Lady Rosabella's Ruse

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘I’m leaving.’

  The old lady stared at her. ‘Stanford.’ She slapped a hand on the counterpane. ‘I knew it.’

  Rosa winced at her employer’s perspicacity. ‘It has nothing to do with him. Not really. I having been thinking and decided I want to start on my career as a singer right away. I really need to earn more money. Did you hear anything from your friend?’

  ‘Not yet. She is touring in Italy and won’t be back in London until the end of the summer. Stay until then. I am sure she will be able to help.’

  Once Lady Keswick realised Stanford’s intentions were honourable, or at least his form of honourable, she would join forces with him. ‘Would you give me a letter of recommendation?’

  ‘Are you sure this is what you want, gel? The theatre is no easy life. Oh, to be sure you might find a patron, someone to keep you in fine style, but you just don’t strike me as that sort.’

  Last night had proved different. Shame washed through her, but she met the old lady’s gaze calmly. ‘I want to sing.’ She wanted to be free of debt. She wanted to support her sisters. Give them the kind of life her father should have provided.

  But she wouldn’t do it by tricking a man into a marriage he didn’t want.

  Lady Keswick sighed. ‘I can see there is no moving you, gel. Hand me my writing implements and a tablet.’

  Trembling with anxiety that she might miss the stagecoach in the village if Lady Keswick didn’t hurry, Rosa fetched what she needed and stood shifting from foot to foot as she watched the minutes on the mantelclock tick by.

  Lady Keswick blotted her note and folded it carefully. ‘I am not sure how much good it will do you, my dear. It is a long time since I walked the boards.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Rosa took the note. In a rush of tenderness she leaned forwards and gave the old woman a hug. ‘Thank you. I will write and let you know how I do.’

  ‘You do that, my dear. But I am going to give Stanford a piece of my mind.’

  Hopefully, not until after eleven when the stage would be well on its way to London. Rosa tucked the note in her reticule and slipped out of the door. Now to start the next stage of her life.

  No more silly mistakes. She’d made enough for a lifetime.

  She pelted down the servants’ staircase, valise in hand. The rest of her clothes she would send for once she found work. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about what she would do if she couldn’t find a position.

  It was unthinkable. She had enough money left from her first month’s employment to hold off Triggs for a week or two, and some left over to pay for lodging, if she was careful.

  She tiptoed past the library, its door slightly ajar, though she could not imagine any of the guests being out of the bed so early. The muffled sound of someone crying stopped her steps. It wasn’t her business. She took another stealthy step. Another choked sob, then a paroxysm of crying issued from the room.

  Lady Smythe. She just knew it. Perhaps she’d had bad news from her husband. She pushed open the door.

  Lady Smythe looked at her, then turned her back, her shoulders hunching as if trying to make herself invisible. Rosa winced and stepped inside, dropping her valise inside the door. ‘May I come in?’

  Lady Smythe sniffed. ‘No.’

  Thank goodness. Rosa turned to leave.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Travenor, I’m sorry, but my life is ruined.’

  The rise in her voice, a most pathetic wail, brought Rosa up short. She turned back. Even with her nose pink and tears running down her cheeks, Lady Smythe looked adorable.

  ‘Did you speak to Lady Keswick?’

  ‘I did. Last night.’ Her shoulders drooped. ‘She said I was a goose. That Mark would come for me the moment he heard I was here. But it has been days and days and still no word.’

  ‘How would he know where to find you?’

  She sniffed. ‘I left a note.’

  Startled, Rosa sat down beside her on the sofa. ‘You never mentioned a note.’

  The young woman lifted her tear-stained face. ‘That’s not the worst of it. Bannerby came to my door last night. I wouldn’t let him in. He said he knew I had Stanford in with me, and he would let the whole world know I was his paramour.’

  ‘But Stanford…’ She bit her lip. ‘I mean, he wasn’t with you.’

  She shook her head. ‘Bannerby knocked on his door and there was no answer so Bannerby took it as evidence. Oh, if only the storm hadn’t stopped me from leaving last night.’ Her shoulders sagged more. ‘Everything is so awful. I want to go home.’ She gave a little hiccup of a sob.

