The Second Lady Southvale (19 page)

‘I have something I wish you to do for me.’

Rosalind stared at Gerald, for the change in his manner was formidable. The vitriolic man of a few moments before was now a pleasant, completely charming gentleman.

Richardson bowed politely to him. ‘Yes, Mr Beaufort?’

‘I’ve decided to attend the prizefight on Crawley Down and will drive there immediately. Will you send someone around to
my address to inform them where I’ll be?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Gerald’s hazel eyes flickered toward Rosalind again, and the faintest of smiles twisted his sensuous lips. ‘Good-bye, Miss Carberry, I trust you enjoy a fair journey back to America.’

She didn’t reply and exhaled with relief as he walked away.

Richardson turned to her. ‘Is everything all right, madam?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘When I first came into the hall, I thought Mr Beaufort was, er, threatenng you, Miss Carberry.’

‘I believe it’s over and done with now, thank you.’

‘If you’re sure, madam?’

‘Quite sure. We’ll leave for Greys now.’

‘Madam.’ He hurried to open the door for her, and as they went out, they were just in time to see Gerald tooling his
curricle
across the courtyard at almost breakneck speed. His face was set with anger and he didn’t spare the whip.

They set off in the carriage only a moment later, and as the elegant buildings of St James’s Place slid past, Rosalind leaned her head back against the blue velvet upholstery. Oh, how she hoped the letters were still safe, and how she prayed that they would lead to Philip’s complete rejection of his spiteful, unfaithful wife.

It seemed an age before the carriage reached Tottenham Court Road and began the long uphill climb northward toward Hampstead Heath. The city of London soon began to fade away behind as the road passed through rolling, wooded countryside where meadows, orchards, and pastures were interspersed with cottages and farms. Hawthorn hedges lined the wayside, their branches heavy with fruit, and all around there was the russet, gold, and crimson glory of high autumn. There was no sign of the storm now; the sky was clear and blue and the sun shone brightly down.

The steady climb took its toll of the horses, and it was a long while before the spa of Hampstead appeared at the foot of the heath ahead. The little town had developed on swampy, sloping ground around the springs that had eventually made it
fashionable
. Laundering had been its original industry, but London society had discovered the benefits of the two kinds of spring water, purgative saline and sulphurous, and had declared both to be as excellent as that obtained at the already modish Tunbridge Wells. And so the little hamlet had become an elegant place of fine brick houses, terraces, courts, and passages, with leafy walks shaded by handsome elms and limes. There were many superior residences in the surrounding area, many of them set in spacious parks, but none of them could equal Greys, which was undoubtedly the most desirable property of them all.

They drove steadily up the main street, and then on toward the heath.

As the carriage was making its slow way out of Hampstead on its way to Greys, Philip was returning to Southvale House after his appointment. He’d been given a great deal of information and instruction concerning St Petersburg, but his mind was on Rosalind as the carriage approached St James’s Place.

Before this day was out, the woman he loved more than anything else in the world would drive out of his life forever. All they had left were a few hours, stolen, forbidden hours that broke every rule of honor. He shouldn’t have asked her to spend any time with him, but he hadn’t been able to resist, he loved her too much.

He leaned his head back, gazing emptily at the seat opposite. Guilt ached through him, guilt that he’d ruined Rosalind’s life, and guilt that he no longer loved or wanted a wife he felt in his heart had betrayed her vows. He almost wished he was more like Gerald, capable of doing the dishonorable thing from time to time, but he wasn’t, and so would stand by marriage vows that had ceased to have any meaning. He’d never discovered Celia in any indiscretion, so how could he possibly deny her now? Damn his conscience, damn his honor, and damn his sense of duty.

The carriage swayed to a standstill in the courtyard, and he climbed quickly down, hurrying up the doors and flinging them open before Richardson had even crossed the entrance hall.

‘Where is Miss Carberry, Richardson?’ he asked without preamble, for he needed to be with her for every second from now on.

