BRIGHTON BEAUTY (7 page)

"Bridge is frightfully bumpy," he muttered, his voice sleep-heavy. "Must have fallen into disrepair."

Beside him, Chelsea had been wide-awake most of the journey. "Much about the castle needs attention," she returned quietly.

Lord Rathbone was glancing from one side of the coach to the other. "Bailey's overgrown. Why haven't the groundskeepers kept the brush under control?"

Chelsea saw no need to respond. There was such a lot to be done at the castle. She wondered if perhaps Lord Rathbone would see to the repairs now that he was here.

"Well, I can see my work's cut out for me," he mumbled.

Chelsea cast a glance his way. "Will you be staying long, sir?" she managed to ask evenly.

He snorted. "Hadn't planned to."

At that, Chelsea's spirits rose the veriest mite. If the gentleman did not mean to stay, she might indeed be safe.

When the carriage drew up in front of the castle, Chelsea was grateful when Lord Rathbone insisted she retire to her bedchamber at once, saying he would explain matters to his mother once she was up and about.

"Thank you, sir," Chelsea murmured, striving to keep her head down as she spoke. With daylight fast upon them, Lord Rathbone might still be inclined to question her identity. There remained the matter of her eyes being brown, instead of the clear blue Alayna's were.

Indeed, as he reached for her hand to assist her to the ground, Chelsea was acutely aware of Lord Rathbone studying her. Without looking at the tall gentleman, she moved quickly to the stone steps when, with a single word, his voice halted her.

"Alayna."

Her breath in her throat, Chelsea waited as determined strides brought him forward.

"Alayna," he said in a low tone, "we are betrothed, consequently it is perfectly acceptable for you to address me by my Christian name. 'Sir' has a far too formal ring to it."

"Yes, si . . . I mean . . . as you wish, Rutherford."

His lips pursed and after turning to fling hasty instructions to the coach driver and a sleepy footman, he stepped into the darkened foyer alongside Chelsea.

Alone with her indoors, he continued, "I must also ask that you look at me when you address me, Alayna. As a planter's wife, a certain authoritative air about you will be expected. I find your habit of ducking your head when you speak quite lowering, to say nothing of being dashed annoying. You are an . . ." his authoritative tone suddenly took on a raspy quality, "an attractive young lady." With that, he abruptly ceased speaking altogether.

Chelsea could not think what her looks had to say to anything, but she obliged the gentleman by tilting her chin upward. Suddenly, the deafening silence surrounding them grew excessively loud. That there were no servants about at this early hour was not unusual. What was unusual, Chelsea noted, was the fact that she had traveled an entire night in the presence of this gentleman and had not noticed how very attractive
he
was.

Quite tall and powerfully built, his aristocratic features . . . well-shaped nose, square jaw, and thick, dark hair . . . closely resembled a number of other Campbells whose portraits hung in the picture gallery just beyond the foyer. Recalling with some embarrassment the unrestrained manner in which she had flung herself into this gentleman's arms when he bravely rescued her from Sully's clutches, she felt the colour in her cheeks deepen and her eyelids involuntarily dropped again. The memory, she realized, was not altogether unpleasant.

In truth, she was deeply indebted to this man, but because she had been so preoccupied with worry about what would happen once he uncovered her subterfuge, she feared she had not properly thanked him for saving her life, not really. "I am very grateful to you . . . Rutherford," she began, "for rescuing me as you did." She struggled to lift her eyes. "You were . . . very brave. I was so awfully frightened. I have always had a fear of . . . perishing in a carriage accident."

She found Lord Rathbone's gaze still fixed upon her face, the expression in his dark eyes unreadable. "I did not know that about you, Alayna," he murmured.

Listening to him, Chelsea suddenly realized she had been speaking from her own heart. If she were to successfully carry on the pretense with Lord Rathbone, she must remember to play her part in a manner more befitting Alayna. With renewed decision, she lifted her chin and inhaled deeply.

"Well, I expect there are a good many things we do not know about one another, Rutherford. It has been such a very long time since we were together. Why, I was not above ten when last I saw you." She sighed loudly. "But now
I
am feeling quite tired. I did not spend the entire night sleeping as you did, Ford." She put great emphasis on the shortened form of his name as Alayna often used it. "I should like to rest now," she added.

