Lady Rosabella's Ruse

Clever Lord Bannerby elicited a brilliant, if brittle, smile. ‘What did you have in mind?’

As if there had been some unseen signal, the company slowly gathered around her.

Lady Keswick cast her newspaper aside. She’d chosen a blond wig today, with ringlets above the ears and tiny curls across her forehead. ‘Now we will see some liveliness.’ Her smile turned her cheeks into rouge-painted apples. ‘I like to see young people enjoying themselves.’

‘Why don’t we put on a play? Daniel has several he is working on.’ Mrs Phillips, a buxom brunette just past her first bloom, looked adoringly at her aesthetic playwright husband. For all his severe appearance, he was a nice man, if rather led around by the nose by his wife. He was always courteous to Rosa, who would have liked to have talked to him more about the theatre. His wife’s glares kept her at bay.

‘Charades is better,’ Fitzwilliam said. ‘A play requires the learning of lines and will take more than a week of hard work.’ He smothered a yawn behind his hand. ‘Who knows, it might be fine tomorrow and then all the work will be for naught.’

Several of the men muttered agreement with the sentiment and voices were raised on each side of the question.

‘Good day, Lady Keswick, Mrs Travenor.’ Rosa jumped, instantly recognising Stanford’s deep rich voice. Heat rushed through her body. She closed her eyes against the invading warmth as the image of his mouth close to hers danced in her vision. She took a deep calming breath and attempted a serene smile.

Lady Keswick gave him her hand. ‘Stanford. I see you are not among the early risers.’ Her gaze darted to Lady Smythe. ‘Made a late night of it, I suppose.’

Stanford grinned good-naturedly, his eyes finding Rosa with a gleam of wickedness. ‘I like to walk before retiring as an aid to sleep, though the rain last night was not conducive to long ramblings.’ His gaze rested upon Rosa’s face. ‘How about you, Mrs Travenor? Did you sleep well?’

A breath caught in Rosa’s throat. There was no doubt in her mind he was threatening exposure as he looked at her, his eyes issuing a challenge.

She raised her chin. ‘I always take a short walk every evening, rain or no, Lord Stanford.’

He blinked at her intimation that only a weakling would let rain keep him indoors. With a triumphant smile at his obvious surprise, she gestured to the dog at her feet. ‘I usually take Digger for his nightly perambulation. But, like you, he preferred to remain indoors last evening.’

Stanford hunkered down at her feet and scratched behind the pug’s ear. The dog opened one eye and wriggled with pleasure as the strong long fingers moved with assurance over its flanks. The dog grunted its bliss and rolled on its back.

Stanford tickled the dog’s underside and tipped his face up to meet her gaze. The individual lashes around his eyes were long and thick and veiled his thoughts, but not his mocking smile. ‘He’s a lucky fellow to have such a considerate attendant, but you really should not wander the grounds alone at night, Mrs Travenor. Anything might happen. I beg you allow me to accompany you in future.’

A warning. He was not going to say anything this time. A spurt of relief left her feeling weak. She really didn’t want to make up any more lies. Nor did she want to have to explain to her employer.

Lady Keswick’s plucked eyebrows drew sharply together. ‘Are you implying Mrs Travenor is not safe in my grounds, Stanford?’

His smile turned cynical. He straightened to his full height and once more she was aware of just how large he was, despite his sparseness of frame. ‘I am sure she is as safe here as anywhere, Lady Keswick.’

Not safe at all with men like Stanford on the prowl.

‘Hmmph,’ the old lady said, eyeing her guests, who had devolved into a heated discussion about the relative merits of a play or charades. She picked up the cane beside her chair and rapped it sharply on the floor. Silence descended as all eyes turned on their hostess. Rosa shrank into the shadows of her corner.

Not that she need have bothered. None of them were looking at her. They were all looking at Lady Keswick.

A wicked grin spread over Stanford’s face. He kept his eyes fixed on Rosa’s face as he spoke, though he raised his voice to include the whole company. ‘I suggest a game of hide and go seek. The gentlemen will find, while the ladies hide. Ladies, if you are caught, you will forfeit a kiss.’

One of the women squealed her excitement. Mrs Mallow, Rosa thought.

‘Stanford,’ Lady Smythe said in objecting tones. ‘How can we hide if we do not know our way around the house?’

