My Lady Deceiver

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘How long were you married to Robert, exactly?’

  Panic hit her as Rose tried to remember the details and do some quick mental arithmetic. Rosalind had claimed they’d tried for a child for quite a few years, but did she ever mention how long she’d been married? Rose couldn’t quite remember. Oh, why hadn’t she considered this problem before? She could feel her cheeks growing warm with guilt beneath the dowager’s scrutinising gaze. And then she recalled Rosalind’s pain at her husband’s death. ‘Nowhere near long enough,’ she answered with a sad smile.

  ‘I dare say, but I rather assumed he married shortly after he left home, which was almost twelve years ago, or was it a more recent event?’ she persisted.

  There was something about the way Lady Tregowan was examining her, the curl of disdain to her upper lip, that caused Rose to bridle. But why was she being so high and mighty? Rose was dressed in one of Rosalind’s fine gowns, after all, so there was really no reason why the woman should look down her aristocratic nose with such contempt. She answered without thinking. ‘We married only recently.’ At once a dark pit opened before her as Rose saw the trap she’d fallen into. In her irritation at the woman’s condescending attitude, and her desire to defend dear Rosalind who had saved her life, she’d told a lie. What on earth had possessed her? Now you’ve made it worse, screamed the voice in her head.

  Bryce laughed as he patted his mother’s hand. ‘Now don’t start barracking her the moment she has arrived, Mama,’ he teased good-naturedly. ‘The poor girl hasn’t even unpacked yet. Do at least give her the chance to settle in.’

  The pale-blue eyes regarded Rose with cold distaste. ‘Didn’t you say something about her bringing a lover? He will be the young man eating his head off in my kitchen, will he?’

  ‘Joe is most definitely not my lover, as I believe I made very clear to your son when he first accused me of it.’ Rose drew herself up to her full height as she fixed Bryce Tregowan with a furious glare. ‘If anyone tells you different, then they are mistaken. But I’ll not stay here to be insulted, no matter how grand you might all think you are.’ She made a move to go, and then paused to look wildly about her at the curious faces, confused and uncertain what she should do, or where she should go.

  She could, of course, tell them the truth of it right now, give it to them straight that she wasn’t the young Lady Rosalind Tregowan at all, but plain little Rosie Belsfield, recently rejected by officials at Ellis Island. Her heart turned over at the recollection of that terrifying ordeal, of being torn from her mother’s arms and sent away from her brothers and sisters, callously deported to fend for herself as best she may. Rose was deeply afraid of being rejected yet again, of being left to starve and sleep under a hedge somewhere, of being forced to sell her body in order to survive. Joe had got her into this mess, and now she’d made matters worse with that stupid lie. But why was this woman, and her son, being so horrible before they even properly knew her?

  Worries about her own fate, however, paled into insignificance at the prospect of losing little Robbie. Rose instinctively knew that for the sake of his own safety she could never risk taking the baby with her, nor could she leave him here with this heartless, sour-faced harridan. It really didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘That was my mistake, all a foolish misunderstanding,’ Bryce Tregowan was saying as he drew her gently back to the window embrasure. ‘I wouldn’t recommend you make any hasty decisions, Rosalind.’

  She looked up into his eyes, a deep charcoal grey, and felt a little wobble in her tummy. Why was he suddenly being so kind? This unexpected change in behaviour was almost more troubling than his inexplicable antipathy to her when first they’d met.

  As Rose turned these troubling matters over in her head, Lady Tregowan was lifting her pince-nez to consider her more closely. ‘Which part of America did you say you came from? You don’t sound particularly American.’

  Rose had been doing her utmost to sound her vowels in the correct way and properly enunciate her words, as the toffs did. She’d thought she was doing rather well, but now grew strangely anxious. ‘I’m not,’ she said, then remembering what Rosalind had told her, quickly explained. ‘I no doubt sound a bit odd because I was brought up in Canada, although my parents were British. I feel I am too, and proud to be so, same as you …’

  Her Ladyship gave a caustic little smile. ‘Dear me, no, there is no comparison. I see precious little evidence of any proper moral compass thus far in your behaviour. No wonder dear Sir Ralph came to be so at odds with his son. The poor boy clearly possessed a reprehensible taste in women. Where did he find you, in the gutter?’