Her sudden flippant tone seemed to shatter Lord Rathbone's thoughtful one. "Of course, you must be exhausted, Alayna. Well then, sleep well, my dear."

Cocking her head in a saucy manner, Chelsea pranced across the room, leaving Lord Rathbone to stare at her backside as she sashayed the length of the corridor away from him.

Upstairs, she hurriedly undressed, climbed into bed and fell at once into a sound slumber. Upon awakening, however, she was once again sharply aware of the hard knot of foreboding that sat like a rock in the pit of her stomach. Last evening, she may have convinced Lord Rathbone that she was indeed his cousin Alayna, but when she left the castle the previous morning in Sully's company, Lady Rathbone had appeared none too sure.

Glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, she saw that it was already half past noon. Not bothering to call for Dulcie, she dressed quickly, wondering all the while what had transpired this morning while she slept.

Upon setting foot in the dining chamber a few moments later, she was vastly surprised when Lady Rathbone greeted her quite cheerfully.

"Good morning, Alayna, or should I say, 'good afternoon'." She laughed, her gnarled hands wrapped around a warm teacup. "I hope you had a good sleep, my dear." She glanced toward the sideboard where Rutherford was heaping his plate with the delicious smelling meal of roast beef and steamed vegetables that had been laid out for them.

"Rutherford has been telling me all about the frightful episode you suffered with that reprehensible man, Sully," Lady Rathbone continued. "I declare, I was never so shocked in my life! Although I was equally as shocked when this young man appeared at table this morning, declaring that he was my son! Do sit down, dear," she admonished Chelsea, "I shall have a servant bring you a plate."

Chelsea obeyed without a word, aware that Rutherford was now headed for his place at the head of the table.

Taking his seat, Lord Rathbone greeted Chelsea in a warm tone, then said, "I had not realized your sight had so suffered, Mother, that you would be hoodwinked by that reprobate, Sully."

Lady Rathbone sighed. "I was thankful when spectacles let me read again, but I would exchange that gladly for the ability to see a face clearly when it is more than six inches from my own. And I thought you had acquired the roughest way of speaking while you were away."

Chelsea squirmed. "We were all taken in," she said quietly, suddenly realizing that in spite of the fact that she had hardly eaten in two days, she was still too nervous to eat.

"That Alayna was taken in is understandable. You two have not seen one another since you were children. But, I feel quite bird-witted for not recognizing the man as an impostor. Still, Alayna," Lady Rathbone gazed expectantly at Chelsea, her tone making her words a question, "you fell in so quickly with the man's plan."

Chelsea struggled to calm herself. "I wished only to remove that horrid creature from your presence as quickly as possible, Aunt Millie. I was quite frightened, actually. For all of us."

"And well you should have been," Rathbone put in gravely. "When provoked, Sully can be a dangerous man. To say truth, I would never have hired such scum had I not been hard put for another Englishman on the plantation. As it was, Sully proved untrustworthy from the start. I once learned he had diverted funds intended for cutting to his own pocket. I should have dismissed him then."

"I wonder that you did not," Lady Rathbone mused.

Rutherford glanced up from his plate. "I expect I was trying to be a generous and forgiving employer, Mother. I recall he put on quite a show of remorse. But I have since learned my lesson. Once a traitor, always a traitor."

Chelsea winced.

After a pause, Lady Rathbone said, "Rutherford tells me the man absconded with your portrait, Alayna. How thoughtful you were to send Ford such a lovely betrothal present. I wish I could have seen it myself. I'm sure it must have been quite beautiful."

A shaky smile wavered across Chelsea's face. Recalling that Alayna had bragged about the painting being a perfect likeness of herself, she decided it best not to take that tack. "Well, it . . . was not a . . . particularly good likeness, actually."

"I am sure you are just being modest, my dear." Lady Rathbone directed a gaze at her son. "Alayna has become quite a lovely young lady, has she not, Rutherford?"

Lord Rathbone's eyes cut to Chelsea, then darted quickly away. "Indeed," he murmured tightly.

"Well, she will simply have to sit for another picture," Lady Rathbone said. "And, once it is done, I should like to have a copy for myself this time. Perhaps I should have one made of you, as well, Rutherford," she added with a laugh.

