‘Aye, the very same. Why, do you know him?’
She sat back again, smiling. ‘Oh, yes. He visited the neighbourhood at the end of the year and called upon me once or twice. I am not unhopeful that he will call again, the next time that he is in Devon.’ Her eyes narrowed and a little smile played around her mouth. ‘I found him quite...charming. If he is in town, I shall look forward to renewing our acquaintance.’
‘Well, I don’t want to meet him again. Damned impudent fellow. And he spoiled my chances with the widow.’
Lady Meon only laughed softly. ‘Oh, do stop scowling, Charles. You have handled the whole thing very badly, but if that particular bird has flown then put it behind you. Come, I want no sour faces around me. Take another glass of sherry while I go and change. Then you can escort me to Bond Street.’
‘What, now? Are you not fatigued from your journey, ma’am?’
‘Not a bit of it. I travelled in easy stages and I am not at all tired. Nothing that a little shopping will not dispel!’
* * *
Arabella knew she was not carrying Randolph’s child. The signs were irrefutable and they caused her a surprising amount of disappointment. She was tempted to visit him to tell him the news, but held back. It was hard enough to see him in public, when they would exchange the briefest of greetings. To meet with him and talk to him about something so intimate and yet keep her distance would be sheer torture.
It was not as if anything could come of their friendship. And she did not wish anything to come of it, she told herself. George might not have loved her, but she had loved him, and whatever it was she felt for Randolph could be nothing more than infatuation. And lust, she thought sadly. She could not deny that she had enjoyed his lovemaking. Or that she wanted more.
After that one memorable night with the Earl, she would have liked to pack up and leave London immediately, but having written to her mother-in-law and told her she would come home with her gown and accessories, she knew it would cause no little speculation if she abandoned her plans and arrived early. Besides, there were engagements that could not be ignored without alienating her new acquaintances. She had received a great deal of kindness in town and she had made several friendships that she hoped she could maintain now with correspondence, but for all that, when she finally heard that Lady Roffey’s lilac gown was ready, she thought she would always remember the past two weeks as the longest of her life.
Arabella received word from the modiste in the morning and decided she would go and collect it at once. She could then spend the rest of the day trailing up and down Bond Street to find gloves, shoes and other little trinkets to match. It had turned into a bright day and she would enjoy being out of doors in the sunshine.
* * *
With a footman accompanying her and carrying the gown in its distinctive box, she made her way from one end of Bond Street to the other, looking in every shop for suitable accessories. A pair of lilac-kid gloves were soon purchased, but a suitable reticule proved much more elusive, in Arabella’s opinion the ones on offer being either too small or too gaudy for her mother-in-law. She would have to cross the road and make her way along the other side.
* * *
The cold March day was drawing to a close and the temperature was dropping when Lady Meon made the last of her purchases and told Charles they could now return to the carriage. He gave her his arm, but any hope he had that they might make haste was soon dashed, for my lady wished to prolong her outing and stopped to look into every shop window they passed, even though they had already visited most of them. With the daylight fading, the lamps and candles burning inside made it easier to see what was going on and my lady delighted in observing the bustling scenes through each window.
They were halfway along Bond Street, when Lady Meon stopped to look into the haberdasher’s window. Her escort glanced in and gave a grunt.
‘That lady by the counter, it is Arabella Roffey. Now you can see for yourself what a piece of perfection she is.’
His sister turned quickly to look up at him, then peered more closely into the lighted interior of the shop.
‘Do you mean the one choosing ribbons, with her footman hovering at her side? That is Arabella Roffey? Are you sure?’
‘Of course I am sure!’ He hunched a shoulder and turned away. ‘Not that it matters to me any longer. Can we move? Dawdling in this dashed cold wind is chilling me to the bone!’
‘But I know her,’ said Lady Meon, as they walked on. ‘I met her in Devon.’
