A shaky smile wavered across Chelsea's face. Recalling that Alayna had bragged about the painting being a perfect likeness of herself, she decided it best not to take that tack. "Well, it . . . was not a . . . particularly good likeness, actually."
"I am sure you are just being modest, my dear." Lady Rathbone directed a gaze at her son. "Alayna has become quite a lovely young lady, has she not, Rutherford?"
Lord Rathbone's eyes cut to Chelsea, then darted quickly away. "Indeed," he murmured tightly.
"Well, she will simply have to sit for another picture," Lady Rathbone said. "And, once it is done, I should like to have a copy for myself this time. Perhaps I should have one made of you, as well, Rutherford," she added with a laugh.
"I expect there is an artist in Chester who could paint Alayna's portrait for us, Mother," Lord Rathbone remarked. Laying aside his fork, he reached for his napkin. "The sitting would keep her occupied while I tend to repairs about the castle. I shouldn't like to leave England again without putting things to rights here, Mother. I am quite shocked at how frightfully shabby the castle appears. The bridge looks as if it could go any minute, and the yard and grounds . . . " He shook his head with dismay. "Even the mews and stables are a fright. By the by, Alayna," he turned a puzzled gaze on Chelsea, "how on earth did you persuade Sully to let you travel in the Marchmont coach? I'd have thought Sully would insist you travel horseback. Much faster that way."
A pregnant pause ensued as Chelsea felt both the gentleman and his mother watching her intently. "I . . . no longer ride," she said quietly.
Rutherford's brows pulled together. "No longer ride! Why I can hardly fathom the like, Alayna!"
"It is astonishing, isn't it," put in Lady Rathbone.
Chelsea offered nothing farther on the subject, though she did consider fabricating something about an accident in Town that might have caused Alayna to change face on that score. But she just as quickly dismissed the notion. Maintaining one lie was exhausting enough.
"Well," Rutherford said at length, pushing up from the table. "All's well that ends well, I expect. To say truth, it was the Marchmont crest on the coach door that alerted me to your whereabouts. Both a stablehand and an innkeep remarked upon the handsome equipage and the fact that a lone young lady was ensconced inside."
Chelsea seized the moment. "Actually that was my plan all along! I am pleased that it worked so well, aren't you, Rutherford?"
The gentlemen flung her a look, but said nothing. Just as he was approaching the archway leading to the hall, he was intercepted by Jared, who had come to announce that a gentleman was awaiting reception in the withdrawing room.
"Ah, I expect it is the magistrate from Chester," Lord Rathbone exclaimed. "No doubt, he has put Sully behind bars and is calling to inquire further about the incident." He directed another gaze at Chelsea. "When you have finished your meal, Alayna, I expect Mr. Wainwright will want to question you, as well."
Chelsea's heart plummeted to her feet. What must she endure now? What if the magistrate had brought the stolen portrait of Alayna with him? Would Lord Rathbone insist she be put behind bars as well? Oh! This day was fast becoming as horrid as the previous one had been!
Chapter Five
“Everything Has Gone Vastly Awry”
Moments later, when Chelsea pushed Lady Rathbone's chair into the drawing room, she was vastly relieved to find not the authorities as she'd feared, but the familiar figure of the vicar, Mr. Stevens, whom she had met the day the banns were read in church. He and Lord Rathbone were greeting one another cordially.
"Indeed a pleasure to find you here, your lordship!" the vicar enthused. Hearing the squeak of Lady Rathbone's chair, he turned and proceeded across the cavernous room toward the ladies. "My stars! Is it Lady Rathbone herself? I admit, I had heard you were venturing down stairs these days, my lady, but I had to see it with me own eyes to believe it! God be praised!"
Lord Rathbone wore a puzzled look as he advanced. "Have you been unwell, Mother?"
"Merciful heavens, no!" the older woman sputtered. "Just saw no reason to leave my chamber, until . . ." She turned a warm smile on Chelsea. "My niece arrived from London. Alayna's presence has lifted everyone's spirits."
Chelsea coloured deeply, due in part to the fact that everyone's attention was now fixed on her, more for being obliged to, once again, deceive a man of God.
"I see," Lord Rathbone muttered, still gazing at Chelsea.
