Diamonds & Deceit (17 page)

“There must be so many happy memories here for you—”

“I hate the place,” he said quietly.

“But why?”

“My father. He hated everything I loved, it seemed. He forbade me to study art, drove my mother to madness, and drank himself to death. Everything here reminds me of him.” Alexander waved his hand toward the castle behind them. “I think if I bring my life here, my art, my passions…I think I will one day be able to paint over the memories of him.”

“I am so sorry,” Rose murmured, remembering the last, missing portrait. It must have belonged to the last duke, the father Alexander was doing all he could to erase.

“He forbade me to study art. We quarreled again and again. It was only by running away, giving up everything to go to Paris, that I could learn to paint.”

“But he must have loved you.” She drew closer, wanting to comfort him and not knowing what to say. “He left you all this.”

He laughed, a harsh bark. “There was only one thing he loved more than himself, and that was the Huntleigh line, the Huntleigh name. He would never have left the estates to anyone but me. As bad as he thought me—and he thought me very bad—I could at least produce an heir. You see? I didn’t matter at all. His only interest in me was that I should marry a suitable heiress and produce more Huntleighs.”

Rose hardly knew what to say. It felt as if he had drawn a curtain aside, to show her a life of such shadow and sadness that it broke her heart to think of it.

“Then why did you come back?” she said. “Why return for the season?”

He hesitated. “You may have heard gossip about my conduct the season before I left.…”

She wanted to know the truth so badly, and he had already told her so much. “What happened at Gravelley Park?” she interrupted, hardly believing her own daring.

He shot her a keen glance. “I’m not proud of it. I don’t want you to think badly of me.”

“I don’t want to think badly of you either,” she said.

He sighed, running his hands through his curls. “Laurence invited us to Gravelley Park for a Saturday to Monday. I was—well, I was not at my best, shall we say. My father and I had just had another falling out. I had brought several bottles of Highland whisky as a gift for Laurence. Needless to say, I drank the whole of them. I hardly remember that weekend, but from what I understand, my behavior was reprehensible. I first led Laurence’s sister to believe I had serious intentions toward her, only to throw her off for Charlotte Templeton. Another lady toward whom I had no serious intentions. I was a rake, and there’s no denying it. I am only now trying to make amends for my behavior toward Miss Templeton, though understandably Emily Maddox wants nothing to do with me.”

Rose’s mouth opened in shock. “But…is this why you’ve paid Charlotte such attentions? Your previous conduct?” It was as if an invisible weight had lifted from her chest.

“Yes.” He smiled down at her. “Though now that I’ve truly gotten to know her, it’s clear that she is simply using me to make Laurence jealous. I feel a bit of a fool, of course, but at least now we are even.” He laughed. His dark mood had vanished as quickly as it had come. “Come, let’s go back inside. There’s one more thing I want to show you.”

“We ought to go back,” Rose protested halfheartedly, but Alexander was ahead of her and did not seem to hear. He led her along the corridors and threw open a door. Rose saw a room hung with tapestries and shrouded in shadow. The tall windows were open to let in the sea breeze that stirred the curtains. In the center of the room, its polished wood shining so deeply that it seemed almost to glow, stood a grand piano.

Rose gasped. She turned to him, an unspoken question in her eyes. He met it with a smile.

“Yes, I was thinking of this when I asked you here.” He hesitated, then added, “I wasn’t telling the whole truth when I said I had no happy memories here. My mother sometimes used to play this piano. I’d like to hear it again.”

Rose didn’t need to be asked twice. She walked over to the stool and sat down. She ran a hand lovingly over the wood, and opened the lid. For a moment she was frightened that she would not be able to play, that just as in London, she would be lost. But the instant her hands touched the keyboard she knew she had nothing to fear.

All the new sounds she had heard since she came to London—and the cries of the seagulls outside, the steady rush and roar of the sea—mingled together in her mind and her fingers sought them out on the keyboard. She was so engrossed that she was startled when she looked up and saw Alexander close by, watching her. His eyes shone as brightly as the sunlight on the wood.

Her hands danced across the keys, and music spilled out. All the new sights she had seen—the sunlight on the sea, rippling and shimmering as if it were liquid metal; Alexander’s words,
We are changing and we can’t stop ourselves
—all came together in her mind like strands woven into a tapestry. That was what her music would be, she knew now. It would be change itself. It would never repeat a pattern, but always be transforming, always be weaving something new. Lost to all sense of time, she did not notice as outside the light faded from the sky, and the stars came out one by one over the dark sea.

Rose woke to perfect peace. The sea’s gentle sighs and the cries of the seagulls mingled with the salty breeze that blew in through the open window. She realized she was no longer at the piano, but lying on the sofa, covered in a blanket. And wrapped in Alexander Ross’s arms.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she remembered the night before in a rush of fierce joy. They had talked and laughed late into the night. He had told her about Paris, until she could almost see the brash, bold lights and smell the cigar smoke mingled with the fumes of oil paint and turpentine.