‘Miss Carberry has gone to Greys, my lord.’

Philip paused in astonishment. ‘I beg your pardon.’

At that moment Katherine came hurrying down the staircase. ‘Oh, Philip, I’ve got so much to tell you.’

‘Before you do, I want to know why Rosalind has gone to
Greys.’ Philip tossed his tricorn on the table.

Katherine faced him. ‘To find Celia’s love letters and bring them back here,’ she said.

‘Celia’s what?’

‘Love letters. That’s what I want to tell you, Philip. Rosalind won’t have to leave now, of that I’m quite sure.’ Katherine proceeded to tell him everything that had happened, leaving absolutely nothing out. ‘Then I remembered that the tree-house repairs are to begin today,’ she finished, ‘and that’s why Rosalind has gone on her own with Annie. We thought it best if I stayed here with Great-aunt Eleanor, who really has been upset by everything that’s happened.’

Philip was very still, and for a long, long moment he didn’t say anything, but then he looked urgently at his sister. ‘Is Annie quite sure about those letters?’

‘Yes, quite sure.’

‘They prove beyond all doubt that Celia and this Dom Rodrigo were lovers?’

‘Yes.’

He closed his eyes for a moment, hardly daring to hope that something would come of this. But if work had already commenced on the tree house, the letters may already have been destroyed. ‘How long ago did they leave, Katherine?’

‘Well over an hour now.’

‘Then I think they may be in time.’

Richardson had been standing nearby all the time, and his face had become increasingly anxious. ‘Begging your pardon, my lord …’

‘What is it, Richardson?’

‘It concerns Miss Carberry, my lord.’

Philip’s blue eyes sharpened as he detected the man’s unease. ‘What about her?’

‘Just before she left for Greys, Mr Beaufort called to see her. I didn’t know he was here, for his curricle must have drawn into the courtyard just as the traveling carriage came to the door. I
entered the hall a few moments before he left again, and he was talking to Miss Carberry. Their voices were raised, my lord, and I’m quite sure that he was issuing a threat of some kind to her.’

‘A threat?’ Philip’s tone became cold and urgent.

‘Yes, my lord. I – I don’t remember his exact words, but I’m sure it was something to the effect that he intended to have his revenge over something. He certainly said that in the end she’d wish she’d never come to London.’

Katherine was indignant. ‘How dare he presume to say such a thing! He’s been a snake and a toad, and has the audacity to—’

‘Be quiet Katherine,’ ordered Philip, his attention still on the butler. ‘What’s this leading to, Richardson?’

‘Well, when Mr Beaufort realized I was there, he became all agreeability and very civilly requested me to send word to his residence that he wouldn’t be returning for some time as he was going to the prizefight at Crawley Down.’

‘And?’

‘And Lady Eleanor sent a man to Greys early this morning, to bring her some of the apples from the orchard, and he rode back only a short while ago. He said he passed Mr Beaufort on the Hampstead Road, driving toward Greys as if the hounds of hell were on his tail. Hampstead is in the opposite direction to Crawley Down, and Mr Beaufort cannot possibly be there and see the prizefight.’

Katherine’s breath caught and her hands crept to her cheeks.

The butler looked at Philip. ‘Greys is very isolated, my lord, and there’ll be hardly anyone around because you aren’t in
residence
. If Miss Carberry is going down to the lake and the tree house and if Mr Beaufort intends to be there, too …’

‘Have my best saddle horse brought around immediately,’ Philip said quickly.

‘My lord.’ Richardson almost ran away across the hall.

Katherine looked tearfully at Philip. ‘You don’t think Gerald would really do anything to her, do you?’

‘I don’t intend to take any chances, but I tell you this, if he harms so much as a single hair on her head, I’ll tear his throat out.’

‘Will – will it take you long to ride there?’

‘It’s uphill most of the way,’ he reminded her, ‘but I think I can be there in just over fifteen minutes.’

‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her. I like her so much, Philip.’