He laughed. ‘Impossible. George made very sure she stayed in Lincolnshire, with his parents.’
‘Her husband may well have done so, but she has been to Devon since his death, believe me. She even came to Meon House. Masquerading as Lady Westray.’
He stopped and looked down at his sister in amazement. She smiled.
‘Close your mouth, Charles, and let us continue to my carriage. Then I will tell you everything.’
* * *
‘Westray’s mistress, eh?’ he said, when she had finished. ‘That explains a great deal. No wonder the Earl reacted like a dog in danger of losing a bone when I tried to kiss her.’ He grinned. ‘So, she is not the virtuous little widow she would have us believe! But she gave me no sign that she had ever heard of you, or Meon House, when she approached me a few weeks ago.’
‘But how could she do so, without giving herself away?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘The scheming minx. She inveigled her way into the Earl’s bed and persuaded him to take her to Devon. You are convinced it was not pure chance that brought them there?’
‘Of course not. With the death of the old Earl, the Westray inheritance was discussed in great detail in the newspapers. She would have known about Beaumount and persuaded him that it was remote enough for them to live there as man and wife with impunity.’ She laughed. ‘And all the time she was trying to discover what had happened to her husband.’
‘Westray could not have known about that,’ he told her. ‘His reaction when I tried to kiss her was mightily possessive. He is not the sort to share his woman with anyone, even a dead man.’ He laughed. ‘Perhaps I should have held out. She might have traded her favours for information about Roffey’s death.’
‘When she had caught herself an earl? Do be sensible, Charles.’
He said emphatically, ‘She ain’t caught him at all. He will never marry her. But it could be good news for me, though.’
‘I am pleased for you, Charles, truly. I thought you would be disappointed to find your goddess so mightily flawed.’
‘On the contrary. I see now how I may use it to my advantage!’
Chapter Twelve
Having entered London society, Randolph could not withdraw completely without comment, but he did cut down his social engagements to a bare minimum. He saw Arabella occasionally but she was always accompanied by Mrs Hatcliffe. At most, on such occasions, they would acknowledge one another with no more than a common bow in passing. As if they were almost strangers.
However, when they met at Mrs Darby’s soirée, shortly after he had received her note, conversation could not be avoided. There was a crush of guests proceeding down the stairs to supper. Ran was talking with Sir Arran Eversleigh and did not notice Arabella until he found himself beside her. Something must be said.
He gave her a nod and a smile. ‘Our hostess will be delighted with the attendance this evening.’
‘Yes.’
She looked uncomfortable, but there was no help for it. They were hemmed in by the crowd and progress was slow as they filed into the supper room.
‘Your companion is not with you tonight?’
‘Yes, she is following.’
Ran glanced back and nodded in a friendly fashion towards Mrs Hatcliffe, just visible behind several more guests waiting behind them.
‘I thought you would have returned to Oxfordshire by now,’ remarke
d Arabella.
‘Not for a few weeks yet.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I want to see you safely away from town first.’
‘I pray you will not prolong your stay here on my account. I am perfectly safe now. I do not need a protector.’
‘I am glad to hear it.’ They had reached the supper room and were no longer confined by the crowd. Randolph wanted to lead her to one of the little tables and sit down together, but it was impossible. However much he wanted to choose the daintiest morsels and feed them to her, to laugh with her about the amusing things they had seen or heard this evening, he could not. Instead he gave her a polite smile, a friendly nod before he turned one way and she went the other.
When Arabella learned that Lord Westray had departed, the life went out of the gathering. The ladies exhibiting their talents at the pianoforte lacked charm, the singing of one of them was most definitely flat and even the pianoforte sounded sadly out of tune. She managed to endure another half-hour before she, too, took her leave of Mrs Darby and went home.
She wished she might return to Lincolnshire and never see London or Lord Westray again. His presence confused her. She could not regret asking him to take her to bed, it had done much to dispel the heartache and loneliness she had been feeling, but it also swamped her with guilt, because for a short time she had forgotten her grief. Forgotten everything save the pleasure of a man’s caresses. An illicit pleasure she had no right to enjoy.
