The Second Lady Southvale Page 16

  Philip turned to face her again. ‘The letter said she’d soon be leaving for England and that I was to expect her at any time. I knew that it was out of the question for me to continue our betrothal, Rosalind, so I wrote a brief note, asking you not to leave Washington, and I sent a man to Falmouth to catch the Queen of Falmouth before she sailed. I didn’t want to give you up, but I had no choice, for I was no longer free to offer you anything.’

  ‘You – you didn’t want to give me up?’

  His eyes were very blue, even in the virtual darkness of the rotunda. ‘No.’

  ‘Philip, do you still love Celia?’

  He hesitated and then shook his head. ‘No.’

  She stared at him. ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘My darling Rosalind, I love you so much that it hurts to be so close without taking you in my arms. Somehow I’m going to have to exist without you, and it’s a prospect so bleak that I don’t know how I will endure.’

  A limitless joy swept weakeningly through her. ‘Oh, Philip, I think I can bear anything if I know you still love me.’

  He closed his eyes for a long moment. ‘I have no right to love you now, Rosalind.’

  She went to him, linking her arms around his neck and kissing him on the lips. For the space of a heartbeat he tried to resist, but then he swept her into his arms, almost lifting her from the floor as he crushed her close. His fingers curled richly in her hair and he could feel the wild beating of her heart. The love and desire she’d aroused from the first moment cried bitterly through him again now. He’d never love anyone as he loved her, but he had to give her up.

  Slowly he relinquished his hold, putting his hands up to disengage her arms. ‘This is wrong, Rosalind …’

  ‘I know,’ she whispered, tears wet on her cheeks.

  He cupped her face in his hands. ‘You’re so very lovely,’ he said softly. ‘You will fill my nights and my days, and you always will. That’s why I had to move Celia’s portrait back into the drawing-room. I tried to remember her, but all I could see was you.’

  Rosalind closed her eyes, more tears wending their way down her cheeks.

  He rested his forehead against hers, his thumbs caressing gently. ‘I know I deluded myself about Celia, for she wasn’t the paragon I chose to convince myself she was. I’d even begun to suspect her of having lovers, but I didn’t want to believe it of her, and when she died, I felt guilty for having doubted her. I think I was out of love with her before she left for Ireland that last time, but I was conscience-stricken because I’d secretly thought ill of her. Rosalind, any feelings I may once have had for her are now quite cold, and if I could with honor take you as my wife, believe me I would, for you mean everything to me. But she is still Lady Southvale, and I owe her a duty. You do understand that, don’t you?’

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  He brushed his lips tenderly over hers, tasting her tears. ‘Go now, my love, before I give in and beg you to stay with me.’

  A sob caught in her throat as she drew back from him, then she turned and hurried out into the night. The mist had crept up over the terrace now, lying in a swirling, silver-gray carpet across her path. It recoiled as she went by, and then folded silently over again, hiding the telltale marks of her passing.

  19

  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.’

  20

  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 unt
il 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?’