My Lady Deceiver

by Freda Lightfoot

  Rose was dumbfounded. ‘You’re going to be fine. You said you were looking forward to seeing England, and you’ve helped me over my fever, so I’ll help you over yours.’

  ‘But mine is a different sort of fever,’ Rosalind quietly reminded her. Even talking was tiring her, yet she was determined to say her piece. She took a moment to gather her breath. ‘And not easily resolved on board ship, particularly in these conditions. Your young man was right, I am growing weaker. I need to know that my child will be safe, were the worst to happen.’

  As Rose looked into her new mistress’s pale face, so gaunt and drawn following her ordeal, and from losing far too much blood, she saw the wisdom of what she was suggesting. She knew from personal experience that not all women were as hale and hearty as her own mam, who gave birth rather like shelling peas. This lady was finely bred, and far more fragile. The doctor was right in that respect at least. ‘Oh, ma’am, what can I say …?’

  ‘Just say you’ll see him safely home to Cornwall, to his grandfather Sir Ralph Tregowan at Penver Court. I’m sure he will offer you gainful employment in return.’

  Rose had to lean closer to hear the whispered words, and answered as softly. ‘Course I will. You don’t need to ask, although I’m sure it won’t ever be necessary. Except that the ship’s captain, or the doctor, might not allow it. They see me as a steerage passenger, nothing more.’

  ‘Oh, of course they do. You’re right, Rose. My mind is growing muddled. It’s the wind hammering away. Thank goodness one of us can still think clearly. Fetch the steward. And paper. Pen.’ Her breathing seemed to be growing more ragged, each breath she took harder to grasp, more shallow, the final rattle not far away. ‘We must set this out all legal and proper.’

  The steward was called, the paper written and duly signed and witnessed, final details agreed. And not a moment too soon. By dawn, Rosalind was dead.

  Chapter Four

  Rose stood on the busy quay, the pink parasol held over the baby in her arms, keeping the noonday sun off his tiny head. It had a secondary purpose, its presence meant to identify her to whoever had been sent to meet Rosalind from the ship.

  ‘The mistress assured me someone would be here to collect her, and she particularly mentioned I must show the parasol,’ Rose explained to Joe, who stood by her side, as usual, looking faintly stunned at seeing her in this outfit. ‘Miss Rosalind had never met her husband’s family and this is the way they’ll know who she is. I am to see little Robbie safely to his grandfather’s house, and then present the document we all signed, by way of introduction. I’m hoping he’ll let me stay on, as the baby’s nursemaid.’

  ‘And what about me?’ Joe grumbled.

  Rose gave him a teasing little smile. ‘Not that it’s any of my concern where you go, or what you do, Joe Colbert, but Rosalind did suggest it might be a good idea for you to act as escort, and mebbe ask for a job at Penver Court yourself.’ Rose giggled. ‘And you can help carry this lot,’ indicating the several pieces of luggage clustered about her feet.

  ‘I’d live in a midden, Rosie, if I can only be with you. You know I would.’

  Rose scowled crossly at him. ‘If you come with me, you have to stop all this lovesick nonsense, it’s becoming embarrassing. No more wearing your heart on your sleeve, is that clear?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘You’ll do more than try. No more argument, right? If you don’t agree then I won’t let you come at all.’

  Joe shuffled his boots on the cobbles, wishing he could think of something clever and witty to say, or that he was handsome and rich. But, lost for a way to press his suit further, he felt obliged to agree. He certainly couldn’t risk losing her. ‘All right, I promise. But how do you know we can trust this Tregowan family?’

  Rose looked at him askance. ‘Why would we not be able to trust them? Sir Ralph is a gentleman, titled and rich.’

  ‘Aye, my point exactly. And nobody gets that way by being nice to folk, not in my experience, so why would he care about us, or that babby?’ He indicated Robbie sleeping peacefully in Rose’s arms.

  ‘This child is his grandson, so of course he will care.’