It did no good to argue that George had never loved her, had never shared her bed. She had loved him. Worshipped him. Married him. How was it she could forget him so quickly? She concluded sadly that her heart must be very shallow.
The sooner she returned to Revesby Hall the better, but it could not be immediately. True, she had collected her mother-in-law’s new gown that day, but a pair of kid slippers had not yet been dyed to match it, she still had to buy a reticule and the jeweller commissioned to make a jet mourning brooch for Lady Roffey was so busy he could not complete the order for a full week yet. She thought of the line of invitations sitting on her mantelshelf in Park Street. Perhaps she would pretend she was ill and cry off from them all.
But Arabella knew she would not do that. Despite the gnawing guilt, the possibility of seeing Randolph again, even if they did not speak, was too great a temptation. It hurt her almost unbearably to see him and know that they could never be more to each other than distant acquaintances. But that, she told herself, was her punishment.
* * *
Thus it was that the next night, attired once more in the black velvet with its silver embroidery, Arabella set off for the house of Sir Kenelm and Lady Prees with Esther Hatcliffe as her companion. Their hostess had described the evening to her as a little musical gathering for a few friends, but when they arrived, the rooms were bursting with guests. It was hot and noisy, and when she learned from Sir Kenelm that the Earl of Westray had cried off, Arabella was tempted to go home.
She would claim to have a headache. Esther would not argue at her sudden change of heart, because earlier that evening she had told Arabella how pale she was. Arabella was about to make her excuses to her host and hostess when Sir Kenelm looked past her.
He exclaimed in his hearty tones, ‘It is Freddie Letchmore, as I live and breathe! I thought he was on the Continent.’
Arabella’s head came up immediately. She looked towards the door and observed a pale, thin young man with a sulky mouth sauntering into the room. With a word to Esther that she should sit down and enjoy the music, Arabella slipped past Sir Kenelm and stepped into the gentleman’s path.
‘Mr Letchmore.’
The rather protuberant eyes stared at her for a moment. Then he bowed.
‘Mrs Roffey.’ He took her hand briefly in a limp grasp that felt clammy, even through her gloves.
‘I believe you have been abroad,’ she remarked.
‘Yes. For my health, you know. I only arrived back a week ago.’ He dropped his voice. ‘I am so sorry I could not be there for George’s funeral.’
‘Yes, it was a pity,’ she answered. ‘He had so few friends there to mourn him at the end.’
He looked uncomfortable at that. She put a hand on his arm.
‘I wonder, sir, if I might have a word with you. About George. You came to see him, just before he died.’ He looked startled and she added quickly, ‘It will not take long, Mr Letchmore, but it would mean a great deal to me.’
‘Of course, ma’am. Anything to oblige.’ He did not sound at all obliging, but Arabella was not deterred, not while there was the faintest hope that she might yet learn something new about her husband’s demise. She led him across to a small window embrasure, where they might talk without being jostled by the crowd.
‘I believe you were with George in Devonshire,’ she began. ‘At Meon House. I wonder if anything untoward happened there.’
‘Why, nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am, I assure you. It was the usual type of party. Fun and games, you know, but perfectly innocent. A little gambling, plenty of country pursuits. Hunting, shooting, you know.’
She said, ‘I remember, when you called at Revesby Hall to see him that last time, he said, “You have killed me.”’ She clasped her fan and fixed her eyes on his pallid face. ‘What did he mean by that, Mr Letchmore?’
‘Why, why, nothing, ma’am.’ His eyes darted about the room before fixing on her again. ‘Poor George was raving, the day I saw him. He was not himself. Laudanum,’ he added. ‘Devilish stuff and he couldn’t get enough of it.’
Her heart sank. It was just as Charles Teddington had told her.