"Indeed, it is true," the vicar responded heartily. "Miss Marchmont is a charming young lady. More than one of my parishioners remarked upon her beauty following services on Sunday last. Word is Miss Marchmont has completely transformed the castle."
Again, all eyes focused on Chelsea. She ducked her head. "You are being too kind, I'm sure, Mr. Stevens."
"On the contrary," the round-faced man glanced about the room, "appears quite cheerful in here to me. Why, to find the drawing room open and her ladyship receiving is a miracle in itself!"
Lord Rathbone's brows pulled together. "Are you quite certain you have not been unwell, Mother?"
"Do sit down, Mr. Stevens," Lady Rathbone said, indicating with a hand to Chelsea that she'd like her wheelchair moved closer to the fire. "We've such a lot to discuss now that there's to be a wedding in the chapel."
"Are you certain you feel up to it, Mother?" Lord Rathbone asked, taking a seat on a faded silk sofa beside Chelsea, while the vicar settled his large frame on a somewhat tattered brocade side chair. "I had rather thought it would be more expedient if Alayna and I were married in London, on our way back to Honduras."
Chelsea swallowed a squeak of alarm, but upon recovering, put in hastily, "But, Ford, I should like a nice wedding. Your parents were married in the castle chapel, and I see no reason why we shouldn't . . . "
"Alayna is right, Rutherford. And I'm sure she will see to the bulk of the arrangements, won't you, dear?"
"Of course, I will," Chelsea replied quickly, smiling with relief at the prospect of being kept blessedly occupied.
"From what I hear," the vicar put in, "Miss Marchmont is quite good at organizing and such. Why, just look at the way she's brightened this room up." He beamed at Chelsea again.
Lord Rathbone's lips pursed. "I would appreciate it if someone would please enlighten me as to precisely what was amiss indoors."
Lady Rathbone laughed. "Well, for one thing, there were the portraits in the picture gallery."
"Yes, well, what about them?"
"Why, I had thought all my husband's ancestors' hair had suddenly turned white, until Alayna had the dust rubbed off and now every last Rathbone in the bunch has hair the color of coal!"
Everyone but Rutherford laughed gaily.
"And there was the furniture and the rugs, to say nothing of the bed hangings and draperies. Your betrothed, my dear boy, has been a veritable whirlwind of activity."
Lord Rathbone cast another quizzical gaze at Chelsea. "Hmm."
"And did I not hear something about a pig?" the vicar asked.
"A pig!" Rathbone sputtered. "Don't tell me Alayna has also been frequenting the barnyard."
At that they all, save Rutherford, burst into hearty laughter.
"Alayna, do tell your cousin about the pig," admonished Lady Rathbone. "It was quite extraordinary."
Feeling more relaxed than she had in days, Chelsea smilingly related the story of the high winds, the torn shutter and the slain pig, whereupon everyone, including Lord Rathbone, shared another round of laughter.
Chelsea was struck by how pleasant the sound of Lord Rathbone's laugh was. It came from deep within him, the delicious sound being at once both warm and mellow. Realizing how good it felt to forget her troubles for a spell, she eagerly joined in the merriment. Mr. Stevens was a jolly fellow, not the least bit stuffy or prim as clergymen were so often wont to be. He loved both hearing amusing tales and often told them, even from the pulpit.
After he'd relayed a few more village on-dits, they settled down to discus
s the details for the wedding ceremony. After that subject had also been exhausted, he turned again to Chelsea.
"I wonder, Miss Marchmont, if you would be good enough to accompany Mrs. Stevens on her rounds this Thursday? Your charming countenance is sure to lift the spirits of many of our more elderly parishioners."
"Oh! Well, I-I . . . "
"Why, I think that a lovely idea," put in Lady Rathbone. "Alayna has quite cheered me these last weeks. I can't think when I have enjoyed myself half so much. Did I mention, Ford, that your lovely bride-to-be is in the habit of reading to me every afternoon, and often again in the evening before I go to sleep? Why, it was Alayna herself who found this chair and insisted that I venture out and about."
Lord Rathbone turned an approving look on Chelsea. "Is that so?"
"So, it's settled then," the vicar concluded. He rose to go. "I shall tell Mrs. Stevens to call for you at half past two, Miss Marchmont. If that is agreeable with you, of course."