  Grabbing hold of her arm, Joe pulled Rose away from the hurly-burly and crush of departing passengers to stand behind a stack of crates where they could be a bit more private while able to still keep an eye on the baggage. ‘What I mean to say is, why would they bother to offer us employment, and what happens to us if they don’t? I don’t know about you but I don’t fancy going back to the life of starvation we had before we set off to America. We’re in an even worse position now than we were then. We’ve no job, no money, nowhere to live, and without even your mam and brothers and sisters for company.’

  Tears flooded her eyes. ‘Oh, don’t remind me of losing them, not right now, Joe, I can’t bear it.’

  ‘I know it was sad – tragic, in fact – what happened to you, Rosie, which is why we have to think carefully how we’re going to survive. I’ve no wish to depend on begging for me daily crust, or to share it with the rats down by the waterfront, which is where we’ll likely end up. I’d like a roof over my head, ta very much, and a way to earn an honest shilling.’

  ‘Me too; I know what happens to girls down on the waterfront. Anyway, I’m sure we’ll find Sir Ralph helpful.’

  ‘Then you’ve more faith in human nature than I have. Think of the opportunity you hold in your arms here to make something of your life,’ he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the baby. ‘You say the Tregowan family have never met this Rosalind, that she’s never even visited England.’

  ‘That’s what she told me. She was brought up in Canada, and there was some estrangement between her husband and his father. Why, what has that got to do with little Robbie?’

  ‘It has everything to do with him. No one in England, in Cornwall, has any idea what this Rosalind looks like. You could easily pass yourself off as the baby’s mother. You could be a real lady, then you’d never be homeless or starving again. You’d live a life in the lap of luxury.’

  Rose’s jaw dropped open, utterly shocked by this suggestion. ‘Oh, Joe, what a wicked idea. I could never do such a thing.’

  ‘Why not?’ Grabbing her by the shoulders he gave her a gentle little shake. ‘Think, girl, once you tell them who you really are, they’ll say this babby is your little bastard. Why would they believe some yarn about a woman dying in childbirth? What proof do have?’

  ‘I have the paper we all signed.’

  ‘They could easily accuse you of forging that in order to pass your bastard off as a possible future baronet. Besides, even if they believe the tale, maybe they won’t want this baby. Sir Ralph fell out with his own son, after all. What if he rejects little Robbie, and us, what then?’

  She was staring at him appalled, distressed by what he was saying. ‘Perhaps you should have more faith in people, Joe Colbert,’ Rose chided.

  ‘And happen you should have less and not be so naive. They owe us nowt. They’ve no obligation to offer us work, money or anything, not unless Sir Ralph is prepared to accept this child as his grandson. And that’s very much open to question.’

  ‘Ah, there you are, at last. You must be Rosalind, I assume. I’ve been looking everywhere for that blasted pink parasol. I’d almost given you up for lost.’

  Startled by the sudden appearance of a good-looking stranger at her elbow, and flustered by his use of Rosalind’s name, Rose was momentarily overwhelmed. Joe’s warning was still whirling in her head, and, hampered by her customary debilitating shyness, she couldn’t think how to respond. Her mind was a complete blank as she gazed up into his handsome face.

  ‘We’ve never met but I’m Bryce Tregowan, Sir Ralph’s stepson, at your service,’ he said, removing a rather sporty peaked cap as he introduced himself. ‘And this is your luggage, I presume? Gracious, Rosalind, I didn’t expect quite so much.’

  He was tall and broad-shouldered, dark hair rumpled as a consequence of the ha
t he’d politely doffed, yet his tone was anything but polite, sounding rather brusque and impatient. Dry-mouthed, Rose gathered her courage.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure, but I’m not … I mean, I expected a servant or chauffeur, not an actual family member to come and collect us,’ Rose managed, thinking how deliciously good-looking he was, even as she struggled to decide how best to deal with this unexpected encounter. A fellow servant of her own class would have been much easier to deal with.

  His suit was of the finest tweed, worn over a canary-yellow waistcoat, a cream and green silk cravat at this throat. Even as she was speaking he took a watch from his pocket and gave it a cursory glance. He certainly seemed to be more concerned with the time, not to mention the quantity of luggage, than showing any proper interest in her. He hadn’t even asked if she’d enjoyed a safe passage. For some reason this irritated her, bringing her thoughts back to Joe’s fears. Were they justified?