  Rosa put an arm about her shoulder. ‘Then leave today.’

  ‘I am. The post chaise will be here at any moment.’ She raised her watery gaze, her lower lip trembling. ‘But I fear it is too late. When he finds out what I’ve done, when he hears Bannerby’s lies, he will be so angry.’

  ‘Are you afraid of your husband?’

  ‘Oh, no, he is the dearest, kindest man imaginable. But Mama said even the nicest of men can be brought to the end of their patience. I thought he loved me.’ Tears flowed down her face.

  ‘You love him.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It was a love match. Everyone said so.’ She turned her face away. ‘Or I thought so. Mama said the first thing every man does after the honeymoon is set up a mistress.’

  Mama sounded like an idiot. She took the delicate hand in hers. ‘Not every husband. I think you must ask him. Confront him with what you saw. Confess what you did, and tell him that nothing happened. It didn’t, did it?’

  ‘Oh, no. I couldn’t. I thought I could, but I couldn’t. You have been married. Do you think he will believe me?’

  Dear heavens, trapped by her own lies. ‘I am sure of it.’

  ‘Will you vouch for me?’

  She winced, but she supposed she could vouch for Stanford’s whereabouts. She opened her mouth to say so, when the sounds of a carriage drawing up in the courtyard brought the weepy young bride to her feet. ‘The post chaise. I must have my luggage brought down.’ She glanced at Rosa’s valise. ‘Are you leaving, too? Are you going to London? Come with me.’ She ran to the window to look out.

  Rosa stared at her back. A feeling of recklessness entered her chest. ‘Yes. I am going to London.’ She could also vouch for Lady Smythe’s innocence, as far as Garth was concerned, and it would be comforting to have a friend on her journey to London.

  Penelope swung around, her eyes wide and round. ‘What shall I do? It is not the post chaise. It is my husband.’

  Oh, now the fat was in the fire along with Rosa’s hope of an easy escape.

  ‘He mustn’t find me here,’ the young bride said. ‘I must hide.’

  ‘Far better you face him right away,’ Rosa said, hoping she was right. ‘Tell him the truth. If he cares for you, he will believe you.’ She crossed her fingers in her skirts. ‘You look so adorably sad, all you have to do is fall into his arms and thank him for coming to your rescue. I am sure he will melt.’ If he loved her he would.

  Lady Smythe smoothed her skirts and patted her hair. ‘Do you think so?’ Her lower lip trembled. Her lovely green eyes glistened with tears. Who could resist?

  ‘I am sure of it. Far better you greet him alone, though.’

  The sound of a slamming door made them both jump. ‘You don’t think it would be better if you stayed with me?’

  ‘No, but I will stay close by, in case he…in case you need my help.’

  She nodded and straightened her shoulders. ‘After all, he is the one in the wrong.’

  Rosa wasn’t sure accusing him would work, but what did she know? She picked up her valise and scurried ignominiously out of the door, saying, ‘I’ll wait further along the passage, just in case.’

  She barely escaped being run over by a fair-haired young man with steely grey eyes and very definite chin.

  ‘Library?’ he snapped at her.

  She pointed. Oh, dear, perhaps she had been wrong to desert Lady Smythe. She hesitated
just beyond the door, then slipped into a niche, squeezing behind a statue of Eros artfully draped with fabric. She had no wish to be caught eavesdropping.

  ‘Mark,’ Lady Smythe said in dramatic accents. ‘You came for me. What took you so long?’ She burst into tears.

  The deep sounds of a male voice offering comfort was followed by the sound of sobbing and explanations. Rosa could only imagine what Lady Smythe was saying, but whatever it was seemed to work because Lady Smythe said, ‘Oh, Mark, I never should have come here.’

  A lengthy silence ensued. Lady Smythe clearly wasn’t in need of help. Rosa was working her way around the statue’s plinth when she heard footsteps. She held her breath and remained perfectly still. It was probably one of the servants going about their business.

  ‘Mark?’ Stanford’s voice. ‘Thank God you are here.’