‘I know you do,’ he said softly, pulling her close for a moment and hugging her. ‘Wipe your eyes now, and when you’re composed, go to Great-aunt Eleanor.’

‘Shall I tell her what’s happened?’

‘I …’

He said no more, for that lady’s imperious tone echoed down from far above. ‘Tell me what, Katherine?’

They both turned to see their great-aunt descending in her mauve silk wrap, her hair pushed up beneath a large frilled bonnet.

Philip nodded at Katherine. ‘Tell her everything, for she’ll get it out of you anyway now she’s sniffed that something’s going on.’

‘I heard that, sir,’ remarked the old lady crossly. ‘What, exactly, is going on?’

‘Katherine will tell you, Great-aunt. I’m afraid I have to ride to Greys.’

‘In those clothes? Philip, you’re dressed almost for court, not for riding!’

‘It’s a long story, and I truly don’t have the time now,’ he replied, turning and snatching up his tricorn.

The old lady stared after him as he strode out.

He ran to mount the mettlesome bay horse that a groom was just leading to the door, and a moment later he was urging it away between the gates and out into St James’s Place.

Gerald had already reached Greys, but hadn’t gone into the
estate by way of the main entrance, for he had no wish to be seen. Instead, he’d driven the long way around, halting his curricle in a shady dell on the far side of the park, just outside the boundary wall. A large, very old yew tree hung over very conveniently, and he climbed easily into it, dropping down inside the park.

He could see the house standing white on the hill above, but he’d chosen a place that was down almost on a level with the lake. He paused cautiously for a moment, because Philip’s gamekeepers could be at work nearby, but everything seemed to be quiet, so he walked quickly and quietly toward the lake, which was just visible through the curtain of trees.

With each step he felt more at ease, and more certain of carrying out his plan. He intended to retrieve the indiscreet letters his foolish sister had apparently left to be discovered by her damned maid. It wouldn’t do for Celia to forfeit her marriage, especially not when that haughty American stood to gain. Soon he’d teach Miss Rosalind Carberry a lesson she’d never forget. Her fortune would have been just the thing for his financial predicament, and her charms would have been very welcome in his bed, but she’d spurned him, and for that she had to pay. Maybe he couldn’t lay his hands upon her fortune now, but he could still enjoy the lady’s charms, and he’d get away with it. He grinned to himself, for wasn’t he at this very moment one of the huge crowd on Crawley Down? How could he possibly be there, and here at Greys, forcing his unwelcome attentions upon a willful American creature who’d come to England to destroy his sister’s marriage? Anything Rosalind Carberry said against him would be put down to petty female spite, nothing more.

He could see the lake clearly now, the water flashing in the sunlight. He paused for a moment, glancing around. The tree house was plain to see on the tiny island, and just beyond the Chinese bridge there was a particularly dense clump of
rhododendrons
, the perfect place to conceal himself and await events.

Moving swiftly along the shore and past the bridge, he pushed his way into the rhododendrons. The long, shining, dark-green leaves brushed against his face, their touch cold, but within a few moments it was impossible to tell he was there.

As he settled back to wait, Rosalind’s carriage turned slowly in through the gates on the hill above and drove slowly toward the house.

As the carriage made its way toward the house, Rosalind still dreaded that work might already have started on the tree house. Her hands clasped and unclasped in her lap, and she was screwed up to such a pitch of nerves that she was barely aware of the house of which she yet had some hope of becoming the mistress. Opposite her, Annie sat in an equally anxious state, for the thought of Celia’s imminent return was quite dreadful.

The carriage drew to a standstill before the house, and Rosalind glanced up at the shuttered windows. The main doors opened and a woman came out. She was of medium height, with sandy hair that was now sprinkled with gray. She had a not unkindly face and wore a maroon wool gown with a high neck and long tight sleeves. A starched white mob cap rested on her head, and her apron was very white and crisp. There was a large bunch of keys dangling on a chain from her belt, denoting that she was the housekeeper, Mrs Simmons.