  Rose’s mouth actually fell open with shock. But the woman was not done with her yet, as her fellow guests were agog to hear as the cutting tones of their hostess clearly rang out.

  ‘That obstinate husband of yours ignored this entire family for a decade or more. As for yourself, how very opportune that you should marry the poor boy presumably not long before he died of consumption, and yet managed to produce a child with commendable speed. Now you turn up here, declaring yourself homeless, in perfect time for Sir Ralph’s funeral. An astonishing coincidence, and I do not believe in coincidences.’

  On these barbed words, the dowager Lady Tregowan turned on her heel and stalked away, head high.

  Rose could scarcely believe what had just occurred, could hardly breathe for the fury that raged through her, largely on Rosalind’s behalf, but also partly from embarrassment at having landed herself in this hot water.

  ‘I must apologise for my mother,’ Bryce hastened to say. ‘I’m afraid she is not the easiest of women to get along with.’

  Rose stared at him in blank incomprehension. For a moment she could almost believe him to be sincere. There was something about the way he looked directly into her eyes that sent delightful little ripples of pleasure cascading through her. She almost wanted to lay her cheek against his broad chest and confess all, if only to feel his arms come about her and hold her close. Yet this was the same arrogant man who had assumed Joe to be her lover, and had no doubt repeated this mistaken supposition to his mother. She straightened her spine with dignity. ‘It is not for you to apologise on her behalf, although an apology on your own account might be called for. What gives either of you the right to insult me? You know nothing at all about me.’

  Bryce Tregowan looked contrite, as well he might. ‘You have every right to be annoyed. But may I suggest that the best way of dealing with my mother is to ignore her barbs. It only encourages her if you overreact.’

  ‘Overreact! You don’t think I have the right to defend myself against such charges?’ But it was not herself the woman was insulting, but Rosalind. What was it she said? ‘Where did he find you, in the gutter?’ Dowager or no, how dare she cast such a slur upon dear Rosalind’s character?

  ‘You have every right, all I am saying is there’s little point in allowing my mother to upset you. It will only make matters worse.’

  His expression was so patient, so pragmatic, and so filled with sound common sense that Rose could hardly refute this very reasonable argument. But she felt deeply offended, as if she personally had been attacked. Still too stunned to know how best to deal with the situation, she watched in silence as Lady Tregowan paused to talk to a portly gentleman. Gathering Her Ladyship’s hands in his he put them to his lips, obviously offering her his condolences.

  The dowager accepted his offer of a handkerchief to dab at each eye, mopping up invisible tears, purely to play on his sympathy, in Rose’s opinion. She’d shown no sign of grief at the funeral, nor had she appeared in the least devastated by the death of her husband. The woman was a vindictive old witch, that’s what she was. There was no doubt in Rose’s mind that the tears were entirely false.

  Then the pair turned, seemingly with one accord, to glance back at her. Rose went quite cold. What was she saying now? What lies was she telling this man? Oh, why was it all going so badly wrong? She shouldn’t have listened t
o Joe, but come right out with who she really was back there at Bristol docks. Now things were going from bad to worse. She had to put an end to this mess right now.

  In some distress Rose again turned to Bryce Tregowan. ‘May I speak with you a moment, in private?’

  He offered what might pass for a sympathetic smile. ‘As I said, dealing with my mother is not easy, but whatever you wish to say on the matter will have to wait. That is Mr Wrayworth, the family solicitor, and he is about to read the will.’

  The reason for Lady Tregowan’s coldness soon became all too apparent as the solicitor began to read out Sir Ralph’s last will and testament. The guests had quietly departed while family, and other members of the household, assembled in what was obviously Sir Ralph’s study, judging by the shelves of books and wide mahogany desk behind which the portly solicitor settled himself. Rose took a seat at the far end of the room, well away from them all, although it afforded her an excellent view of everyone present.

