Artful Deceptions (22 page)

Ross gave his daughter a look of irritation. “Do you remember a time when I have forgotten such details? Of course it was Lady Llewellyn and her son. I was there once when Lawrence was painting it. Had a devil of a time getting the two to sit still, he did. What details do you want? She wore a gown of the most lustrous ruby I’ve ever seen. Only Lawrence could have created the palette to show it. The mountains were a damnable piece of business, but he never was a landscape man.”

Gently Rhys intruded. “Do you remember if the portrait showed her wedding ring, sir?”

A light began to dawn on Richards’ face. “Is that how it is, then? Of course there was a wedding ring. A family heirloom, if I remember rightly. Shows it right there in the portrait. I always thought Gypsies liked lots of gaudy jewelry, but Lady Llewellyn never wore any other but that one ring. Distinctive, it was, with roses and leaves all twined about it. I told you they were married, boy. Just look at the portrait.”

“The portrait disappeared, Papa.” Arianne took a deep breath and felt the bands of her stays constrict beneath her breasts as she tried to make the explanation that was needed. “Lord Llewellyn sent the portrait away before seeing it, and Sir Thomas used it for the backing of another painting. When the painting was found and displayed at Christie’s, it was stolen. The painting is the only evidence Rhys has that his parents were married.”

Ross gave her a sharp look, then ran his hand over his balding head. “Balderdash. David was delighted with that painting. He even gave me other commissions because of it.” He hesitated, then searched his memory a moment. “Lawrence offered to paint Anne’s portrait right after he completed that work. He should have given me part of the proceeds from Llewellyn, but I agreed to the oil instead. Not one of his better works, I’m afraid, but he was practicing for society then.”

He dragged his wandering thoughts back to the point. “The thing is, I remember David’s wife died suddenly soon after that. Anne was with child and we couldn’t attend the funeral. It was a tragic affair. I suppose it is possible he never saw the finished painting. But I cannot imagine him sending it away, even in his grief.”

Rhys seemed about to speak, but the call came for dinner, and those present shook themselves out of their various reveries to conform to protocol. If they were a more silent group going in to dinner than the night before, no one commented upon the fact.

Arianne was seated with Galen at her side and Rhys across the table, but she could not dispel the mood her father’s story had laid upon the company. Occasionally she sent Rhys’s dark face a quick glance, but his expression was impassive as he engaged in polite conversation with the earl on politics. At his side, Melanie looked distraught, and Arianne tried to remind herself to have the discussion with her cousin soon.

Galen was the one who squeezed her hand in understanding, who studiously signaled the servants when her glass was empty or her plate lacked a particular delicacy. He kept the conversation flowing around her, including Arianne when she could make general replies that required little thought, and leaving her to her own thoughts elsewise.

She was grateful for Galen’s perceptiveness. Perhaps she had judged him unfairly in the past. She had thought him just one of the idle fops of the nobility, with nothing else to do but look pretty for the ladies and play games with the men. Perhaps Locke was that, but he was something a little more too. Was she judging him wrongly again when she thought his feelings of little account in this matter of their betrothal? As she left the dinner table with the other ladies, she could not help but revert to her original belief. She could not think of a single reason why Lord Locke would look on her with any more affection than he showed any other woman.

Yet he was the first to return to the salon afterward, leaving Rhys behind to continue his discussion of politics. While Melanie attempted a plaintive melody on the piano, Galen crossed the room directly to Arianne, offering his arm and suggesting a walk in the garden. It was exactly what she would have liked most of all, but the memory of their last walk heightened her color and caused her to hesitate.

“I cannot think that would be wise,” she murmured under her breath, so only he could hear.

Amusement danced briefly in Galen’s eyes as he gazed upon her bent head. “Do you cry craven, then? Perhaps you’re right. There have been enough surprises for one day. Let us ask Melanie to walk with us, just tonight. There are days ahead when I mean to teach you what you are too stubborn to admit freely.”

Arianne glanced upward and was captured by the sincerity of his crystal-clear gaze. She had not thought Locke the practiced charmer who could speak lies and innuendos with such expertise, but were he not, she would have to believe that he actually harbored a true affection for her. The tone of his voice and the look in his eye were that transparent. Not knowing what to believe, Arianne accepted his hand and agreed.

