A Little Deception Read online

  Merely hearsay. Suddenly Rampton was decided. He would not quiz Rose about her cousin’s allegations since that was merely hearsay, too. She might interpret his questions as doubt about her innocence and he had no desire to churn up the waters between them when he so badly wanted their union to continue on the passionate, satisfying path it had taken after the several false turns that had proved just how wretched disharmony with his wife made him.

  ***

  ‘Rampton! Please, step up and explain to Arabella that it is all for the best.’ Rampton, who’d decided to walk to his assignation rather than take a hackney, was startled to see Helena leaning out of his carriage. ‘I couldn’t take her to the house like this,’ she went on, indicating the weeping Arabella beside her when he’d opened the carriage door.

  Her tone was not characterized by the sensitivity and sympathy that Rampton felt was better suited to poor Arabella’s plight.

  ‘Your heart will mend,’ he said gently, indicating with a nod to Helena to change places once he was inside so that he could sit beside the young girl. Arabella gave a wail and put her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Never,’ she wept. ‘He was so cold!’

  ‘Ah, Arabella …’ Rampton felt like a cad. How had it come to this?

  Because he’d wanted Rose to accept his judgement on Yarrowby. ‘If there was anything I could do …’

  Arabella scanned his face with feverish hopefulness. Turning his head away, he muttered, ‘You can do better than Yarrowby,’ prompting the strangled response, ‘I love him!’

  The words came muffled from the shoulder of Rampton’s coat. He wondered vaguely what Fanshawe would have to say about it. He would no doubt consider the sit of a coat’s shoulders of more importance than a weeping damsel in distress. He certainly wouldn’t have any sympathy should he know that the damsel was shedding tears over his own sister’s violator.

  ‘Well, it appears he does not reciprocate the intensity of your feelings, dearest,’ said Helena, ‘since he’s done a complete turnaround, and all on account of a bit of petty accounting over an old house. Come, we’ve all suffered disappointments.’

  This, as no sympathy could, finally elicited a more robust response. ‘Yes, but only when your calculations are disappointed. Not your heart, Helena, for you don’t have one – so don’t start prosing on to me.’

  Even Helena looked startled for a second. She made a quick recovery. ‘You underestimate me, darling. My heart beats every bit as passionately as yours, I assure you.’ She exchanged a wry glance with Rampton.

  Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Arabella removed herself from Rampton’s shoulder. ‘Yes, but you’ve only ever loved what you can’t have. You’ve never loved Charles.’

  After assisting Arabella from the carriage, feeling a complete cad as he watched the quiet dignity with which she suffered herself to be led by Helena up the steps to their lodgings, Rampton set his coachman in the direction of his unsavoury destination.

  ***

  If Oswald intended to play on the vain hope that Rampton did not trust his wife, Rampton wondered if money was his only motive. Certainly he’d be disappointed on that score since Rampton would need irrefutable proof that Rose was behind whatever nefarious dealings he was about to become acquainted with. He was convinced he would find none. Mind churning, he ducked his head to enter the dim, musty shop.

  It would not be a crime if Rose had pawned the several pieces of valuable jewellery he’d given her since their marriage, though he’d be surprised. He’d gained the impression she was mindful of expense and proud of her efforts in keeping the family’s head above water amidst the financial difficulties created by her profligate father.

  The woman had pride in spade-loads. She’d gone to extraordinary lengths to absolve herself of the debt she owed him – without forcing him to the altar. True, he wished she’d shown a little more unfettered delight at the prospect of snaring London’s most desirable catch, but she was more than satisfied with her lot, now.

  With pleasure he thought of their recent encounters and wished he had not been so surly with Rose this morning, but that damned black bonnet had unnerved him. Once he’d laid this matter to rest he would buy Rose something to reflect his true sentiments, in case his words sounded clumsy and inadequate. Diamonds, he thought, as he ventured further into the unsavoury premises, wrinkling his nose at the smell of mouldering goods.

  He would buy her diamonds.

  Then he would take her to the bedroom and show her how much he loved her. Really loved her.

