Rose glanced at Helena and was disconcerted by an unexpected wave of envy. Despite wearing a sprigged muslin that was demure by her standards, Helena still managed to look striking. Like Rose the night before, Helena would have had no compunction about flirting with Lord Rampton.
No, she would not! Rose’s momentary doubt as to whether Helena would have been the better candidate in persuading Lord Rampton to extend the terms of their loan was swept away by righteous conviction. Helena could persuade a man to do most things she wanted but Helena’s voracious appetite would have had her setting out to make him her slave. Rose could even imagine Charles discovering his wife—Heaven forbid! — wrapped in Lord Rampton’s arms in some dark corner, which of course Helena would find some way to justify.
Heat prickled Rose’s skin and she crossed her legs, suddenly uncomfortable by the unfamiliar sensations raging through her body. She put it down to the fact that she couldn’t bear Charles to have to suffer such disappointment. Charles loved Helena to distraction. Indeed, it was a good thing it was Rose who was trying to twist Lord Rampton round her little finger.
‘I wish it would meet with some horrible accident,’ said Arabella, referring to Rose’s unbecoming dress. ‘I’m always meaning to accidentally pour something dreadful on to it and quite ruin it. But then Rose has so few clothes.’ Smiling, she added, ‘Rose looked so beautiful wearing your white dress, Helena, and with her hair done so modishly. I couldn’t believe it was her. Maybe you could lend her more of your clothes and then she could go about in society and find herself a rich husband. Isn’t that what you’ve always said she should do?’
‘Yes, but not in my clothes.’ Helena shuddered. ‘Anyway, you said yourself, my wardrobe is hardly compatible with the kind of figure darling Rose chooses to cut.’ She glanced from her high-waisted, low-fronted sprigged muslin to Rose’s prim, unfashionable gown. ‘Rose looks every inch the spinster she is at such pains to present to the world. I wouldn’t dream of insulting her by offering her the loan of my clothes.’
Anger silenced Rose as Arabella asked, ‘But what about when Rose meets Lord Rampton again? She has to pretend to be you, and she can only do that if you lend her something from your wardrobe. It would be terrible if he discovered her deception.’
‘Lord Rampton is about to set sail in search of far more engaging females than your sister.’ Helena’s clipped pronouncement shouldn’t have excited the kind of emotion that assailed Rose—she knew it. She certainly was used to Helena’s careless disregard, however it took a great deal of effort to remain on her seat and not lunge for Helena and slap her face. Rose closed her eyes for a moment and held her breath. Good Heavens, when had her temper nearly got the better of her? she wondered with dismay. Rose was distinguished by her composure and good sense. She was the antithesis of Helena.
‘Well, at least Rose managed to play for more time. She was very clever and clearly captivated the viscount.’
‘He must be a kind man.’ Helena smiled sweetly at Rose. ‘No doubt he’d have been equally receptive to any petitioning female, whether she was an ape leader in drab apricot velvet or a diamond of the first water.’ Ignoring Arabella’s outraged gasp she added, ‘Rose knows a dose of smelling-salts would have had me up to the mark in no time but clearly the chance to go about in company pretending to be a married woman proved too tempting to resist. But Rose had her chance.’
There had been just the tiniest pause before uttering the last sentence. Rose glared at Helena. It was just like her to drag up the past to bolster her case, rubbing Rose’s nose in her failure to secure the one splendid marital chance Rose had ever been offered.
‘Sir Hector was Father’s best friend.’ Rose’s voice was tight. ‘I had known him all my life. How could I possibly have thrown myself into his arms and felt joy at being his wife when he was more like a kindly old uncle?’
‘He had the means to give you everything you wanted.’
‘Is that why you set your cap at him after Rose rejected him?’ Arabella looked uncharacteristically confrontational.
‘Hush, Arabella,’ Rose admonished, though touched that her docile little sister would take such a risk on her behalf. Five years ago the whispers were that Helena had indeed set her cap at Sir Hector before she’d married Charles with almost unseemly haste after Sir Hector’s rejection. ‘Why look! There’s Aunt Alice waving to us from the upstairs casement,’ she said, relieved that they were at their destination. ‘At least, she looks so like Mama it must be Aunt Alice.’