“I’ll take you there,” he had told her. “We’ll walk along the Seine, I’ll show you the Eiffel Tower. It’s monstrous but beautiful, just as the future should be.”

She allowed herself to snuggle deeper into his arms, feeling warmer and safer than she ever had in her life. She noticed a sketchbook under his arm, one corner jutting out. Moving softly so as not to wake him, she tried to see what he had been drawing. She managed to extricate the sketchbook and looked at the drawing. The figure was a blur of movement, of light, somehow, though the light was caught in dark lines of charcoal.

She looked up to find him smiling at her, his eyes open. “I’m sorry—I was prying,” she said, but couldn’t help smiling back at him.

“No, don’t be,” he said, taking her hand. “It will be yours anyway, when it’s finished.” He picked up the sketchbook, looking at it thoughtfully.

“I wonder if it looks anything like the music sounded.” He began stroking her fingers with his thumb. Her hand fit so perfectly in his. “I was fascinated by the way you put sounds together. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything like it before.”

“I’m not trained, of course,” Rose stammered. Her heart sped up with each brush of his skin against hers.

“But that’s exactly why it’s so fascinating. Your music is original. Your ideas are like you—unique.”

His gaze was soft but so intense that she blushed. She was aware of the warmth of his body next to hers, the closeness of his lips to her own. She looked away in confusion, but she could still feel him looking at her, and it felt more intimate than anything she had ever experienced before.

I shouldn’t be doing this, she thought. This is dangerous. This is…

She looked up, directly into his eyes. Gently he kissed her on the mouth. Rose melted into the dizzy, glorious feeling. Although everything she knew told her that she was behaving dreadfully, dangerously, she could not stop kissing him. It simply felt right, she thought, shocked at how easy it was to behave in ways one would not have dreamed possible.

She felt his hands at her waist, shifting her onto his lap as his lips moved against hers more desperately. She pressed her body against his. An overpowering need to erase the space between them had taken her over, and she ran her hands through his hair, deepening their kiss.

Finally she drew away, gasping for breath. Her eye caught her own reflection in the mirror. She almost laughed at the sight of herself, her hair tangled and her dress ruffled.

His breath was heavy too. “What is it?” he asked.

“I’ve made a mess of myself,” she smiled. “If my lady’s maid could see me now—” She stopped short.

Céline. The ball. It was tonight!

“Rose? What is the matter?” Alexander said, sounding anxious.

“Oh!” She gasped, a hand to her mouth, as she realized the severity of the situation. “Mrs. Verulam’s costume ball. It is tonight!”

She leapt to her feet, hastily trying to tidy her hair and her dress. It would be awful to let Céline down. This ball mattered so much to her. Alexander followed her, trying to calm her.

“Does that matter? Need you go?”

“Yes, yes I must. I promised Céline.” She glanced out of the window. The sun was already high. “Can we be there by this evening?”

“If we must. But who is Céline?”

“My lady’s maid.” She turned to him. “I’ll explain in the car, but we must go now—please!”

Ada woke slowly and uncomfortably, becoming aware that the morning light was shining directly in her eyes. She blinked and groaned and sat up.

“Céline?” The lady’s maid was standing by the fireplace, watching her, her hands wringing her white apron nervously. Ada glanced at her jeweled pocket watch, which sat on her bedside table. “Goodness, it’s early. What do you mean by waking me at this time?”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but there are some persons downstairs to see you. Sanders said I should wake you, because they won’t go.”

Ada caught the fear in her voice at once, and rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up and make sense of the situation.

“Some
persons
? Whatever do you mean?”

Céline bobbed a curtsy—it was extraordinary to see the usually self-possessed girl so upset, thought Ada—and scurried closer to the bed.

“My lady, I think, I know it’s not my place to say, but I think they want money.”

“Money!” Ada sat up bolt upright, quite awake now.

“They mentioned Sir William’s name.”

Ada swung herself out of bed. This had to be dealt with instantly. “I see. Very well, thank you for alerting me, Céline. Please get out my most…authoritative dress and prepare some hot water.”

“The maid’s already brought it, my lady.” Céline hurried away to the wardrobe as Ada went to the washstand. She had spoken with more confidence than she felt. As she washed her face and allowed Céline to dress her and prepare her hair, her heart was pattering with nervousness and anger. How dared William’s creditors call here? Things must really be bad.

She took a quick look at herself in the mirror. She looked too young, but it would have to do. The countess should not know about this; that would be too humiliating. Besides, she sensed that only an Averley would do.

“My lady, there is another thing—”

“Not now, Céline.”