Chelsea nodded, then was startled to hear Lord Rathbone chime in.
"I should like to go along, as well . . . that is, if I am free. Father had several elderly acquaintances in the parish that I should like to see again. It's likely this could be my last opportunity to visit them." He smiled at Chelsea. "I should also like to show off my future bride."
"Splendid!" the vicar exclaimed.
Chelsea blanched, but nonetheless, managed a pleasant enough smile.
Lord Rathbone saw the vicar out and moments later, returned again to the drawing room. "I should like a word with you, Alayna," he said warmly.
Chelsea glanced up at the tall gentleman. He looked quite dashing today in a claret-coloured waistcoat and white shirt, his buff breeches tucked into shining black top boots. A finely turned-out gentleman at the castle was an unusual sight. Up against the slap-dash manner in which most of the footmen and manservants appeared, Lord Rathbone's clean-shaven face and neatly brushed hair were a decided contrast.
"If you will excuse us, Mother?" he said, politely.
"Indeed. I am quite ready to repair to my chamber now for a nap. Jared!"
The sheer unexpectedness of his mother's bellow brought a look of surprise to Lord Rathbone's face.
A smile played at Chelsea's lips. "All of the bell-pulls are inoperable," she explained to Ford who was gazing at his mother as if she'd just taken leave of her senses. "I shall fetch Jared for you, Aunt Millie."
Chelsea scampered from the room and returned a moment later with Jared close on her heels. When the butler had pushed Lady Rathbone's chair from the room, Chelsea took her seat and turned an expectant gaze on Rutherford.
He stood with one arm resting on the back of an ancient old corner chair. "I should simply like to say, Alayna, that I am extremely pleased by all I learned about you today. I admit I am a good deal surprised by your . . . selfless attitude, that is, given your . . . privileged upbringing, but apparently you possess a certain talent for household management that I was unaware of. It gives me hope."
"Hope?" Chelsea murmured.
Lord Rathbone nodded. "Indeed. As a planter's wife you will have similar duties in Honduras. And aside from looking after our immediate household, I had hoped you would spearhead certain charitable concerns in the village. We've a long way to go before we are as civilized as England, of course, but I am determined that we shall succeed."
"Oh." Chelsea let her gaze fall to her lap. To say truth, what the gentleman proposed sounded quite intriguing to her, and she'd like nothing better than to throw herself wholeheartedly into such a project, but . . . he was not speaking to her, he was speaking to his betrothed, Alayna.
"Have you nothing to say, Alayna?"
Chelsea lifted a tentative gaze.
"What is it, my dear? You seem to exhibit some reluctance in speaking your mind to me. If you have something to say, I implore you to say it at once."
Chelsea chewed on her lower lip. Though she was loath to do so, she simply must tell Lord Rathbone that Alayna had no intention of returning to Honduras to live with him after they were married. Alayna would not have waited this long to voice her feelings in the matter. She had to tell him.
"Alayna!" Lord Rathbone's dark eyes flashed. "I demand that you tell me at once what is the trouble!"
Chelsea swallowed hard. And rose to her feet. To confront a gentleman as formidable as Lord Rathbone from a sitting position was something she did not think even Alayna could do. "I . . . I have no intention of returning to Honduras with you, sir."
The veins in Lord Rathbone's neck popped out. "That is preposterous, Alayna! Of course you will return to my home with me. What is the point of our marrying if we are not to live together as man and wife?"
Affecting the mocking posture she had so often seen Alayna wear, Chelsea thrust her chin up. "I was given to understand that the point of our marriage was the release of your inheritance, cousin."
Lord Rathbone glared at her. "You are being insufferable, Alayna. I will not countenance it. I refuse to countenance it, do you hear me?"
"Of course, I hear you, Ford. I expect even the servants can hear you."
His dark eyes smoldered with rage as he moved to stand in front of her. For the space of a second, Chelsea feared he might strike her. After all, he had just admitted that in Honduras people were not nearly so civilized as they were in England.
Instead, he merely planted himself a few inches from her, his narrowed gaze challenging her defiant one. "We remove to Honduras within a fortnight, Alayna. You will prepare yourself accordingly." With that, he stalked toward the door.
