A Little Deception (18 page)

Rampton cut him off. ‘No need to lose sleep over a trifle
when this marriage obviously negates that.’ He levelled a fond look at Rose.
‘Though I hesitate to call it a trifle when it was the means of bringing your
sister into my orbit.’

Rose felt as if
she
were in a different orbit. Lord Rampton … holding her as if he could not bear
to let her go? Speaking as if their marriage were the most marvellous outcome?

Raising his hand to halt Charles’s sputtering gratitude,
Rampton went on, ‘Let us return to town and tell Arabella and Felix the happy
news.’

‘Expect Arabella’s congratulations to be more muted than you
might have expected,’ Helena said. As always, she managed to find a way to
dampen Rose’s happiness. ‘Arabella is nursing a broken heart.’

‘Yarrowby?’

Rose felt as much as saw Rampton’s relief. All he said,
though, was,‘ My commiserations. Perhaps my alliance with her sister may aid
her future prospects.’

Rose’s heart leapt. Might Rampton really be generous to her
family even after having been so thoroughly duped? She realized that any
prospective suitor for Arabella would have withdrawn on account of the scandal
Rose had caused. Indeed, her misery of the past week had been as much due to her
guilt over Arabella’s injured prospects as in accepting that Rampton was lost
to her.

Now there were the legalities of their union to be seen to,
with Rampton declaring his intention to get a special licence so that they
could be married without delay.

Rose opened her mouth to speak but Rampton squeezed her hand
and went on, ‘After that, I think a protracted bridal tour sounds in order. The
world needs to know this is a love match.’

A love match. Rose existed in a state of euphoria that
nothing Helena could say, and not even Arabella’s unhappiness, could dampen.

Sadly, Rampton’s mother put an end to their planning a
protracted bridal tour by pleading a severe chest ailment that, she insisted,
was mortal but the wedding ceremony was held at St Mary’s three days later with
a sprinkling of well-wishers.

Rose had never been more nervous in her life. The last thing
she had expected when she set out from the West Indies was a glittering match.

And while a glittering match was all very well, it was the
man himself who set her pulses racing; each time she glanced at him she had to
pinch herself to realize that the fairy tale had come true.

Except that it wasn’t all a fairy tale.

Scandal was inevitable.

But it need not be attached to her name indefinitely. She
would see to that. The gossip-mongers who asserted that the new Lady Rampton
had deceived her husband into marriage would search in vain for signs that all
was not well between them. He himself had called it a love match.

She smiled at her husband and her heart leapt as she saw her
pleasure reflected in the gaze he returned as they stepped out of the church,
now man and wife. Tenderly, he caressed her cheek as she rested it briefly against
his shoulder.

‘Try not to over-exert yourself at the wedding breakfast,’
he whispered. Tipping her face up towards his, he added with his characteristic
wolfish grin: ‘You’ll need all your reserves for tonight.’

Helena was the first to offer her congratulations after the
ceremony, mustering an impressive display of sincerity as she kissed Rose. She
was radiant in primrose silk, her dark hair caught up in an ivory comb in a
simple style that accentuated her high cheekbones and dark, smouldering eyes.

‘Brother-in-law,’ she said, eyes dancing, holding out her
hands, forcing Rampton to walk forward and take them. ‘May your impulsive
gamble on a wicked Chesterfield pay off.’ It was a bold and familiar speech
ameliorated by every evidence of humour but it nevertheless caused Rose deep foreboding,
which was only allayed by her husband’s obvious pleasure in his own union.

‘Congratulations are due to my clever wife for realizing
before I did what a crotchety old bachelor like myself really needed,’ he said.

Proudly he led her across the threshold and into the vast
marble-floored hallway of her new London home. The household servants stood in
two ordered lines from the foot of the sweeping staircase.

Having introduced them to the new Lady Rampton, the
newly-weds preceded the guests into the saloon, where the sumptuous wedding
breakfast was laid out.

‘I didn’t think you had it in you, Rose. You have
triumphed.’

Helena had not wasted an opportunity. Finding Rose alone for
the moment, the silken tones hid the unkind insinuation.