Ada descended the stairs and went to her father’s study, hoping that the imposing busts of Greek philosophers and the shelves of leather-bound histories would overwhelm the creditors a little.

The vast walnut desk was a welcome defense. She seated herself behind it, playing with the gold pen that stood by the inkwell. If only she knew the extent of William’s debts. If only she had some idea what they were going to attack her with—

The door opened and Sanders, with an air of great contempt—for which Ada was grateful—announced. “Mr. MacNab, Mr. Harrison, Mr. Smith.”

The three men who shouldered their way inside were of a kind Ada saw every day through the window of her motorcar. Cockneys to a man, relying on weight and intimidating looks to bluster their way through life. Ada found herself wishing she had not sat down. It was theoretically the position of power, but they loomed over her threateningly. She forced herself not to get to her feet. She could not show she was intimidated. Instead she quickly registered the differences among them: Harrison clutching his cap and glancing about him, obviously more impressed than he liked to show; MacNab to the front, scowling, the clear ringleader; Smith in the background, an unknown quantity.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said quietly. “How may I be of assistance to you?”

“We want to see Sir William,” MacNab announced. The others murmured agreement.

“I’m afraid that is impossible. He is not in London. May I ask to what this refers?”

“Refers to?” MacNab gave a sarcastic laugh. “Eighteen guineas is what it refers to.”

“Sir William backed a horse, my lady,” Harrison began, wincing a little at his companion’s aggression.

“I see.” So they were bookmakers. Ada was hardly surprised, but a white, cold flame of anger against her cousin kindled inside her. The one thing one did not do, did not even risk doing, was bring one’s family into disrepute. Her own memory of her romance with Ravi struck at her conscience, and the sparks kindled the flame. How much had she given up, so as not to bring shame on her family? And William had made it all for nothing. “Well, I am sorry to tell you that you are looking for your money in the wrong place. Sir William is not here.”

“Are you Lady Ada?” It was Smith who spoke.

Ada bristled. There was a complete absence of respect in his tone. MacNab’s aggression was in itself a compliment, she knew it masked fear, but this man spoke as if they were
equals
.

“I am,” she replied.

“I don’t care if Sir William’s not here.” This was MacNab again, fists clenched, leaning forward. “We must have our money and we must have it now. You can write us a cheque.”

“I wish I could.” Ada honestly did, it would be the easiest way to get rid of them, and objectionable as they were, she had to admit they had right on their side. “But I have no money of my own.”

“No money?” MacNab’s hairy eyebrows raised. “How much did that dress cost?”

Ada colored angrily. But before she could answer, Smith spoke again.

“What’s the situation between you and Lord Fintan—you two engaged?”

Ada was breathless with shock and anger at the impertinence of the question. Smith pressed on. “Tell us yes and we’ll be off. We don’t mind waiting if we know we’ll get our money sooner or later. But seems like you don’t mind waiting either, according to the papers,” he continued, leering. “Nervous, are you?”

Ada opened her mouth indignantly, but before she could reply, the door of the study flew open, and Laurence strode in. He was the picture of cool composure, but Ada could read the cold fury in every line of his face. She leapt to her feet in relief. Never had she been so grateful to see anyone.

“What is the meaning of this?” Laurence demanded. “How dare you speak to a lady in this manner? I should horsewhip the lot of you!”

MacNab squared up to him. “The lady’s cousin owes us money. You’d do well to stay out of this, sir.”

Laurence moved toward MacNab, stopping only inches from him. He towered over the man. “You know, the owner of Kempton Park is a good friend of mine. You’ll find yourself permanently banned from the racecourse if you ever so much as look at my fiancée again. Do you understand my meaning, sir?”

MacNab took a step back.

Smith spoke, and his quiet, even voice had an immediate effect. “No need to upset yourself, sir. My apologies, my lady. We won’t bother you again.”

He drifted out of the door, and after an awkward moment Harrison scuttled after him with a muttered apology. MacNab followed more reluctantly. Ada could hear his raised voice as Sanders ushered them away, complaining about his money.

She exhaled, a shaky, long breath, and steadied herself against the desk. Laurence stepped forward quickly to support her.

“Are you well? If you say so, I’ll go after the brutes and beat them to a pulp.”

“No, no, please. You arrived just in time. I’m so grateful.” Ada realized she was trembling and on the brink of tears. Laurence helped her into a chair.

“Sanders was clever enough to telephone. It’s unpardonable that you should have been subjected to this.” He spoke through tight lips. Ada placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping to calm him.

“Please don’t. There was no trouble, really. William should pay his bills.”

“It’s absolutely unpardonable,” he repeated, and shook his head angrily. “That my fiancée should have been treated this way…”

Ada found herself on her feet again. The smell of the men still lingered, and she was feeling a little weak.

“You can’t have had breakfast. Won’t you have some with us?” She led the way to the breakfast room. “Sanders, please send something up.”