But, nearing it, he paused. "By the by," he turned toward her again, the tone of his voice having altered the veriest mite, "if you did not mean to reside with me as properly wedded couples do, how exactly did you propose to live?"
Chelsea took a few steps toward him, giving herself a moment in order to fabricate a reply. "I shall content myself as I have in the past, attending fancy dress balls, frequenting the opera, and . . . and such." Having not spent her days in like manner, she wasn't entirely sure how fashionable ladies did go on. "There is always the Season, you know, and in winter, there are . . . houseparties and hunting weekends."
"I was not referring to your social outings, Alayna. What I meant was . . . " A dark brow lifted.
Chelsea's eyes widened and she felt the already high colour in her cheeks deepen. She knew exactly what he meant now, and she also knew that Alayna would not hesitate to speak her mind on that subject, as well. She had not hesitated when Chelsea put the same question to her the afternoon they sat discussing Alayna's forthcoming marriage in the Marchmont drawing room.
Lord Rathbone folded his arms across his chest. "I am waiting, Alayna."
"Well, i-if you must know, I . . . intend to live 'freely'. As other married women . . . and most gentlemen do," she added, proud that she had thought of it. It was precisely the sort of thing Alayna would say. "Furthermore, though I cannot see where it is any concern of yours, I mean to . . . to fall in and out of love with whomever I please." Aware of her own heart pounding wildly in her breast, she wondered if perhaps she hadn't taken it a bit too far with that last part. But no matter how mortified she felt in speaking so plainly to a gentleman, as long as she was pretending to be Alayna, it was likely she could never go too far.
She watched Lord Rathbone's nostrils flare with suppressed rage, then he said, "Are you quite finished, Alayna?"
Chelsea nodded. "Have I not . . . said enough?"
He snorted. "You have said quite enough."
Chelsea steeled herself for whatever might be coming in the way of chastisement. It was plain to see that Lord Rathbone was not the sort of man to let even the contemplation of such improper conduct pass without strong recriminations. In truth, she knew her words had mocked him, had mocked all that he stood for. He had made it abundantly clear that he expected Alayna to make a home with him in Honduras. But, Chelsea knew very well that Alayna would never agree to the sort of life he proposed
for her. Never!
Lord Rathbone had been watching her closely. At length, he said, "I will not accept your decision in the matter, Alayna."
In a perfect imitation of the young lady she was pretending to be, Chelsea cocked her head to one side. "You have no choice but to accept my decision, sir." For strength, she gripped the edge of a nearby chair, then to remove herself from his piercing gaze, she flounced to a mullioned window and peered out. With her back to him, she said, "Our engagement has already been announced in the London papers and the first reading of the banns was Sunday last. You are far too honourable a man to cry off now, Rutherford Campbell."
The silence hanging between them grew so heavy that Chelsea, at last, turned around. Lord Rathbone was staring hard at her, his eyes dark with anger.
Chelsea watched his jaws grind together and thought again that Lord Rathbone was a very handsome man.
Finally, he said, "There is something you are not telling me, Alayna."
Stunned by his astuteness, Chelsea felt her knees go weak beneath her skirt, but nonetheless she managed to gather enough courage to breeze past him. "I am telling you everything, sir. I have told you I have no intention of removing to Honduras and how I propose to live. What more could there be?" she tossed off airily. But, stepping into the corridor, she cringed when she caught sight of a sly smile softening the stern lines of his mouth.
"I haven't a clue, Alayna. But I will tell you this much, I shall not rest until I have uncovered the whole truth. Whatever that may be."
* * * *
Something was vastly awry, Lord Rathbone told himself as he headed for the library. Alayna was resisting him, but not for the reasons she'd given. A moment ago, he'd nearly laughed aloud when she said she meant to live "freely," to fall in and out of love with whomever she pleased. Not that she was not attractive enough to do precisely that, but any fool could see that to live in such a fashion was not in Alayna's character. Why, she sounded like a silly schoolgirl with a head full of romantical ideas. Alayna could never live such a life!
In the library, he drew out several large account books from the top drawer of a centuries old desk where he had often watched his father sit and work. Opening the first dusty volume, he had to turn only a few yellowed pages to see that the ledgers had not been dealt with in years.
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