She approached the carriage, a smile on her face, for she expected to greet Philip, or possibly Lady Eleanor or Katherine; her lips parted in surprise as the coachman jumped down and opened the door for Rosalind to alight.

Bobbing a swift curtsy, the woman glanced briefly at Annie, who climbed down unaided. ‘May I be of assistance, madam?’ she asked Rosalind.

‘Can you tell me if work has commenced on the tree house
yet?’ inquired Rosalind, the fingers of her left hand crossed secretly.

The woman was taken aback. ‘I beg your pardon, madam?’

‘The tree house, has work on it started yet?’

‘Why, no, madam, but I expect the men to arrive at any moment.’

Rosalind exhaled with relief and gave Annie a hopeful smile. ‘Thank goodness, we’re in time.’

Mrs Simmons was perplexed. ‘Begging your pardon; madam, but are you Miss Carberry?’

‘You know about me?’

‘Yes, madam. Lady Eleanor sent a footman here earlier for some of her favorite apples. He told me. Is there something you require from the tree house, madam? Maybe I can send a man down there for you?’

‘No, that’s quite all right, we’ll go down ourselves.’

‘There’s no need to put yourself to such effort, madam.’

‘We’ll go ourselves,’ repeated Rosalind, turning to Annie. ‘Lead the way, Annie.’

‘Yes, madam.’

As they walked away across the gravel and then down into the park, the housekeeper glanced at the coachman. ‘So that’s her, is it?’

‘As pretty a piece of muslin as I’ve ever seen,’ he replied appreciatively, watching Rosalind’s ankles as the light breeze played with her hem.

‘You can always be relied upon to keep matters at a low level, James Patterson,’ observed Mrs Simmons tartly. ‘Well, at least I now know why his lordship was here all that time without wanting anyone to know. He certainly did have something to think about, didn’t he? What’s she like?’

‘Miss Carberry? A regular lady from all accounts. She’s been good to Annie, that’s for sure. You recall that Annie’s mother has been unwell for some time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, she got much worse and needed an operation. Miss Carberry told Annie she’d pay for everything.’

Mrs Simmons drew a long breath. ‘Then she’s a vast improvement on what we’re going to have back again, eh?’

‘Reckon so.’

‘Attend to your horses, Mr Patterson, and then come to the kitchens. I’m sure you have time to take a dish of tea with me.’

‘I doubt it, for they wish to drive back to town as soon as they can.’

‘What is it that they want with the tree house?’ she asked, shading her eyes against the sun to watch Rosalind and Annie moving down through the park.

‘I haven’t a clue, Mrs Simmons. I thought no one had used that place for years now, and as to why an American lady who’s about to go back home would want to rush like the devil to see it, I really couldn’t even begin to guess.’

The housekeeper sighed and nodded. ‘All these years I’ve worked for the gentry, and I still don’t really understand them properly.’ Shaking her head, she turned and went back into the house.

The coachman looked down through the park for a moment longer and then climbed back onto his perch, picking up the reins and urging the tired horses into action to drive them to the stables at the rear of the house. It was always quite a haul up here to Greys, but at least there was always the prospect of a good downhill run all the way back.

With Mrs Simmons gone back into the house and the carriage removed to the stables, there was no one left to see what did or didn’t take place down by the lake.

Unaware of the danger lying in wait for her, Rosalind was thinking about the letters and the wonderful possibility that they might make it possible for her to be with Philip, after all. But did she really dare to hope anything? She remembered how Celia had been when they’d spoken earlier. Philip’s wife was devious, clever, and quick-witted, with a ready answer for
everything; such an adversary would not be easily routed, not even when there was apparently overwhelming evidence against her.

The trees fringing the lake were close now. Fallen leaves rustled beneath their feet as they followed a barely discernible path toward the water. The air was cooler in the shade, and the smell of autumn was suddenly stronger. A magpie was alarmed by their approach, flying noisily to the topmost branches of a tree. Long-tailed, with black-and-white plumage and a tinge of blue on its wings, it was exactly the same as the magpies she knew at home. She remembered that just such a bird had flown across her path when she’d ridden out with John to keep her very first assignation with Philip. Was this magpie an omen, a warning that soon she’d be going back to Washington, after all?