“Yes, my lady.” Sanders strode away. Ada entered the breakfast room and seated herself with relief at the long table. Early morning light blazed in. She reached automatically for the silver tray of post and the ivory-handled letter opener that had been placed with fresh flowers on the table. As Laurence went on talking angrily about the creditors, Ada sorted through the post, glad of something simple and mindless to occupy her while she recovered her poise. As usual, most was for the countess and Charlotte—but today there was one for her, addressed in a hand that even in her distracted state she recognized as familiar. She took the letter opener and slit the envelope open as Sanders laid the sideboard and Laurence’s angry voice broke around her. The first line turned her to stone.

My dearest Ada,

She could not believe that she hadn’t seen it at once—it could only have been her distraction that stopped her from recognizing instantly that the letter was from Ravi.

I wonder with what feelings you will read this. I hope they have not changed. I still think of you as I ever did, only with more pain. Business will bring me to London this summer. It is a rush and I will find it difficult to get away. But I hoped we could meet. I won’t compromise you by asking you to reply to this. On the 21st August at noon I will be underneath the great clock at Paddington Station, where we parted from each other. If you can, be there too. If you cannot, I will understand. I will never forget you, but I will understand.

Yours forever,

Ravi

She clasped the letter opener in one hand, the letter in the other. She sensed that the color had fled from her face. It was as if she had opened up her heart with the small silver blade, and inadvertently ripped open a wound that had been sewn closed just a few months before. And now she realized that the pain had never gone away. She had just got used to it, that was all. The wound was very, very far from healed.

“Ada?” Laurence was leaning forward, looking anxiously into her face. “Are you well? You’ve turned so pale.”

“I’m quite well,” she murmured, “quite well.”

“You are in shock, you must be. Let me fetch you some water.”

He leapt up and went to the sideboard. Ada folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope.

Laurence returned with the water. Ada sipped it gratefully. He was looking at her with concern, not at the letter. That was all she needed.

“Thank you. You’re so good to me.” She could feel tears welling up in her eyes.

“My dear, you’ve been so strong.” His voice was gentle. “But you must let me take over now. This situation cannot go unremedied.”

She nodded. “Laurence, do you think you could…” She hesitated. “I would like to lie down.”

“Of course. An excellent idea.”

Ada got to her feet. She could hardly just leave the letter sitting there, but she didn’t want to draw attention by picking it up. Luckily Laurence turned away to ring the bell, and she was able to collect the letter and hide it in her hand. She moved to the door. Now she was back at Somerton in her mind, six months ago, at her father’s wedding, clasping a note in her hand, feeling it beat within her grip as if it were her very heart.

Laurence held Ada back just before she went through the door. He bent his head to hers and pressed a kiss onto her lips. She received it like a marble statue.

“Rest, dear. I will take care of everything,” he murmured.

“Thank you so much,” Ada murmured, mechanically. Slowly, like a woman just awoken from a dream, she walked upstairs.

Céline met her on the landing. “My lady,” she whispered.

“Oh Céline, not now!” Ada made to walk past her, but to her shock Céline caught her wrist.

“My lady, I must speak to you!” For the first time Ada heard the panic in her voice. She turned a questioning look on her. Céline was pale, and her eyes were red as if she had been crying.

“Lady Rose did not come back last night,” she whispered.

Ada gazed at her, uncertain that she had heard correctly.

“What do you mean? Lady Rose went to bed early with a headache.”

Céline shook her head silently. Ada opened her mouth to protest. But Céline’s expression told her everything she needed to know.

Without another word she turned and walked along the hall to Rose’s room. She tapped on the door. Céline was close behind her. When there was no answer, she pushed the door open and looked in. At a glance she could see that the bed had not been slept in.

Ada closed the door silently. She turned to Céline, who looked terrified, and beckoned her away into an alcove. She glanced left and right to make sure no servants were passing.

“Tell me everything,” she whispered. Her anger and her fear were equally balanced.

“I—the Duke of Huntleigh came to see her. She went away with him.”

“What!” Ada took a few desperate steps up and down. If this were known, Rose’s reputation would be shattered like glass. “No, that’s impossible. Lady Rose would never be so…so lost to all sense of propriety.” And yet the note in her hand burned like a brand, as if it were saying,
You thought that of yourself, didn’t you?

“I am sure she’s done no wrong, my lady.”

“Why on earth did you not stop her? Forbid her?” Ada was talking nonsense and she knew it, but she had to lash out at someone. “Why did you not tell me?”

“I thought—I just thought—”

“You thought Rose could marry a duke and you would become lady’s maid to a duchess. Well, because of your foolish scheming, you may well be lady’s maid to a fallen woman!”

Céline gave a strangled sob, and her hands flew to her mouth.