‘My good fortune is all due to you, my dear Helena,’ Rose
responded. ‘It was, after all, you who sent Charles looking for me the day the
painting was finished, was it not?’

‘I am always so conscious of your shining halo, my dear
Rose, I had not anticipated that he would find you so compromised.’ Helena’s
smile did not reach her eyes. ‘A lucky thing for you that Lord Rampton is an
honourable man, otherwise you’d be languishing, a lonely and maligned spinster
in the West Indies for the rest of your days.’

‘I’d have had company when Charles finally brought you
home.’ It was an effort to sound brighter than she felt. Helena could be
depended upon to find her most vulnerable places. ‘Tell me, Helena, what really
keeps you in England? It wasn’t the debt, was it? You’d have found some way of
brushing that under the carpet, or otherwise appeasing Lord Rampton.’ Rose was
pleased to see that this found its mark. A shadow crossed Helena’s face before
she resumed smoothly, ‘Our overseer appears to be doing a better job than
Charles – or you – ever did. The plantation is prospering and now
that you’ve landed yourself such a catch, Rose, and I no longer have to tiptoe
around the ballrooms with eyes lowered and necklines up to my ears my enjoyment
has just begun. Besides, if I play my cards right Charles might find his way to
furnishing me with a diamond necklace.’

‘Like Lady Barbery’s?’

‘Exactly. Only I don’t mean one that’s been stolen, my dear
Rose. What a perplexing mystery that was.’

It was wrong to feel such vitriol for anyone on this most
joyous of occasions. Five years of training enabled Rose to say with reasonable
equanimity, ‘You achieved nothing, Helena. Rampton knows I am innocent.’

Helena’s eyes widened with mock concern, ‘Rose, you surely
didn’t imagine that my insistence that you should wear the necklace –
though I admit, I was uncertain as to its origins – was prompted by
malice? Why, I wanted to test Lord Rampton, see how he’d champion you if indeed
there were something havey-cavey about the gift.’

This was too much. Fighting the urge to hustle her
sister-in-law into a nearby antechamber and simply have it out with her, Rose
said in a low voice, ‘You really think me so credulous? That I’ll believe
whatever you choose to tell me? What about the timing of Charles’s visit to
Rampton’s tower room. You orchestrated that, too. Tell me the truth, Helena.’

Helena put her head on one side as she said, brightly, ‘The
truth, Rose, is that it’s entirely due to me that you and your handsome,
rich
bridegroom are here today and I’d
like a little credit. My, what a lovely bride you make.’ Dropping her voice she
skimmed her gloved hand along the length of Rose’s forearm, feigning affection.
‘Of course, marrying your viscount was the easy part.’ She drew back and her
smile faded as she added, almost as if it were a vow, ‘And may you be as happy
as I’ve been the past five years.’

Before her spirits had quite plummeted to her toes, Rose was
relieved to see Rampton advancing, wearing the well-satisfied smile that filled
her with happiness and banished her fears regarding their future together.
Helena had not seen him. She was still eyeing Rose with a distinct lack of
felicity. It was this which enabled Rose to feel charitable. She must remember,
she told herself, that dissatisfaction was not a crime and nor had Helena
committed anything beyond achieving, in fact, Rose’s happiness. Helena’s
discontent with Charles did not mean she was a disloyal wife in more than
thought, and if she could find happiness as the feted Lady Chesterfield in
London’s drawing rooms, Rose would be glad.

‘Rampton … darling.’ What power Rose felt to purr those
words and have her husband respond. In front of her jealous sister-in-law.

‘My clever wife has brought me to heel, Helena, and long
before time, too. Now, my dear …’ He put an arm around Rose’s waist and was
about to draw her away before good manners intervened as he glanced at Helena’s
empty hand. ‘Shall I fetch you an orgeat, in case you’ve developed a taste for
the sickly liquid, sister-in-law?’ He smiled wickedly. ‘Or should it be
champagne? I keep forgetting that you are the worldly married Lady
Chesterfield.’