***
‘I declare, it’s like seeing my dead sister walk through that door!’ With outstretched arms, Aunt Alice greeted Rose at the top of the portico steps before leading them into her fashionable townhouse. ‘You must forgive me for being such a sentimental creature. I was always much more of a silly than Beatrice.’ Dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, she ushered the girls towards a comfortable cluster of seats once they’d reached the over-decorated drawing room. ‘And you are the exotic creature dear Charles married,’ she added, turning to Helena who was ensconced on a blue and silver upholstered Egyptian sofa. ‘I believe he’d been dangling after you since you were in short skirts. So now, Arabella, we need to find you a fine husband before the end of the season,’ she gushed. ‘Just see if we don’t!’
Rose had never met her aunt, who’d waved Rose’s parents off to their new life after her father had inherited the plantation shortly after gambling away his English estate.
‘We are so grateful for your offer to launch Arabella,’ said Rose. ‘And Helena, of course, is dying for a Season. This is the first time she has left the island.’
‘But what about you, my dear Rose?’ asked Aunt Alice.
‘Rose will look after Charles,’ said Helena, with a complacent smile. ‘They prefer a quiet life. Rose was telling me only the other week how much she preferred the idea of curling up with a good book than attending Lady Glenton’s soirée. Isn’t that so, Rose?’
Rose hesitated. ‘I did say that,’ she conceded, adding silently that it was only so Charles needn’t feel so inadequate that he had not the funds to clothe both his sisters sufficiently – given his wife’s extravagance - so that they would not disgrace the family name.
‘But my dear Rose, you are only in London this one Season. It may be your last chance to find a husband.’ Aunt Alice’s expression was almost comical in its distress.
‘I do not want one, Aunt Alice.’ Rose forced a smile. ‘I couldn’t bear to be away from the plantation for too long.’ This, at least, was true. Rose had no intention of remaining in England which meant it would be unfair to spend money they did not have on a wardrobe for her. Arabella needed fine clothes to make a good match. The last thing on Rose’s mind was attracting a husband when her heart longed for the heat and familiarity of her island home.
Her aunt regarded Rose as if she had just admitted to a penchant for robbing graves. ‘Not want a husband?’ she repeated. ‘But, my dear, every woman needs a husband, whether they want one or not. I thought that was why you were in England.’
‘That’s why Arabella is in England, and why I am here, accompanying her.’ Rose blushed, adding awkwardly, ‘Did I not explain that in my letter?’
‘Oh yes, you said Arabella was to be launched but that there were not the funds to launch you, also.’ Aunt Alice cleared her throat. ‘I realize you are quite a bit older; however, surely if the opportunity presented itself, you’d be amenable to the idea of marriage?’
‘Rose declares she is too set in her ways,’ said Arabella comfortably.
‘She’s right,’ murmured Helena.
Aunt Alice’s grey corkscrew curls bobbed about her ears as she looked from one girl to the next, seemingly at a loss for words. At last she managed, ‘Ah, well, that’s as may be, but some of us have been known to change our minds.’
The sound of loud clattering in the hallway followed by raised voices made them turn, but the new arrival passed by the drawing room, distance mut
ing his heavy tread upon the stairway that led to the bedrooms on the upper floor.
Rose glanced across at Aunt Alice whose faced blanched and who was now holding her chest. She was surprised. Was that fear she saw cross her face? Almost instantly Aunt Alice dropped her hand and gave a girlish laugh, saying, ‘With so much to be done, let us discuss wardrobes, and invitations this very instant.’
But Rose had not missed the momentary uncertainty before her aunt had launched into a spirited discourse on the aforementioned topics, with occasional interjections from Helena and Arabella.
Rose looked on. Unexpectedly, she was assailed by such an all-consuming spasm of envy she wanted to shake herself. Helena was quite right: Rose could have contracted an alliance with the most eligible bachelor in the whole of the West Indies. Then all of them would have had wardrobes full of fine clothes.