  Twin furrows appeared between his dark brow as he glowered down at the cluster of bags. ‘There does seem to be rather a lot,’ he complained again, scanning the array of trunks and boxes, and then his gaze fell upon the child. ‘Good lord, is that an infant in your arms?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Actually, this is—’

  ‘I heard about the death of your husband, but nothing was said about any child,’ he interrupted. ‘Is it yours? Drat, silly question. I do apologise, Rosalind. I’m rather at sixes and sevens this morning.’

  Thrown completely off balance, Bryce was thinking of what his brother’s reaction would be to this startling piece of news, not to mention that of their dear mama. The pair had been alarmed enough to discover a letter from his daughter-in-law among Sir Ralph’s papers, announcing this visit. They were also tellingly relieved to learn of the death of his son. But the presence of a child put a whole new complexion on the matter. Embroiled in his own thoughts, Bryce paid even less heed to the woman he presumed to be the child’s mother.

  Seeming to collect himself, he continued, ‘We were only recently made aware of your impending visit, and that Robert had died.’ He cleared his throat, as if having difficulty in finding the right words. ‘May I offer my sincere condolences on your loss.’

  Rose found herself politely thanking him while privately thinking he didn’t sound in the least bit sincere, simply parroting the words as a duty. If anything, he sounded even more cold and unfriendly. Was the baby hers indeed? What cheek! Perhaps his arrogance was the reason she had still failed to point out his mistake in taking her for Rosalind, or else it was her sudden fear for the child. Holding little Robbie possessively close, she exchanged a quick troubled glance with Joe. Something wasn’t right here, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.

  Intercepting the glance, Bryce half turned. ‘Ah, and who might this be? Your new beau perhaps?’ He glanced again at the baby, the train of his thoughts plain to see.

  Rose was struck speechless, quite unable to believe the sheer effrontery of the question. Even if this man didn’t know exactly when her husband had died, to imply that Rosalind would have replaced him with another lover so quickly, and got pregnant by him already, was deeply offensive. Perhaps Joe had a point about this family, after all, if they presumed always to think the worst. How dare this man cast such a slur upon that gentle lady’s reputation?

  She opened her mouth to say as much, but at that moment Joe stepped hastily forward, giving the slightest of head bows.

  ‘I am Joseph, My Lady’s manservant, if you please, sir. You would not expect Her Ladyship to travel without proper protection, would you, sir?’ he very reasonably pointed out, extending a hand to Rose, as if she were as much of a delicate flower as her name suggested.

  ‘Ah, no, of course not. I beg your pardon, Rosalind, I wasn’t thinking.’ He inclined a half head bow towards her, as if that made everything fine and dandy.

  Rose was glaring at Joe in shocked fury, horrified by what he had just done. Should she deny it? Should she come out with it right now and say exactly who she was? But if she did, it would be tantamount to accusing Joe of being at best a liar, at worst a fraudster. And what would this man do to him then? Call the customs officials, or the police? They’d already been thrown out of one country, could they be evicted from their own homeland as well? Oh, what on earth had possessed Joe to say such a thing! Now they were in a proper pickle.

  But of course, she knew the reason. Hadn’t he made his resolve only too clear that he had no intention of bedding down with the rats, or begging for his daily crust? Mercy me, this was all going badly wrong.

  ‘Where would you wish me to deposit the luggage?’ Joe was respectfully enquiring.

  ‘Hmm, the problem is that my Electric Phaeton is only a two-seater. I wasn’t expecting to carry two passengers, or three counting the child, let alone all this baggage. I’ll call a cab to take you to the station,’ he continued, calm as you please. ‘It’s a long journey down to Cornwall and you’ll be more comfortable, in any case, making it by train. Will that suit, Rosalind?’

  ‘Actually, my name is Rose, and—’ she began.