  Brushing past a pole offering up layers of discoloured petticoats, Rampton looked with distaste at the rheumy-eyed old man behind the counter who nearly dropped the silver teapot he had been polishing.

  ‘I ain’t got nothing to ’ide,’ the pawnbroker whined. ‘Not every day that Quality graces my ’umble abode but if it’s about the necklace I never cheated the young lady, not a penny of what ’twas worth. ’Pon my honour.’

  Rampton stared. What on earth was the old man getting in such high dudgeon over? His hands were shaking and it wasn’t because of his age.

  ‘Which young lady?’

  ‘Mighty fine looking woman in a yellow silk gown.’ Scratching his head, the old man asked suspiciously, ‘She weren’t my lady’s maid wot pinched your missus’s necklace, were she?’

  Beth sounding like Quality? ‘May I see the necklace?’ Rampton heard the curtness in his tone at the same time he told himself it was nonsense to be concerned.

  ‘Indeed you may, sir.’ The old man rummaged through a drawer, and then the treasure was produced: a magnificent emerald and diamond heirloom which, held up, cast its dingy surroundings into unappetizing relief.

  Rampton studied it carefully. It was not paste. Nor was it a piece with which he was familiar, but its value could not be disputed. Lady Chawdrey’s? Rumours had begun circulating of a series of daring thefts. A kernel of doubt spawned in his entrails.

  ‘Was this all the young lady had to barter?’

  ‘Some clothes also.’

  Rampton still clung to the hope that Rose was nothing more than an innocent pawn in a plot to smear her. Somehow the devious cousin was behind this, though Rampton had no idea why, or what his motive was.

  Except that his fears which he’d anticipated would prove groundless took on a different dimension the moment the old man produced the dress that Rose had worn to her first dinner with him.

  He shook his head to clear it, forcing alternative solutions to the fore while he reached for the dress, the better to study it. Was it possible it could have been copied in order to lay the blame at Rose’s door. Perhaps the same person who sought to blacken Rose’s name through the incident of Lady Barbery’s necklace was behind this?

  For he was certain Rose was not. Certainly not until he asked the question, ‘Could you describe in particular detail the young woman who pawned the necklace?’ and received a precise description of his wife, right down to the tiny mole beneath her right eye.

  ***

  He took a hackney home. He didn’t want his shock and despair to be on display to the world but in the dim, musty interior he closed his eyes and rested his pounding head against the squabs while his mind screamed for answers.

  Why?

  What had possessed Rose to come to a place like this and pawn a valuable piece of jewellery that didn’t belong to her? It wasn’t as if she had no fine jewellery of her own. Or that she was married to a penny-pinching tyrant?

  It was inexplicable. He felt his nerves tauten at the prospect of challenging her. She’d claimed Lady Barbery’s necklace had come from an anonymous admirer – and he’d believed her. She’d claimed she’d never met Geoffrey Albright in the West Indies – and he’d believed her. Would she claim innocence once again? When there was irrefutable evidence of her involvement? He didn’t think he could bear it. His heart seemed to lurch to his stomach as the jarvey opened the carriage door once they’d draw up up outside his townhouse. If she
would only confess he would be able to hush up the incident and, just as importantly, he would help her.

  If she would only confess.

  Rampton had come to regret his generosity in housing all of Rose’s relatives when he entered the drawing room to find Helena busy at her stitching.

  ‘Was that Dr Horne’s carriage I saw leaving just now?’ he asked and was surprised when Helena replied, ‘Charles called him on Rose’s account.’

  Rampton looked at her enquiringly. ‘I hope she is not unwell.’

  Helena shrugged. ‘A megrim. Nothing serious,’ she said lightly, as her needle stabbed at the tapestry. She glanced up. ‘Arabella, however, is deeply upset, as you know and Rose thought a change of scene might be in order. She suggested that if business held you up in town Mr Albright might go as their escort. You remember they knew each other in the West Indies?’

  ‘I do. However Mr Albright will not be escorting them.’