Too late to turn back the clock. Five years ago Rose had not known that her father was virtually bankrupt, that the alternative to marriage was to be all but completely dependent upon Charles and the cold and beautiful Helena whom he’d married shortly afterwards with such unseemly haste.
‘Oh dear, it’s raining. And you girls had planned to go walking in the park.’ Aunt Alice eyed the falling rain with concern. ‘I’m sure it’s just a shower. You’ll have to stay until it’s—’
Her sentence was cut short as the door burst open and an angry voice cried, ‘Gad’s teeth, Mama, will you look at what Riley’s done to my hessians!’
Four startled pairs of eyes turned towards the door as a tall, dark youth of about twenty years strode into the room.
Ignoring the three girls, he made his way towards Aunt Alice and, turning to face her, stamped one boot upon the coffee table. Four china tea cups shuddered.
‘I’m sorry, Oswald. I’ll speak to him again.’ Aunt Alice’s voice wavered.
‘You’ll give him his notice, Mama, and that’s final. He’s already been warned once.’
‘But, Oswald, I can’t….’
Without waiting for her to finish, the young man removed his foot from the table, glared at the girls, then strode from the room.
Crimson, Aunt Alice stammered, ‘I’m so sorry for the intrusion, my dears. That was my stepson, Oswald. Sometimes, when he gets in one of his moods …’ She trailed off before beginning a new sentence with pathetic eagerness, ‘But most of the time he’s quite charming.’
‘I couldn’t see anything wrong with his boots,’ said Helena.
Alice shrugged helplessly. ‘He likes them polished so he can see his reflection.’
Rose changed the subject and when a ray of sunshine lit up the room, declared brightly that now they had talked Aunt Alice’s ear off it was time for the three of them to be on their way.
‘It’ll be lovely and fresh for a promenade in Hyde Park,’ said Aunt Alice, as she accompanied them down the front steps to the pavement to wait for the carriage to be brought round. ‘I declare, the three of you look as pretty as a picture.’ She looked wistful. ‘I remember the days when Beatrice and I used to promenade….’
A passing cooper’s wagon drowned her words but as it took the turn it lurched into a ditch sending up a spray of muddy water before righting itself and continuing on its way.
‘Rose! Your dress!’ shrieked Aunt Alice.
Rose looked with dismay at the damage to her best gown. Muddy droplets had disfigured the entire front of it. Dismayed, she said, ‘I’ll just stay in the carriage while Helena and Arabella take a stroll,’ but her aunt wouldn’t hear of it, insisting, ‘You must borrow one of my pelisses. I have so many, I’ll never miss it.’
After much resistance Rose eventually gave in and returned upstairs with her aunt to look through her wardrobe. When she presented herself to the girls her apricot velvet had all but disappeared beneath a smart white, fur-edged pelisse, with neat gold buttons from hem to neckline. In addition she carried over her arm three cast-off gowns, all the height of fashion.
‘I so rarely go about these days, yet I can never resist when my dressmaker pays a visit,’ Aunt Alice had assured her. Rose rather suspected that this was her aunt’s way of dispensing charity but saw how much she’d offend her if she refused to at least take them home to try on.
‘That’s certainly an improvement,’ Helena remarked, casting her eye over Rose as they took their seats in the carriage.
‘White suits you,’ said Arabella. ‘You should wear it more often.’
Rose smiled. White was not a very practical colour, given the amount of time she spent overseeing their sugar plantation.
Now that the sun was shining so brilliantly the crowds were out in full force, promenading or driving through the park. The moment the girls were handed down they were caught up in the spirit of the spectacle. Unconsciously they slowed their pace to match the languid saunter of the other promenaders.