  ‘I’m sure it makes no odds to me what you prefer to call yourself,’ he snapped, his tone sharp with impatience. ‘We can settle such minor details later. In the meantime I must press ahead with all speed in the motor. Family matters needing attention, I’m afraid.’ The sooner he imparted this news to his mother, the better, and make some attempt to calm her resulting fury before the lady in question arrived. ‘I can at least relieve you of the luggage.’

  Rose felt rather as if she’d been smacked in the face. This man had travelled goodness knows how many miles, all the way up to Bristol to meet them, and was now going to dump them on a train to make their own way. How dare he! He didn’t even have the courtesy to pause long enough to listen to what she had to say.

  Less than half an hour later she and Joe, along with Robbie and one piece of luggage for the baby’s requirements, had been put into a railway carriage and told to disembark at St Austell Station.

  ‘Someone will come to collect you, though probably not myself,’ he told them, rather vaguely, then he was slamming shut the carriage door and striding away without even troubling to say goodbye.

  Lydia Tregowan stood staring down at her sick husband as he lay inert in his bed, and struggled to keep herself from laughing out loud. Could the moment she’d so longed for be here at last? Twelve years she had waited, twelve long, boring, excruciatingly dull years. Sir Ralph Tregowan had been old the day she’d married him, both in years and in his demeanour. As she was so much younger than he, by some twenty years or more, she’d made it very plain from the start that she expected to maintain certain standards.

  ‘I am accustomed to attending balls, dinner parties and theatre during the season and would wish to continue to do so,’ she had told him, feeling it essential they agree proper terms from the outset. ‘And I like to winter in Biarritz, having done so for several years now.’ Lydia certainly had no intention of burying herself in deepest Cornwall for the entire year, however delightful Penver Court and the estate might be. She’d never noticed any shortage of offers from rich men in search of an attractive wife, and one was as good as another so far as she was concerned. If this match didn’t take, she had other fish to fry.

  But he had taken her, and accepted her terms with alacrity, which was most gratifying. She believed the Tregowan family to be very rich indeed, also in possession of a title, and she’d really rather fancied herself as Lady Tregowan.

  Sir Ralph had readily agreed to rent her a house in London, and even when he declined to join her there, due to some perceived illness or pressing matters on his estate, he had made no protest about her own continued jaunts up to town. His absence was a great relief to her as Lydia found his lovemaking odious in the extreme. She really could not endure his physical presence in her bedroom, let alone in her bed, and used every subtle ploy she could think of to avoid it. She also considered that he kept too tight a rei
n on her purse strings, paying her an insultingly small allowance which obliged her to delve too deeply into her own carefully hoarded funds. When these restrictions became both stifling and irritating, she did not hesitate to deny him access to her boudoir entirely.

  Lydia saw this as just punishment for his reneging on their agreed terms. ‘Why will you not grant me a proper allowance?’ she’d railed at him, on countless occasions.

  ‘Why will you not be a proper wife to me?’ had been his infuriating rejoinder.

  Had she not been so very certain of her own attractive charms, Lydia might have begun to wonder if Sir Ralph had married her for her own fortune, carefully garnered through several productive marriages. Besides, the Tregowan family owned hundreds of acres, several farms and an entire village in Cornwall. The man was simply mean.

  Fortunately, her husband’s ill health had grown worse over the years, which meant that he had become increasingly dependent upon her to oversee much of the management of Penver Court. Once she’d disposed of the odious man who had acted as his steward for over twenty years, that is. Bartlett had been the most awkward, difficult man she had ever met, and she’d felt no compunction over dismissing him on accusations of fraud. Whether or not these were entirely true was quite beside the point. The fellow had to go. Lydia was always determined to have her own way.

  Glancing again at the prostrate figure on the bed, she curled up her nose at the unpleasant odours. An all-pervading air of sickness, and something worse, permeated the room. Had he voided his bowels yet again? Where was that dratted nurse? She gave the bell pull a firm tug before crossing to open the window, wafting in some very welcome fresh air, even if it was against all the rules of the sickroom.

  The door opened, yet it was not the nurse who entered, but her younger son. Lydia hurried across to kiss him on each cheek. ‘Jago, my dear, thank goodness. Have you seen Nurse Fenton? She is never around when needed.’