‘Aye.’ He was shaking his head at her. ‘We tried to help him, but he would have none of it. He was convinced we were all in some plot against him, which was nonsense, of course.’
‘I see. Then, there were no quarrels, nothing I should know?’
He laughed, ‘Good lord, no, ma’am. Nothing like that at all. We’d all been the best of friends for years, don’t you know. It was just unfortunate that poor George was taken ill like that and dashed off. We wanted him to stay and see Lady Meon’s doctor, but he would not. I fear that was his undoing. The long journey from Devon to Lincolnshire would have tested the strongest constitution.’ He gave a sigh. ‘A sad business, but nothing to be done, I’m afraid. I hope that helps you, Mrs Roffey?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ She wanted to ask more, but he was already moving away, saying there was someone he must see, and she let him go.
Arabella found an empty chair in a corner and pretended to listen intently to the string quartet hired by Lady Prees to entertain her guests, while her thoughts went over everything Freddie Letchmore had said. Had she really been hoping that there had been dark deeds afoot, that George had been duped, robbed of his money? How sad that she could not accept the fact that he was weak-willed and unhappy. That he had succumbed to a narcotic to escape his troubles.
* * *
By the time the music stopped for an interval she had had enough. She would go home. There was nothing new to discover here. She looked for Esther Hatcliffe, but could not see her. Perhaps she had slipped away to the retiring room. That would suit Arabella very well as they might collect their cloaks and leave without further delay. She made her way across the room, a word here, a smile there. As she was approaching the door she stopped to make way for her hostess, who was coming into the salon with Mr Letchmore and a voluptuous brunette.
Lady Meon! Arabella’s heart stopped. It was impossible to melt into the crowd, but she looked away, hoping she might avoid attention. That hope that died when Lady Meon saw her and paused, a wide smile on her face.
‘Ah, I am not entirely without acquaintances in town, you see, Lady Prees.’ She looked directly at Arabella and swept a curtsy. ‘Good evening, ma’am. How delightful to meet you again.’
Freddie Letchmore looked startled. ‘You know Mrs Roffey?’
Arabel
la froze, waiting for Lady Meon to look confused and declare that she knew her as Lady Westray. She would have to assert that the lady was mistaken, but she knew in her heart that she would not be able to do it. The lie would not pass her lips.
In the event, it was not necessary. Lady Meon did not look at all confused. She merely smiled.
‘Oh, yes, we have met,’ she said softly. She took Arabella’s arm. ‘My dear, you look shocked. I know, I told you, did I not, that I rarely come to town? This occasion was merely a whim, but I am so very glad now that I decided to make the journey. Already, I am vastly enjoying myself. Come, ma’am, let us take a turn about the room and you may tell me all that you have been about since we last met.’
Obedient to the pressure on her arm, Arabella moved like an automaton while her mind was almost bursting with worry and conjecture. Lady Meon had not exposed her. Yet. The lady was speaking again and she forced herself to concentrate.
‘I am so pleased you are here tonight, Mrs Roffey. It saves me the trouble of seeking you out.’
‘Indeed?’ Arabella was already planning how quickly she could leave London. She must let Ran know, too. The lady’s revelations would affect him very little, compared to the harm it would do to her own reputation, but she could warn him.
Lady Meon guided her to the side of the room and they sat down a little apart from the rest of the guests. Not that anyone was paying them any heed, for the quartet in the far corner of the room had begun to play again and the audience was giving them their attention. Nevertheless, Lady Meon spread her fan and lifted it to cover her mouth.
‘How unfortunate for you, Mrs Roffey, that I should discover your outrageous deception. I could ruin you, you know.’
Arabella was mute. What was there to say?
‘However,’ Lady Meon’s honeyed tones continued, ‘I might choose not to do so. If you show a little...kindness towards my brother. You are acquainted with him, I believe?’
His Countess for a Week Page 16