‘Just as long as you remember that dear Rose is your
innocent and unworldly wife.’ Helena’s eyes glittered, but her laugh was
mirthless. ‘Though for someone so innocent and unworldly she has done a fine
job achieving what a great deal more designing misses have failed to achieve, I
must say.’

***

Rampton assigned his housekeeper, Mrs Hopkins, to show Rose
the house of which she was now mistress. The wedding had been conducted in such
haste that Rose had only seen the entertaining rooms.

Now, while Rampton was ensconced in his library with his man
of business, preparing to leave for Larchwood, his country estate, a few days
later, Rose trailed after Mrs Hopkins as the venerable retainer flung open the
doors to Rose’s private apartments.

Her bedchamber was decorated in green and gold. Once sumptuous,
it now had a faded charm about it.

‘This used to be her ladyship’s room, but his lordship says
it is to be redecorated to your liking.’ Mrs Hopkins did not look encouraged by
the prospect.

Rose was about to ask what her ladyship, languishing,
apparently on the point of death in the country just now, might have to say
about that, but then thought better of it. Mrs Hopkins looked as if she might
enjoy explaining the point.

Rose’s trunks had been unpacked. Her nightdress – in
sheerest lawn, exquisitely embroidered – lay upon the bolster, her gowns
and underclothes had been folded and put away. Upon the rosewood dressing-table
her bottles and brushes were neatly arranged. Unexpectedly Rose was visited by
the acute sensation of being but a passing visitor. Staring into her new
bedchamber she felt like a stranger imposing upon another’s hospitality. It had
all been so unexpected.

The chill of it made her tremble and she had to grip the
carved post of her new bed while she tried to comfort herself with the thought
that this must be what every new bride felt like.

Certainly, the warmth of her husband’s reception and his
surprising equanimity towards their marriage had chased away most of her fears.
She felt assured of his support and, surprisingly, his love. Surely she could
not have mistaken the force of his ardour or misinterpreted his patent desire
for her.

But what of the servants?

Mrs Hopkins, cold and erect, nodded stiffly as Rose
dismissed her. Was she one enemy in a houseful of hornets? Did the minions downstairs
make malicious remarks about their mistress’s dubious claims to her new title?
Had they heard the rumours surrounding the new Lady Rampton’s wicked deception?
Did they know she had been implicated by Lady Barbery in the theft of that
lady’s diamond necklace?

As Edith had decided to remain with Arabella, a plain,
sour-faced young girl called Beth had been assigned as Rose’s lady’s maid.
Though Rose would rather have had Edith as an ally in her new home she feared
for Arabella’s welfare with Helena as her protector. Her younger sister’s
happiness was now Rose’s chief concern. Once the scandal Rose had created had
subsided – as Rampton had assured her it soon would with him by her side
– she hoped the girl would be settled before too long. Helena was quite
capable of forcing an unpalatable alliance upon Arabella if there were
advantages for her and Charles.

‘What does my lady wish to wear for dinner?’ Beth’s tone was
courteous but, as she awaited instruction. Rose saw no warmth, no desire to do
more than simply her job.

She was disappointed. Having the respect of one’s lady’s
maid was important to bridge the divide between upstairs and downstairs. Rose
would have hired a girl herself, except that the dowager had assigned Beth to
Rose specifically after hearing that Rose’s old nurse would not join her in her
new home. Rose wondered whether the act had been kindly motivated, or the
opposite. Judging by her new maid’s sharp features and thin mouth, young Beth
had an uncertain temperament.

‘Whatever you think most suitable.’ It would be a test to
see how competent the girl was.

While Beth laid out her clothes Rose walked over to her
dressing table. She looked well. Her blue eyes were bright beneath their dark,
arched brows. Her gleaming chestnut hair, released from the pins and coils
which Edith had used to create a regal and lovely style fit for her wedding now
shone in fine ripples over her shoulders, and her bare skin gleamed. It was better
to look like the cat that had swallowed the cream, rather than something the
cat had dragged in. And if she were already branded a scheming fortune hunter,
well, it was better to be considered anyone’s match than a poor, dispirited
creature of whom everyone assumed they could take advantage.