the unhappiness with which it would be read. A nerve flickered at his temple, and his lips pressed into a firm line as he kicked his heels, suddenly urging the great bay more swiftly down toward the lake.

A shy herd of red deer fled before him, veering away to his right to melt into the thick fringe of trees marking the
boundary
of the estate with the Hampstead road. He could just make out the lodge by the main gates, and the lodge-keeper at work in the tiny vegetable garden at the rear. The lake sparkled in the
sunshine in the valley below, the blue water dotted with
graceful
white swans. It was lined by more trees, some of them
evergreen
, but most of them in the full fiery glory of autumn color. Down beyond the lake and the valley, below the invigorating air of the high heath, London stretched away into the distance, and the day was so clear that he could easily distinguish the dome of St Paul’s on the horizon.

Behind him, Greys shone white on its grassy terrace, its
shuttered
windows gazing blindly over the park, but he didn’t look back as he reached the trees by the shore of the lake, riding through them to the water’s edge. There he reined in, leaning forward slightly on the pommel and gazing across the sheet of water that looked so natural, but that had been achieved in his great-grandfather’s time by the damming of a small stream. A slight miscalculation with the surveying had meant that the water crept up six feet farther than originally intended,
encircling
a tiny rise in the land where an old summerhouse was built in the branches of an ancient oak tree. Rather than attempt to lower the lake again, a little Chinese bridge had been built, spanning the shallow water between the shore and the newly made island, and what had commenced as a mistake had been turned into a very lovely and novel feature.

On impulse, he dismounted, leading the horse to the bridge and tethering it. Then he walked across to the little island. A barely discernible breeze played through the leaves of the oak tree, loosening some of them so that they sailed idly down to rock on the water like little orange-and-gold boats. The summerhouse had been built two hundred years before, when the original Greys had gazed down over a tree-filled valley where a stream flowed between mossy banks, and was an elegant little structure with arched, leaded windows.
Half-timbered
and topped by a gracefully pointed roof, it nestled comfortably among the thick, gnarled branches, approached up a winding wooden staircase that led to a little arched door.

Philip gazed up at it, noticing how faded the wood was now
and how loose some of the little tiles were on the roof. He and Katherine had played there all the time when they’d been
children
, but it had been sadly neglected of late. Slowly he went up the wooden staircase, pausing to shake the handrail as it wobbled beneath his touch.

The arched door creaked on its rusty hinges, and a damp smell drifted out toward him. There was sudden startled
fluttering
, and he ducked as a frightened dove flew out past him. When he went inside, he saw that one of the windows
overlooking
the middle of the lake had at some time been blown open by the wind, and doves had been roosting in the
summer-house
rather than the dovecote in the kitchen garden behind the house.

The vagaries of the weather had swept in through the open window, spoiling the pretty wallpaper that had once been such a delicate blend of pink and gold, but that was now a faded, nondescript stone color. Some of the paper was peeling and damp, and he noticed a loose board above the door. The floor was in need of attention, too, for not only had the doves left their mark, but some of the boards were beginning to look rotten.

His riding crop tapping against his gleaming top boot, Philip glanced sadly around. It was his fault that the little building had come to such a sorry pass, for he hadn’t given it much thought for years now. Things would have to be put right and the summerhouse rebuilt completely if necessary.

Leaning a hand on the wall, he looked out of the open window. The sunlight flashed on the lake, and two swans glided silently past. He could hear the murmur of the breeze in the oak tree and the lap of the little wavelets against the shore. It was peaceful and very beautiful.

He gazed at the patterns on the water, wishing that he could stay here in seclusion forever. But he was merely putting off the inevitable, and some time soon he had to go back to London: he had no other choice. He’d never shrunk from his duty in the
past, and now wasn’t the time to start. ‘Duty.’ The very word cut into him. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, it seemed that he could see Rosalind’s face shimmering in the glittering water below.

His breath escaped slowly, and suddenly his mind was made up. He wouldn’t wait until the eve of his Foreign Office appointment before returning to London, he’d go tomorrow.

Turning, he left the summerhouse and descended the
staircase
. His horse pricked its ears as he crossed the Chinese bridge, and soon he was riding back up through the park toward the house. Fifteen minutes later a groom set off for Southvale House with a message for Katherine and Lady Eleanor.

After breakfast, Katherine set off on the various calls she’d arranged before Rosalind’s arrival, and Rosalind went back up the staircase toward her room, still trying to think of a suitable excuse not to go anywhere with Gerald.

Reaching the top of the first flight of stairs, she saw that the drawing-room doors were open. Celia’s portrait faced her, the dainty figure in pale-pink satin standing out against its
thundery
background. Rosalind paused, staring at her predecessor’s likeness. Celia’s face was a sweet, delectable mask, hiding the real woman beneath. Philip believed he’d married an angel, but an angel wouldn’t have set out to so deliberately break Katherine’s heart, and an angel wouldn’t have tried to wreak punishment upon an innocent stableboy who couldn’t have been expected to know she’d changed her fickle mind about a ride.

Rosalind gazed at the portrait for a moment longer and then went to close the drawing-room doors. Gathering her green dimity skirts, she hurried on up to the floor above and along the passage toward the pagoda room. As she went inside, however, she saw Annie start guiltily from the window, dabbing a
handkerchief
to her tearstained eyes.

Rosalind paused in surprise. ‘Annie? Whatever is it?’

‘Nothing, madam,’ said the maid quickly, striving to quell the tears.

‘Do you usually cry for no good reason?’ asked Rosalind, not unkindly.

‘No, m-madam.’ The maid hung her head, her shoulders shaking.