Melanie was on the point of refusing to accompany them when Rhys finally joined the ladies. He pointedly ignored her in preference to continuing his conversation with the earl, and taking a sharp breath, Melanie closed the music and took Galen’s arm.

“You will become known as a ladies’ man if you continue so, dear Galen,” she admonished in mincing notes that could be heard across the room. “Arianne, I think I shall steal him back from you. He has become much more flattering since he met you.”

Flirting her fan, sweeping up the slight train of her dinner gown, and ignoring the black scowl forming on Rhys’s face, Melanie focused her attention on Galen’s grinning visage. She would have preferred to stamp on his foot to wipe the laughing look from his eyes, but that would not serve her purpose. Instead, she simpered and smiled and hurried him from the room, with Arianne lingering uncertainly as she threw a last gaze back to the company.

Rhys caught her look and quickly disengaged himself from the conversation. Her relief at his accompaniment made his tread firmer as he strode after them. Arianne’s tug on Galen’s arm brought the other couple to a halt, and Rhys joined them, appropriating Arianne’s other arm as he caught up to them.

“A stroll after such an excellent dinner is just the thing,” he agreed, as if he had been asked.

“One might think so,” Galen replied wryly, looking down the chain of linked arms and up to the single doorway through which they must pass to reach the gardens. “But perhaps a healthy conversation might aid in the digestion also. Lady Melanie, if you would?” He emphasized her title as a brother might use a full name in admonishment, taking Melanie’s arm and leading her through the door, leaving Arianne to Rhys, for the moment.

Rhys’s fingers closed around Arianne’s elbow, but she didn’t feel comforted as Galen led Melanie into the gardens and she was forced to follow. This was the way it was meant to be, she knew, but she couldn’t rid herself of the confusing feelings generated by Galen’s warm gaze and voice as he looked on her. He undoubtedly used his charms on every lady he met, and she was just unaccustomed to such attentions, but it would take her a little while to convince her heart of that.

They strolled in silence until Galen stopped before the fountain in the courtyard and turned to the couple behind him. “All right, Llewellyn, there’s just the four of us now, and I think it’s time we heard what you’re planning to do. Had you been a kettle of water, there would be steam coming out your ears by now. I’ll not be responsible for riding herd on these females any longer while you gallivant the countryside again.”

The water in the fountain pattered in a steady stream in the surrounding placid pond, adequately drowning out the other night sounds of the gardens beyond as he waited for a reply.

Tall lamps in the corners of the small yard illuminated the fountain, casting Galen into large silhouette as he stood against it. Beside him, Melanie appeared dainty and almost ephemeral with her light muslin blowing in the breeze. She had released Locke’s arm to wrap her arms around herself, and Arianne offered her shawl. She didn’t think any amount of night air could cool her off quite yet.

Galen captured Arianne’s waist before she could escape, pulling her close to him as he faced Rhys. She meant to protest, but Rhys’s scorching reply prevented any thought other than of his pain.

“I’m going to confront him. What else can I do?” Fury propelled the words, but pain and betrayal edged the silence that followed. Hearing what wasn’t said, Rhys hurried to fill the gap. “There is nothing I can use as proof. My aunt was not married to Uncle Owen at the time, but she says she remembers my father bringing home his new wife after an extended journey. It was all the talk of the town, especially since no one knew of anyone who had attended the wedding. My mother never denied her Romany heritage. There were always rumors, but I cannot believe my father would not have married her legally. Neither can any others with whom I’ve talked, yet there is no proof. I’ve even searched the records at Gretna, but there is nothing. I am convinced my uncle knows the whole. He has no heir. He must admit the truth sometime.”

Melanie drifted forward, coming between the two men. “We will go with you, but you must know the truth does not matter. Your friends know who you are, and they believe you. We will spread the word about the wedding ring in the portrait, and before long your uncle will be the subject of gossip, not your parents. You have no reason not to hold your head up in the best of society.”