‘There’s the tree house, Miss Carberry,’ Annie said, pointing ahead.

Rosalind saw the island and the beautiful Chinese bridge spanning the brief distance from the shore. The broad, spiky green leaves of irises grew in profusion by the bridge, where in summer their yellow flowers made a brave show of color. Nearby there were rhododenrons, also just leaves now, but in summer they would be brilliant with mauve, crimson, and white. Some swans sailed on the water, their orange-and-black legs pumping visibly because the lake was so clear. A light breeze stirred through the trees, detaching more leaves from their places.

Gazing at the little tree house, Rosalind thought how delicate and beautiful it was. It reminded her of the summer-house in the rose garden at home; she was aware that it was the second time she’d thought of home within the past few minutes.

They reached the bridge, and as Annie went on across,
something
made Rosalind pause. She glanced back, searching the trees, and the park beyond. She felt vaguely uneasy, as if
someone
was watching her. Her glance lingered for a moment on the rhododendrons, but the breeze ruffled through them, making
the shining leaves whisper together.

‘Is something wrong, Miss Carberry?’ Annie had halted on the far side of the bridge.

‘I don’t know. I thought …’

‘Madam?’

‘I thought someone was there.’

The maid glanced past her, looking around. ‘I can’t see anyone, Miss Carberry.’

‘No, nor can I.’ Rosalind smiled a little ruefully and then hurried on over the bridge.

They halted at the foot of the narrow wooden staircase, and Annie remembered how rickety and unsafe the handrail had been when last she’d come here. She tested it again, and it wobbled alarmingly from side to side.

‘I’ll hold the rail steady, Miss Carberry, and you go up first.’

‘All right.’ Gathering her skirts, Rosalind went gingerly up the steps toward the little doorway at the top. As she tentatively turned the handle and went inside, she didn’t glance back once.

Annie watched from below, so intent upon what Rosalind was doing that she knew nothing of Gerald’s approach until he’d grabbed her from behind. Before she could cry out, he clamped his hand roughly over her mouth. Terrified, she tried to twist free and see who her attacker was at the same time, but he struck her several times on the side of her head and she went limp in his grasp.

He glanced quickly up the steps, but Rosalind was inside the tree house and knew nothing of what was going on below. He quickly dragged the unconscious maid around the tree trunk, leaving her where she couldn’t be seen from above. For the briefest of moments he paused to look warily around, but still there was no sign of anyone on the estate, so he slowly began to go up the steps toward his unknowing victim.

Rosalind was still oblivious to the peril that was almost upon her. As she entered the little building, she turned immediately to look above the door. The loose board was easy to see, and
she reached up to pull it away. A glad cry escaped her as she saw the bundle of letters behind, still tied with the red ribbon. Seizing it, she went to the broken window, where the sunlight flooded in.

Her hands trembled a little as she slipped the topmost letter from beneath the ribbon. The writing seemed to leap out at her, for it was exactly the same as that on the letter from Lisbon. The first few lines were all she needed to read, for they proved beyond all shadow of doubt that Celia had taken Dom Rodrigo de Freire as her lover: ‘My dearest, most beloved Celia, Words cannot describe how empty I feel this morning after waking up alone in the bed where you and I shared nights of incomparable passion …’

She heard a step in the doorway and thought it was Annie. ‘They’re just as you said, Annie, indisputable evidence that Lady Southvale was unfaithful with Dom Rodrigo …’ Folding the letter again, she turned, and her smile died away, freezing on her lips as she saw Gerald standing there.

His glance swept coolly over her and then came to rest on her suddenly pale face. ‘Do go on, my dear, for I’m finding it quite fascinating.’ Her fingers closed in fear over the letter she’d been reading, and instinctively she held the rest of the bundle against her breast. ‘Where’s Annie? What have you done to her?’ she
whispered
fearfully.