  ‘Stanford? You bastard,’ the other man said in a low growl.

  Oh, dear, this could get ugly. Perhaps she ought to go and testify on Stanford’s behalf.

  The sound of a strike and then a thud made her run for the door and peep in.

  Garth was measuring his length on the carpet and staring up at Lord Smythe. He was grinning. He tested his jaw. ‘You always did have a punishing left.’

  ‘Get up, you coward,’ Lord Smythe growled. ‘I will have satisfaction.’

  Stanford looked at Lady Smythe and raised a mocking brow. ‘Well, Penelope?’

  A pained expression crossed the other man’s face. He pulled Lady Smythe against his side.

  ‘Mark, it isn’t his fault,’ Lady Smythe said.

  ‘Whose fault is it?’ he said.

  She hung her head. ‘Mine. I came here with Mrs Mallow. I— Stanford has done nothing but tell me to go home since he arrived. You have to believe me.’

  Her husband looked from one to the other, then put out a hand and heaved Stanford to his feet. ‘It seems I owe you an apology.’ He still sounded dangerous, but the hostilities were apparently over. ‘Perhaps one of you can explain what is going on?’

  Rosa inhaled a deep breath. It seemed her help was not needed and eavesdropping was making her feel very uncomfortable. Besides, she had no wish to run into Stanford. He’d try to stop her from leaving. Oh, goodness, if she wanted to make the stagecoach leaving the village at nine, she would have to hurry. She spun around and continued on her way, letting herself out of the back door just as a yellow bounder pulled into the courtyard.

  ‘You the young lady what ordered the chaise?’ the postilion asked, swinging down from his mount.

  Lady Smythe wasn’t going to need her rented post chaise now her husband had come, was she? And there was no faster way to reach London. She winced. The fare would use up a good deal of money, but it was just too fortuitous an opportunity to pass up.

  ‘Well?’ the postilion said, frowning at her valise. ‘Payment due in advance.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, raking in her reticule. ‘Yes.’ She counted the coins into his palm until he nodded his satisfaction. ‘Let us be off at once.’

  She climbed aboard and settled back against the seats. As the coach pulled away, a heavy lump settled in the depths of her stomach. Stanford would not be pleased she’d gone off without a word. She pressed her hand to her suddenly hot cheeks. He’d actually asked her to marry him. For an instant of madness she had let herself dream they could have a future. He’d managed to steal a piece of her heart when she wasn’t looking. But it would be wrong to marry a man who saw her as an unwanted responsibility. It was no way to begin a marriage. No matter how hard she wished it wasn’t so, once she was gone, he would no doubt heave a sigh of relief and thank heavens for a lucky escape.

  Her chest tightened and she pressed a hand to it to ward off the pain. It was no good wishing. She must put the whole thing down to experience and move on with her plans. With Lady Keswick’s letter of introduction, she was sure to find a good role with an opera company and put Stanford’s allure behind her.

  Her hands went to her belly. What if she was carrying his child? She pushed the thought aside.

  She could only deal with one problem at a time.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Mrs Mallow lured her here,’ Garth said. ‘Your wife never let me or anyone else near her.’

  Penelope’s innocent green eyes widened. Her rosebud lips formed a small O of surprise. No doubt she thought he was going to tell tales on her for flirting with Bannerby. Well, she’d have to own up for herself.

  And if Mark wanted a brawl, he would give a good accounting of himself, because he wasn’t the guilty party.

  Mark raked his fingers through his normally neat fair locks. ‘Why the hell didn’t you just put her on a coach and send her home?’

  He shook his head. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, old chap, it’s never get between a man and his wife.’

  Mark leaned close. ‘You really are a bastard sometimes.’

  ‘All the time,’ he said coolly.

  ‘Dammit, Garth. You know I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just too angry to choose my words carefully.’

  Mark was one of two people who knew his secret. Him and Kit, his brother, apart from his dear mother, of course. ‘I’m glad you finally arrived.’

  ‘I found Penelope’s note.’

  Penelope stared at him. ‘I thought you would be home days ago.’

  Mark’s face turned grim. ‘I was delayed.’