‘Don’t worry, Lady Smythe,’ Mrs Mallow said. ‘Stay with me. I am good at this.’

A flicker of something passed across Stanford’s face. Dismay? How could that be? This was all his idea. He turned to Mrs Mallow, his smile turning wolfish. ‘Have no doubt, I will find you.’

And he would. His kind knew such things by instinct.

Lady Smythe cast him an anxious glance, which seemed a little odd. Unless she worried that Stanford might not find her.

Rosa bit her lip until it hurt. Better that than feel envy for Lady Smythe. Envy? Surely not? What had got into her head? The kind of fun proposed by Lord Stanford would keep the guests busy for the rest of the afternoon. A good thing, from her perspective.

Stanford glanced down at her. ‘Would you care to join us, Mrs Travenor?’

Dear Lord, had he read her thoughts? She really must be more careful around him. He was far too observant for a man so apparently indolent.

‘Certainly not,’ Lady Keswick put in. ‘Mrs Travenor has other duties.’

Rescued. She lifted her chin, shooting Stanford a look of triumph.

He shrugged. His dark eyes gleamed wicked encouragement. ‘Too bad.’

Lady Keswick’s eyes lit up. ‘And before you ask me, I am far too old, but it sounds like just the right sort of thing for a rainy day. Feel free to use the whole of this floor, but do not go upsetting my servants.’ She reached out a hand. ‘Come, Rose, you shall help me to my chamber. I have correspondence to write.’

Lady Keswick heaved herself to her feet with Rosa’s help. Digger, tongue lolling, got his short legs beneath him. ‘Dinner will be served at six in the dining room,’ the countess announced and headed for the door.

Hapton strolled to her side and offered his arm. ‘May I escort you, Lady Keswick?’

She beamed. ‘Now you are what in my day we called a cavalier.’ She took his arm. ‘You can see me as far as the stairs. Clarence will take me the rest of the way.’

Rosa trailed in their wake, oddly aware of Stanford’s gaze on her back. The very thought of it made her legs feel wooden and her movements stiff. It was only by practising a great feat of will that she did not turn around to ask him to stop.

The footman stationed at the foot of the stairs took over escort duties from Mr Hapton, whose granite-grey eyes ran over Rosa for a moment. ‘I keep thinking we have met before, Mrs Travenor,’ he said as she passed him to climb the stairs.

Rosa shook her head. ‘I don’t believe so.’

‘Then you remind me of someone.’

A cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Everyone said she looked like her mother. An Italian opera singer famous in Rome and London before she married, she had been much admired for her voice and her opulent figure. Many painters had daubed her likeness, some showing her in the scandalous costumes of the opera house. One reason Grandfather had been so opposed to her parents’ marriage. The reason for their years of estrangement.

Hapton must have seen one of her mother’s likenesses somewhere. The thought he might put two and two together made her queasy. Not because she was ashamed of her mother, but because she did not want word of her presence in the area to reach her grandfather. Not yet. Not until she found the will. ‘I can’t think who it might be, Mr Hapton,’ she said coolly and followed Lady Keswick and Clarence up the stairs.

At the door to his mistress’s chamber, the footman waited while Rosa fetched the wheeled chair. Lady Keswick collapsed into it with a deep sigh as Rosa wheeled her inside.

Stone-faced, but with beads of sweat on his upper lip and forehead, Clarence closed the door from the other side.

‘You should really think about a bedroom on the ground floor,’ Rosa said gently.

‘Pshaw. I’m not dead yet, girl. Nor yet an invalid.’

‘Indeed no,’ Rosa said. ‘I was thinking more of your footman. Didn’t you see how red Clarence’s face was by the time he reached the top of the stairs?’

Lady Keswick grinned. ‘Naughty puss. Trying to appeal to my soft heart.’ She sighed. ‘Very well, I will consider it. But not until these guests of ours are gone. Time was when I would be playing hide and go seek with the best of them. Are you sure you don’t wish to join in the fun? An amorous adventure might be just the thing to cheer you up. You can’t remain in mourning forever. Fitz is a nice young man and without a brain in his handsome head. You’d twist him round your little finger in a trice. I’d be wary of the rest, though. Bad men, the lot of them.’

Despite the horrid feeling in the pit of her stomach each time Lady Keswick mentioned her widowhood, Rosa laughed at the old lady’s character assassination of her guests. ‘A man would interfere with my plans.’