‘I’ve merely made certain that she doesn’t interrupt us,’ he murmured, looking at the bundle of letters. ‘Celia’s, I presume?’

‘They’re nothing. I-I just found them …’

He shook his head reprovingly and tutted a little. ‘Don’t tell fiblings, Rosalind, for it’s most unbecoming. Those letters belong to my sister, and I think she should have them back, don’t you?’

Rosalind didn’t reply. Her heart was thundering in her breast, and she was terrified. He had her trapped, and short of flinging
herself out of the window, there was nothing she could do to escape.

‘Give me the letters, Rosalind,’ he said softly, holding out his hand.

She cast desperately around, but there was nothing she could do to get away from him. The tree house’s walls enclosed them both, and she could see by his eyes that he had more than the retrieval of the letters on his mind.

‘Give me the letters, Rosalind,’ he said again, and there was an edge to his voice.

Keeping the one letter still tightly gripped in her hand, so that he couldn’t see it, she turned suddenly, flinging the rest of the bundle out the open window. She heard it fall with a splash into the lake, then she faced him again, her chin raised
defiantly
. ‘Go and get them,’ she said, being careful to conceal the one in her hand.

His hazel eyes were suddenly bright with fury and his lips curled back savagely as he lunged toward her. She screamed, but the sound was jerked from her as he flung her forcefully back against the wall and then pressed against her. His body was hard, and he pinched her chin between his fingers, his lips only inches from hers, so that she could feel his breath on her face.

‘You shouldn’t have done that, Rosalind, for you’ve made me angrier than ever now. I’m not accustomed to being crossed, and you’ve gone out of your way to thwart me, haven’t you?’

‘Let me go! Please!’

‘I intend to take my pleasure of you, sweetheart, and no one’s going to believe it was me.’

Her eyes were huge with terror as she stared at him. Her heart was pounding unbearably, and she felt ice-cold, as if she stood naked in the depths of winter snow.

His fingers tightened, his nails digging into her skin. ‘I’ve made sure it’s known I’ve gone to the prizefight, so who’s going to think you’re telling the truth when you claim I was here? No one saw me arrive, I made sure of that, and I’ll make equally
sure that no one sees me leave. There won’t be a soul who’ll believe you, my dear, for I’ll see to it that they all know how you switched your attentions to me when Philip spurned you, and how spiteful you became when I declined your advances. You’ll be known as a malicious, vengeful woman, Rosalind, set upon paying me back for not wanting you.’

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Please, let me go.’

‘All in good time, my lovely, all in good time.’ His voice was soft, and he pinned her against the wall with his weight, his hands roaming knowing over her body.

The letter fell unnoticed from her hand, for she was too frightened now to hold it. Her heart was beating so much that she thought it would burst, and her whole being recoiled in revulsion from his touch. She tried desperately to wrench herself free, but he was by far too strong for her.

Her struggles seemed to excite him. His face was flushed and his breathing heavy. His hands became more urgent, moving all over her, sliding sensuously against every curve and pressing where no man had ever touched her before. She wanted to cry out, but her voice was silent. Tears were wet on her cheeks, and she felt helpless to do anything to save herself. She was completely at his mercy, his to do with as he pleased.

She tried to avert her face, but his fingers forced her to look at him again. He bent his head, kissing her on the lips as if he would devour her. There was no skill in him, just a brutish desire, and he used his superior strength to deny her any chance of pulling away. He wanted her, and was aroused to take her.

Silent sobs caught in her throat as she felt him pulling at her skirts, dragging them up to reveal her legs. His hand touched her naked thigh, his fingers pinching to hold her tightly.

An agonized fear engulfed her. She already felt violated, stained forever by his lust, and it was going to be much, much worse than this. There was no loving tenderness, no caressing, no gentleness, just animal force, savage and wild.