  Helena inclined her head. ‘Dr Horne also said that if you wished to see him he’d be at home this afternoon, but not to discuss Rose’s condition with her for fear of upsetting her more than necessary.’

  ‘Upsetting her? Is Rose upset?’

  ‘Yes.’ Helena sighed. ‘Rampton, Dr Horne is concerned about Rose.’ She struggled to choose her words. ‘When Rose gets these terrible megrims she does strange things. Things she wouldn’t normally do and which she either denies having done, or has genuinely forgotten about. I think I mentioned it once before, if you recall. At Lady Barbery’s ball-assembly.’

  Rampton watched a couple of children playing at fisticuffs in the park while his confusion deepened. He did not believe Helena’s sympathy was genuine. Nor did he, in his heart of hearts, believe Rose capable of all the misdeeds of which she was accused. Something didn’t add up.

  He turned. ‘If Rose is upset it must be over something other than her husband.’ He sent Helena a studied look. ‘She was very happy last night.’ He paused, adding, ‘And this afternoon. Perhaps you can shed some light on her state of mind.’

  Helena shrugged. ‘Rose has never been fond of me so I was hardly surprised when she rejected my offer to accompany her on a carriage ride this morning. What was surprising was that Arabella had wanted to go, only Rose was quite snappish to her, too.’ Helena met his look, candidly. ‘That’s when I discussed the matter with Charles. He’s obviously had to deal with his sister on occasions like this in the West Indies and so he summoned Dr Horne. He attended Rose several times just after we arrived. She seemed so much better for a while but she’s been acting decided oddly, of late. Haven’t you noticed?’

  It was too much to take in. No, he did not believe Rose had stolen Lady Chawdrey’s necklace. And no, he did not believe she had ulterior motives in suggesting Geoffrey Albright accompany her back to Larchfield. Most of all he did not believe her powerful responses to him in the bedroom both last night and earlier today were anything but genuine.

  He could not believe it.

  ‘Perhaps the country air will do her good. Rose and Arabella can leave for Larchwood in the morning,’ he muttered. ‘Jeremy and Hobson can go as outriders. That’ll be sufficient escort.’

  Ignoring Helena’s outstretched arm, her mouth pursed in false sympathy, he made for the door. He longed to hold Rose and quiz her himself about her activities, but right now he lacked the courage. He needed to go to his own quarters, mull over everything he had learned and try to deduce what the devil was really going on. If that failed to provide clarification, he’d talk to Rose.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘YES, YOU’LL LEAVE tomorrow.’

  He’d twisted his mind in knots trying to come up with a motive for her actions and then he’d visited Dr Horne who’d said ‘in these cases’ the motive was simply the attention, even if that were in the form of anger. He said the general recommendation was that patients be removed to a quiet location to calm their over-excited minds.

  Rose was not one to get over-excited, Rampton had immediately thought, before remembering the passionate heights the two of them had recently scaled. Did that count?

  Now, the sight of the yellow silk morning gown, the bonnet still lying at the end of the divan, hardened his heart, despite the latitude he was determined to show her.

  Her languid, welcoming smile had almost undone him as he’d put his head around the door but he steeled himself to be business-like. Dr Horne had said that if Rose took responsibility for her actions it would be a great leap forward. Dr Horne had said a great many other things that had thrown his entire world into turmoil but he couldn’t dwell on those right now.

  ‘My dear.’ He tried not to let his fondness for her cloud his purpose. She looked so very lovely, draped upon the bed. How he wished to close the distance between them and have her rest her head upon his shoulder. Then he would gently ask her about the two necklaces: Lady Barbery’s and Lady Chawdrey’s. He’d also ask her about Geoffrey and why she’d lied when she insisted she’d never met him before his mother’s dinner. Instead he said, with commendable self control, ‘You are at liberty to petition me for funds if you find yourself short.’

  She blanched. ‘So you know about the visit to the pawnbroker? I promised Helena I wouldn’t tell you.’

  ‘Helena?’

  ‘Yes, I went on her account.’