Rosalind went to her. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘It’s my mother, madam. She’s been ill for a while now, and just after I’d shown you down to the terrace, my sister brought a message. Mam’s worse.’

‘Do you wish to go to her?’

‘But Lady Eleanor has instructed me to accompany you when you drive with Mr Beaufort.’

‘There isn’t going to be any drive if I can help it,’ replied Rosalind determinedly.

‘There isn’t?’

‘No.’

‘Is it because you’re so very tired after traveling from Cornwall?’

What an excellent excuse! Rosalind nodded. ‘Yes, Annie, it is. I’m quite exhausted, and I’m sure Mr Beaufort will understand if I decline his kind invitation.’ And if he doesn’t, let him stew.

Annie looked hopefully at her. ‘Do you really mean that I can go to see my mother?’

‘Yes, of course. I’m quite capable of existing for a while
without
a maid. I’m not entirely helpless.’

‘Oh, thank you, Miss Carberry. You’ll never know how
grateful
I am.’

‘Go along now, Annie, and you can have the rest of the day. I’m sure Lady Eleanor will not mind, and if she does, then I’ll say it’s all my fault, which it is.’

At a loss for words to express her gratitude, Annie hurried away, almost as if she was afraid Rosalind would change her mind. Rosalind smiled a little. It seemed that Annie was human, after all, with very human emotions. But then, didn’t every
loving daughter worry about her mother? Rosalind lowered her eyes. She was a loving daughter herself, but she’d left home in such a way that distress was bound to have been the result. True, she’d sent a note from Annapolis, but it would have provided scant comfort. It was time to write another letter, to let them know she’d arrived safely.

But as she went down to the floor below again, to the
drawing-room
, where she’d noticed a small writing desk the evening before, she thought wryly that if things continued to go the way they appeared to be going, she and the letter would probably arrive back in Washington together.

She ignored Celia’s portrait as she commenced the letter, but she was conscious of its presence all the time. She didn’t tell her family of the disagreeable things that had happened to her since her arrival in London; she just wrote about the good things, such as they were. Well, she was in London, she was staying at Southvale House, and both Lady Eleanor and Katherine had been kind to her. It was also true that Gerald Beaufort was coming to escort her over the town today; there was no need to add that he was loathsome in the extreme and that she
wouldn’t
go out anywhere with him if he were the last man on earth.

She’d just completed the letter when Richardson came to inform her that Gerald had called and was waiting in the entrance hall. She took her time about sanding, folding, and sealing the letter, for it wouldn’t do Gerald any harm to be kept kicking his elegant heels for a while, and then, when she was quite ready, she went down to speak to him.

He was standing by the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantelpiece and one shining boot upon the polished fender. He was looking into the flames and didn’t at first hear her approach. The firelight glowed on his face and burnished his dark-chestnut hair to bright copper. He wore a mulberry coat and cream corduroy breeches, and his waistcoat was made of particularly fine silver brocade. A bunch of keys was suspended from his fob, and a golden pin shone in the neat folds of his
starched neckcloth. His top hat, gloves, and ebony-handled cane lay on the silver-topped table in the center of the hall.

She’d almost reached the bottom when he heard her. He turned quickly and came toward her. ‘Good morning, Miss Carberry,’ he said in a very agreeable tone.

‘Good morning, Mr Beaufort,’ she replied coolly.

The coolness wasn’t lost upon him. ‘I see I have yet to redeem myself.’

She didn’t reply.

He exhaled softly. ‘Miss Carberry, I realize that I was a little rude yesterday—’

‘A little rude? Sir, you were monumentally rude.’

‘Er, yes, I believe I was. Believe me, I’m truly sorry to have treated you so appallingly.’

She eyed him suspiciously. ‘I find it hard to believe in such a complete
volte face
, Mr Beaufort. You made your feelings toward me very plain indeed when we first met yesterday, and then, without warning, you are all sweetness and charm. Why?’

‘Perhaps because I realized how wrong I was about you.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Miss Carberry, I made a gross error of judgment, and I bitterly regret it now. If I could undo those minutes yesterday, I would, but the sin is committed now. All I can do is try to make amends, and I will do, if you will but give me the chance. It was Lady Eleanor’s suggestion that I take you to see some of the sights of London this morning.’

‘I’m far too fatigued after my arduous journey to consider a carriage drive, sir,’ she replied firmly.

His hazel eyes were shrewd, and the faintest of smiles touched his lips, as if he knew it was just an excuse. ‘Well, I suppose that’s understandable,’ he murmured. ‘Miss Carberry, fresh air is said to be a sovereign cure for fatigue, so perhaps a walk in the park would be beneficial?’

‘Mr Beaufort—’

‘A short walk in the park, that’s all I ask.’

‘
All
you ask? Sir, you’re inviting me to ignore propriety.’

‘A maid can accompany us, indeed, I would expect such a precaution. Forgive me if I gave any impression to the contrary,’ he replied quickly.

But still she held her ground. ‘I would prefer not to, sir,’ she said candidly.

‘Miss Carberry, have you declared war upon me? Can we not negotiate a little? Surely a cessation of hostilities is our joint goal?’ He smiled winningly.

‘What does it take to convince you, Mr Beaufort?’ she said coolly.

‘I’m determined to get into your good books, Miss Carberry. Please take a walk with me.’

She hesitated, for it was quite plain that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

‘Please,’ he pressed, smiling again. ‘I can instruct Richardson immediately concerning a maid to accompany us.’

She gave in. ‘Very well, Mr Beaufort. A short walk.’

‘Ten minutes only, I promise.’