Much of their conversation with Aunt Alice had been spent discussing the invitations she had received and from which they could, in turn, benefit. Helena had, at the time, appeared bored, but Rose noticed how her eyes lit up at the spectacle of the handsomely garbed crowd. She saw, too, the familiar glint of criticism and was not surprised when Helena, with a toss of her glossy dark head declared, ‘English women have no style,’ as she levelled an accusing look at Rose. ‘If you had not insisted that I should wear my most missish gown so as not to scandalize your aunt, I’d have shown up these dull English ladies.’
Certainly, the gown she wore today was a great deal more respectable and modest than most of her clothes. Nevertheless her exotic looks did mark her out, Rose noticed, though Arabella certainly received her fair share of attention as she gazed about her, bright-eyed, fresh-complexioned, dimpling frequently in response to a doffed hat. What Rose did not notice were the admiring glances cast in her own direction.
She was so busy marvelling at the interest her companions were receiving that she failed to heed the gentlemen heading towards them, one of whom was directing a particularly wolfish smile in her direction. Instead, Rose was watching with growing concern the particularly seductive pout that Helena was concentrating upon some approaching stranger who was obviously not Charles. As Helena’s pout became even more seductive Rose raised her head, prepared to warn off the interloper with a frown.
‘What an unexpected pleasure, Lady Chesterfield.’
Helena opened her mouth to speak, but her words were cut short as Rose blurted, much too hastily and with much too much enthusiasm in her attempt to blocking her, ‘Why, Lord Rampton, what a pleasure, indeed! Lord Rampton, may I introduce to you my sister-inlaw Miss Chesterfield and her sister, Miss Arabella. Rose and Arabella, pray meet Viscount Rampton, with whom we had the pleasure of dining several nights ago.’
Rose was aware that her furious blushes and rapid breathing might be misconstrued. What was vital at this point, however, was that Helena should play the role assigned to her.
‘A pleasure, Lord Rampton.’ Helena inclined her head, her voice a modest murmur, and Rose watched, amazed, as her sister-in-law adopted the unlikely persona of a blushing innocent, her manner mimicking exactly that of Arabella who had not yet been to her first ball and who was often tongue-tied in the company of gentlemen.
‘The pleasure is all mine,’ murmured the handsome viscount, his amusement evident as his gaze rested on the transparently discomfited Rose before suggesting that fate obviously intended them to enjoy an afternoon’s stroll together.
Whether by accident or design, Rose found herself in alarmingly close proximity to their recent host, while Felix brought up the rear, flanked by Arabella and Helena.
‘A happy coincidence to meet like this, Lady Chesterfield,’ remarked Lord Rampton, lowering his voice which lent an unsettling degree of intimacy to their conversation. As an unmarried young woman, Rose was unused to such dealings with gentlemen, just as she was unused to the quickening of her pulse and unexpected self-consciousness. She felt heat burn her cheeks and a curious churning in the base of her stom
ach as she forced a half smile to her lips and stared straight ahead, trying to appear cool and nonchalant as she took the arm he offered.
Good Heavens! She almost leapt at the contact, immediately berating herself for her lack of composure. She was being worse than a schoolroom miss.
‘Yet I couldn’t help but notice that our sudden and unexpected appearance seemed to throw you into some confusion. Would it be rude to ask whether that was because you did not wish to see me again after the other night?’
‘Of course not, sir!’ Rose tried to channel her discomfiture into irritation. Naturally Lord Rampton surmised that it was for exactly the opposite reason. What a vain and arrogant gentleman. If he knew the real reason for her agitation he’d not be so smugly conceited. A glance at the self-confidence radiating from his beautiful blue gaze made her realize that a man of such consequence must be used to every other unmarried young lady setting her cap at him. Ha! Well, she was not one of them!
Managing an air of far greater confidence than she felt, she said, ‘Since you were so kind in allowing more time to repay your debt, how could that be?’ She cocked her head, proud of the way she managed to smile almost lazily up at him, just as she had seen Helena do a thousand times.
While she didn’t like to admit how relieved she was to be wearing her Aunt Alice’s fashionable white pelisse, teamed with a pair of pearl earrings that her aunt had insisted had once belonged to her mother, she was amazed at the confidence her new fine clothes gave her.
A Little Deception Page 3