  His heart tumbled to his boots in sheer relief. Sinking on to the bed he took her hand and brought it to his lips. ‘Did you not think it prudent to ask her where such a valuable necklace came from? When it clearly did not belong to her?’

  His voice was only as reproachful as was needed to remind her that she should be more careful in future. He watched the play of emotions across her delicate features while she struggled for an answer. God, she was beautiful. Once she had confessed he looked forward to a long and leisurely afternoon luxuriating in her arms. He’d forgive her anything.

  Frowning slightly, she asked, ‘What necklace?’

  He stared. The silence stretched as he waited for her to see that lies did not sit well with him. Did she honestly think he’d be quizzing her about it if he did not know? Dropping her hand he rose and went to the window. Turning, he asked, carefully, ‘You admit visiting a pawnbroker’s this morning. Why? To redeem some worthless trinkets when you know I am not ungenerous.’ He answered his own question. ‘No, to pawn a valuable necklace that did not belong to you. I have the evidence.’

  She continued to look blank. ‘It was on Helena’s behalf I went. I just took some clothes and jewellery. The sum total was less than five pounds.’

  Turning away Rampton steeled himself to face the truth. Rose had pawned a necklace that did not belong to her, and now lied about it. His mind raced. Was she unhappy? Last night and today would suggest otherwise. But Rose was a good actress. No. He dismissed the idea. She’d not give herself to him if she were trying to obtain sufficient resources to get away. The idea was preposterous and certainly did not fit with all he knew of her.

  He stopped, mid-thought. What, exactly, did he know of her? She’d deceived him into marriage, for a start.

  Was her motive money? He thought of the Mayfair house and realized the difficulty of procuring immediate funds. However, the only reason she’d need money was if she intended to leave him. A bitter thought, indeed!

  Rose and Geoffrey Albright? He could not countenance it. Rose actively disliked the man. But then, she’d not mentioned the fact they’d known one another before. His mind trawled for possibilities. If Rose had learned that Rampton was the close neighbour of the man she had loved in the West Indies, could she have…?

  No, she could not have been so calculating that she’d put out a lure to Rampton on the chance he’d bite just so she’d be closer to her old lover. He was reading conspiracies into everything.

  He tried to calm his disordered thoughts with a deep breath. First he needed to ascertain whether the owner of the necklace he’d retrieved from the pawnbroker’s was indeed Lady Chawdry. Then he needed to discover wha
t Rose was planning to do with the proceeds. He would have to hire someone very discreet to follow her every move for the next few weeks - if only to confirm that she was not guilty of any wrongdoing.

  He did not know how he managed to say, so calmly, as he turned back to her, ‘The doctor says your health would be much improved with some country air.’

  ‘My health!’ exclaimed Rose. ‘Why, all I have is a slight megrim. Besides, Dr Horne said nothing to me about it.’

  Her look of injured surprise nearly unbalanced him but he pressed on. ‘I think it best to follow the doctor’s orders, Rose. I’ve arranged for you to leave first thing in the morning.’

  ***

  Surely, he couldn’t dispatch her to the country so summarily without some explanation? Having made her excuses at dinner, Rose waited in her bedchamber.

  Even the most hard-hearted man, believing his wife guilty of some dreadful crime, would want to confront her with it. All she could think of was that Helena had intimated she’d pawned a valuable necklace. Perhaps Charles had asked after one of her trinkets and Helena had balked at telling the truth.

  Ten o’ clock chimed. Rose changed into a filmy nightgown, dabbed a little Olympian Dew beneath her eyes to make them sparkle and arranged her hair. One hour stretched into two. Cold forced her to cover the diaphanous nightgown with a shawl, but the effect she strove to achieve was still the same: a beautiful woman who, once her innocence was established, was too desirable to resist.

  When she put her hand on the doorknob her heart was hammering. Foolish! she chided herself. Last night they had talked like old friends, and then had followed hours of delicious intimacy. Only a few hours before, their desire had again escalated into incendiary love-making followed by an amicable leave-taking. Galvanized by the memory, she quietly turned the knob and pushed open the door to the library.