"I expect there is an artist in Chester who could paint Alayna's portrait for us, Mother," Lord Rathbone remarked. Laying aside his fork, he reached for his napkin. "The sitting would keep her occupied while I tend to repairs about the castle. I shouldn't like to leave England again without putting things to rights here, Mother. I am quite shocked at how frightfully shabby the castle appears. The bridge looks as if it could go any minute, and the yard and grounds . . . " He shook his head with dismay. "Even the mews and stables are a fright. By the by, Alayna," he turned a puzzled gaze on Chelsea, "how on earth did you persuade Sully to let you travel in the Marchmont coach? I'd have thought Sully would insist you travel horseback. Much faster that way."

A pregnant pause ensued as Chelsea felt both the gentleman and his mother watching her intently. "I . . . no longer ride," she said quietly.

Rutherford's brows pulled together. "No longer ride! Why I can hardly fathom the like, Alayna!"

"It is astonishing, isn't it," put in Lady Rathbone.

Chelsea offered nothing farther on the subject, though she did consider fabricating something about an accident in Town that might have caused Alayna to change face on that score. But she just as quickly dismissed the notion. Maintaining one lie was exhausting enough.

"Well," Rutherford said at length, pushing up from the table. "All's well that ends well, I expect. To say truth, it was the Marchmont crest on the coach door that alerted me to your whereabouts. Both a stablehand and an innkeep remarked upon the handsome equipage and the fact that a lone young lady was ensconced inside."

Chelsea seized the moment. "Actually that was my plan all along! I am pleased that it worked so well, aren't you, Rutherford?"

The gentlemen flung her a look, but said nothing. Just as he was approaching the archway leading to the hall, he was intercepted by Jared, who had come to announce that a gentleman was awaiting reception in the withdrawing room.

"Ah, I expect it is the magistrate from Chester," Lord Rathbone exclaimed. "No doubt, he has put Sully behind bars and is calling to inquire further about the incident." He directed another gaze at Chelsea. "When you have finished your meal, Alayna, I expect Mr. Wainwright will want to question you, as well."

Chelsea's heart plummeted to her feet.
What must she endure now? What if the magistrate had brought the stolen portrait of Alayna with him? Would Lord Rathbone insist she be put behind bars as well?
Oh! This day was fast becoming as horrid as the previous one had been!

M
oments later, when Chelsea pushed Lady Rathbone's chair into the drawing room, she was vastly relieved to find not the authorities as she'd feared, but the familiar figure of the vicar, Mr. Stevens, whom she had met the day the banns were read in church. He and Lord Rathbone were greeting one another cordially.

"Indeed a pleasure to find you here, your lordship!" the vicar enthused. Hearing the squeak of Lady Rathbone's chair, he turned and proceeded across the cavernous room toward the ladies. "My stars! Is it Lady Rathbone herself? I admit, I had heard you were venturing down stairs these days, my lady, but I had to see it with me own eyes to believe it! God be praised!"

Lord Rathbone wore a puzzled look as he advanced. "Have you been unwell, Mother?"

"Merciful heavens, no!" the older woman sputtered. "Just saw no reason to leave my chamber, until . . ." She turned a warm smile on Chelsea. "My niece arrived from London. Alayna's presence has lifted everyone's spirits."

Chelsea coloured deeply, due in part to the fact that everyone's attention was now fixed on her, more for being obliged to, once again, deceive a man of God.

"I see," Lord Rathbone muttered, still gazing at Chelsea.

"Indeed, it is true," the vicar responded heartily. "Miss Marchmont is a charming young lady. More than one of my parishioners remarked upon her beauty following services on Sunday last. Word is Miss Marchmont has completely transformed the castle."

Again, all eyes focused on Chelsea. She ducked her head. "You are being too kind, I'm sure, Mr. Stevens."

"On the contrary," the round-faced man glanced about the room, "appears quite cheerful in here to me. Why, to find the drawing room open and her ladyship receiving is a miracle in itself!"

Lord Rathbone's brows pulled together. "Are you quite certain you have not been unwell, Mother?"

"Do sit down, Mr. Stevens," Lady Rathbone said, indicating with a hand to Chelsea that she'd like her wheelchair moved closer to the fire. "We've such a lot to discuss now that there's to be a wedding in the chapel."