  There was the weeping widow seated ramrod straight in her chair, occasionally casting menacing glances in Rose’s direction. Beside her sat a young woman, slightly plump with bright golden hair and startlingly blue eyes, an expression of self-satisfied complacency on her pretty face. Rose had heard Bryce Tregowan address her as Gwenna. His sister perhaps, or his fiancée? She felt a strange pang of disappointment at the thought she might be the latter, so much so that she had to sternly reprimand herself.

  And there was Bryce himself. She studiously avoided his glances in her direction, as only to look at him confused her. At the docks he had been quite brusque and unfriendly, strangely cold and unfeeling. But there had been moments during that dreadful scene in the drawing room when Rose had felt something very like sympathy emanating from him, almost as if he were on her side.

  On the chair next to him lounged a young man Rose now knew to be his brother Jago. Tall and rangy, long legs sprawled out, he was not so well set as Bryce, nor his shoulders quite so broad, and with an untidy shock of greasy brown hair. He was not unhandsome, yet there was a certain sneer to the twist of the mouth set in an angular face, the nose long and bony. Rose disliked him on sight.

  Behind the circle of chairs, upon which the family were seated, stood the servants, save for Tilly, of course, who was still minding Robbie. The small bequests were dealt with first, listing pensions, gifts of money and personal items which were graciously accepted before the servants all trooped out again and the solicitor came to the most important part of the will.

  ‘In view of this unexpected and delightful good news of a male heir, the title will naturally pass automatically to Sir Ralph’s grandson, together with the entire estate. This comprises Penver Court itself, the grounds and garden, home farm and several tenant farms, plus a considerable bequest to go with it.’ Mr Wrayworth looked across at Rose as he said this. ‘Would you tell us the child’s name, dear lady?’

  Stunned to find herself directly addressed, Rose cleared her throat. ‘Robert, named after his father.’

  ‘Most suitable!’ The solicitor made a note on his papers, looking pleased.

  Rose was struggling to take in the import of what had just been announced. It was true, then, little Robbie was now a baronet. Nor had Sir Ralph forgotten his daughter-in-law, providing Rosalind with a generous allowance, which, to her dismay, Rose realised would now go to her. She was on her feet in a second.

  ‘I cannot accept it. Robbie has every right to the title and whatever goes with it, but not me. I don’t want a penny of Sir Ralph’s money.’

  The solicitor cleared his throat. ‘You are quite at liberty not to accept it, of course, dear lady, although it was your father-in-law’s wish that you be properly provided for.’

  Rose wanted to say that Sir Ralph wasn’t her father-in-law, that he was no relation at all, but everyone was glaring at her, her mouth had gone dry and she could feel her knees start to shake. In that instant she recognised her own vulnerability. Rose dreaded what the family’s reaction might be if she spoke up now and confessed the truth. They would quite justly accuse her of deceiving them, even of fraud. Fear was gnawing at her insides, making her feel quite sick. They might even call the police and have her locked up in jail. Oh, what had she done! She’d made a bad mistake allowing Joe to talk her into keeping quiet, and then by failing to cope with Lady Tregowan’s inquisitive questions. She really was in deep trouble.

  It was Bryce who gently suggested that she sit down, as the assembled company continued to stare at her with a mix of disbelief and disdain. ‘This isn’t the moment to decide, Rose. Take the time to consider, and we can discuss it later.’

  He sounded so very much in command that there seemed nothing else for it but to obey. In any case, her knees had quite given way. Rose sat, hands pressed together in her lap, biting her lower lip to keep herself from speaking out. She could still feel his eyes upon her, noted a slight pucker between his brow, as if he was puzzled by her refusal and striving to understand. Had he, like his mother, assumed her to be a fortune-hunter? What a terrible indictment upon dear Rosalind, an innocent young woman if ever there was one.

  Rose certainly had no wish to accept the bequest that had fallen into her lap, having wanted only to see Rosalind’s baby put into safe hands, and perhaps find employment for herself.