  Penelope froze, then shrugged. ‘I had decided to leave anyway. It’s all been perfectly horrid.’

  He smiled down at his wife. ‘Then I am glad I am in time to escort you.’ He pulled her close. ‘We’ll talk more when we get home.’

  Nauseated by the expression on his friend’s face, Garth turned away. Heaven forefend he would ever look so besotted. ‘Well, this is all very nice, but if you will excuse me, I am meeting Mrs Travenor in an hour or so. I just came in here for a newspaper to pass the time while I wait.’

  Penelope gasped, then tried to cover it up with a cough.

  ‘What?’ Garth asked.

  She shook her head, her cheeks flaming red, guilt writ large on her face.

  ‘Blast it, Penelope, tell me.’

  ‘Steady,’ Mark said, moving to shield his wife with his body.

  ‘Tell her to tell me, Mark,’ Garth said, clenching his fists.

  Mark stared at him, then a grin broke out on his face. ‘Oh, not you, too.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about? I just want to hear what she has to say about Mrs Travenor.’

  ‘Tell him, Penelope. He won’t let it go until you do.’

  ‘She left,’ Penelope said.

  ‘Left?’ Garth felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut by a horse. A bloody big one. ‘Left when?’

  ‘I mean, I think she left. She was carrying a valise. She said she was going to London.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘If she was the dark beauty I met in the corridor when I arrived, it was not more than a few minutes ago,’ Mark said.

  Penelope looked at him. ‘Beauty?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘That was her, all right,’ Garth said, his stomach tightening, quickly followed by a hot buzz of anger. So Rose had lied to him again. What else had she lied about? Was there no end to her deceit? Perhaps she really had found what she was looking for in that house while he was sleeping.

  It seemed where Miss Travenor was concerned he was a fool, but if she thought to escape him, she was in for a surprise. He wasn’t going to take the chance of her carrying his child, though God help him, if it was a boy, it meant he would never be able to put things right for his brother.

  Well, he had one advantage on his side. He knew she was headed for London and the only way to get there from here was by stagecoach. And even if he missed her in the village, he’d soon catch up to her on the road.

  He bowed. ‘If you will excuse me. You two have lots to discuss.’

  ‘Your absence will not be remarked upon,’ Mark
said.

  Garth wanted to knock the smile off his friend’s face. Being caught in the parson’s mousetrap was a fate worse than death, at least to him. His friend had seemed very happy about being leg-shackled. He hoped, for both their sakes, the events of the past few days wouldn’t change his mind.

  Right now he had a more important matter on his mind. Rose.

  ‘Let’s hear you, then.’

  Rosa stared out into the theatre, at the fussy little assistant manager’s assistant, with his springy blond hair and Lady Keswick’s letter in his hand. He squinted at Rosa over his spectacles from the front of the pit.

  Nerves always tied her stomach in knots when she began to sing, but it was far worse this time. The theatre was cavernous. Unfriendly. It was so important that she do well and the aria he’d given her was pitched far too high for her voice.

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘I haven’t got all day,’ the little man said. He pointed to the sheet of music in her hand. ‘Sing.’

  Settle down. Just sing. She took another breath. Her heart was sitting too high in her throat. She swallowed it down. The first notes came out a croak.

  ‘Stop!’ the little man shrieked. He put his hands to his ears. ‘No more.’

  ‘No. I can do it. Just let me—’

  ‘I’m not looking for frogs. Can you dance? We need dancers.’

  No. This was all going wrong. Why wouldn’t he listen? ‘If I could just try again? Please.’

  ‘Next,’ he yelled

  Another girl, with carrot-red hair, stepped on stage from the wings.

  She couldn’t let this happen. ‘I can dance,’ Rosa cried out to catch his attention. ‘I know all the country dances.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Saints preserve me from bloody amateurs. I meant pas de chats and pirouettes, not the flippin’ Roger de Coverly. Next.’

  The words pushed through her panic. Mama had shown her some of the dances required for performances. It had been so long ago, she’d all but forgotten. Rosa went up on her right toe and twirled, landing off centre. ‘You mean this?’