Rhys talked over her head, as if she were not there. “I want no one involved in this, Locke. It’s a family matter. For myself, I would leave it alone. My uncle is not a well man. But I’ll not have my parents’ names besmirched, and should I have a family of my own, I would not have them bear the burden of scandal. I’ll not be gone long. We can settle our differences when I come back.”

Galen caught Arianne and prevented her from going to Melanie or Rhys, whichever was her goal. Melanie’s small shoulders literally drooped as she twisted away, and Rhys’s voice had gone cold and distant, as if coming from some lonely valley. Locke heard the tones of anger in his own voice as he spoke.

“You don’t have to do this alone. If nothing else, let us have signed affidavits you might present, confirming the knowledge of the wedding ring. You cannot simply go to the man and call him a liar.”

“But you see, that’s what he is, and he knows it.” Softly Rhys made the condemnation and turned away. His limping stride could not take him away swiftly enough, but no one made any effort to follow him.

“He’s not just a liar, but a thief.” The words were said so low as to be a part of the night air and the fountain’s waters, but Melanie’s quick steps back toward the house gave evidence of their reality.

This time, Galen did not stop Arianne from running after her cousin. It was not how he had meant for the night to end, he thought, watching the slender figures of the women disappear into the brightly lit house. But he should have known not to count out a man as formidable with pride and courage as Rhys Llewellyn.

Cursing the man and his tale, Locke stood bleakly waiting for the upper-story lamps to flicker on. He had always known life to be unfair, but until now he had been the one to benefit from the disparity.

He wasn’t at all certain that he liked being on the wrong end of the ladder.

Chapter Eighteen

“What do you think you are doing?” Arianne whispered into the gray shadows of early dawn as the figure beside her rose from the bed and slipped through the darkness to the dressing table
.

“I’m going with him.” The whispered words were adamant, leaving no room for argument. The rustle of clothing followed.

Even though she had suspected this was coming, Arianne was still horrified. She pulled back the covers and brought her feet to the cool carpet, not even lingering over the pleasures of soft wool over cold planks. “You can’t! You’ll be ruined. And he doesn’t want you. Melanie, please be reasonable.”

“What has reason to do with it?” The question was muffled behind the layers of cotton being pulled over her head. With the chemise settled, Melanie pulled on the shirt of her riding habit. “I have waited all my life to be old enough to marry Rhys. He didn’t discourage me when he showed up with one foot and posing as my brother’s stableboy. He’ll not discourage me now.”

“But, Melanie ...” Arianne scrambled for her own clothing, knowing she would be handicapped without it if Melanie persisted in this madness. “Has he given you any encouragement? How do you know he returns your feelings?” She pulled on a chemise and grabbed a morning gown.

“I just know.” Stubbornly Melanie jerked on the long, heavy skirt of her habit. She gave an anxious glance to the gray oblong of the window at a sound from
below, then hurried even faster.

Arianne hesitated; not knowing if she ought to reveal the gross betrayal Galen had perpetrated on them all, or Rhys’s wishes in the matter. She was too confused to be certain if her interpretation was correct, but she had to say something, if only to return Melanie to her senses. “Melanie, you can’t
just know
. Rhys and I ...” How could she say it?

Melanie’s attention jerked toward her as if she had. “Rhys and you have what? You’re betrothed to Galen. It is an excellent match. He’s quite mad about you, you know. I’ve seen that ever since the incident when he chased after you and yelled at you in the park. That was most unlike Galen, and I’ve watched him ever since. He’s thrown his cap over the windmill this time. What can there be between you and Rhys? You’ve never even met him until recently.”

Despair swathed her in helplessness. Arianne pulled the dull folds of her morning gown over her shoulders before answering, and then she used her most blunt and practical tones. “Galen is merely circumventing Papa’s pride in order to bring Mama to the country. I thought surely you understood that. I cannot ever move in the same circles as you and Lord Locke, no more than Rhys can aspire to those same circles, not while his name and title are questioned. I suppose, should he be able to clear his birth, he might seek higher than the likes of me, but as it currently stands, we are suited. Those are Rhys’s words, not mine, Melanie.”