  Oh, but her situation was now quite impossible. She faced penury on the one hand, possibly even a term in prison, or a life of deception on the other. And how much longer could she keep up this charade? She couldn’t do it, she really couldn’t. She would only enmesh herself further in a web of lies. There was nothing for it but to leave. If she and Joe were to avoid arrest, they would have to make a run for it. Yet if they did, who would be a mother to little Robbie?

  Sick with misery, Rose only half listened to the remainder of the will, most of it going quite over her head, although she gained the impression from the fidgeting and murmurings of the assembled company that all was not quite as it should be, or what they had hoped for.

  Quite startling her out of her self-obsessed thoughts, Lady Tregowan’s voice boomed out. ‘This is utterly outrageous! How dare he disinherit his own sons?’

  Mr Wrayworth appeared deeply embarrassed, his flabby jowls turning quite crimson. ‘That is not at all the case, My Lady. Sir Ralph believed that the provision he has made for Bryce and Jago, who are in fact your sons and not his, to be perfectly adequate. He expressed a hope that a modest annual allowance would help and encourage them both to make their own way in the world, as is only right and proper.’ It was naming this sum which had brought forth Lady Tregowan’s fury.

  ‘My late husband has been mean and miserly with his money ever since I married him. He has never – I repeat, never – properly provided for me! On the contrary, he has broken all the terms of our nuptial agreement.’

  Reaching over, Bryce patted her hand. ‘Calm yourself, Mama, I am more than content. As you know, I’m in the process of buying a chandler’s business in Fowey. I didn’t ask for his money, and can manage perfectly well without it.’

  Jago was on his feet in an instant, hovering menacingly over his brother. ‘That’s all very well for you, but what about me? I’m the eldest, and it is my right! Besides, I don’t have a pot of savings stashed away.’

  ‘And whose fault is that, might I ask?’ Bryce challenged him.

  ‘Sir Ralph promised that we would inherit a sizeable piece of land each, and a sum of money to go with it. He promised! And what do I get? A pitiful allowance! Mother is right, he’s reneged on his word.’

  ‘It is an absolute outrage!’ Lady Tregowan cried. ‘My husband had no right to do this. He was probably out of his mind, not himself at all. Or else influenced by certain persons writing him begging letters.’ Here she cast a venomous glance in Rose’s direction. ‘I shall most certainly challenge the will.’

  The solicitor looked seriously disturbed by such a prospect. ‘I would advise caution in that respect, My Lady. It is an expensive process to go to law
, with no guarantee of success. And Sir Ralph was at pains to point out, when he made this will some years ago, that he regretted the estrangement with his only son, Robert. Had he known the young man’s whereabouts, he would have made every effort to heal the breach. Since learning of his son’s death, only recently, he made his wishes clear that he would not consider making a new will until after he had met his daughter-in-law. I rather think he was hoping she might still provide him with a much-longed-for grandchild, as, most gratifyingly, has proved to be the case.’ Mr Wrayworth smiled again at Rose, acknowledging her with a little head bow.

  Rose flushed.

  The row which erupted following this seemingly innocuous remark was utterly horrifying. Voices were raised in furious argument, arms waved, fists punched the air or hammered on the desk. And all the while the embattled solicitor did his utmost to placate them, with absolutely no effect. Noticing a door behind her, Rose slipped through it and quietly made her escape.

  Chapter Seven

  Rose’s immediate thought as she ran from the study was to check on baby Robbie. It must, in any case, be almost time for his next feed. Being slightly premature, and so small, he liked his feeds to be little and often. After that she must talk to Joe. They really couldn’t go on with this deception. It was far too dangerous. What the answer to their problem might be Rose hadn’t the least idea, but one must be found, and quickly. She could almost feel some sympathy for Lady Tregowan over the loss of her expectations. As stepsons of the baronet, she had clearly hoped that her sons would inherit the property and estate, if not the title. Why else would she insist they take his name? But now, despite having devoted years of her life to an old man, his money, house and title were to go to an unknown baby who had appeared quite out of the blue. It must be most vexing for her.