Lord Portman's Troublesome Wife (14 page)

‘When are yer goin’ to send me ‘ome ag’in?’ the child asked Rosamund one day when she had been at Bishop’s Court nearly three months. She was dressed in a white dimity dress with a wide blue sash, white hose and neat black shoes. She was very proud of the shoes; she had only ever worn boots before and those scuffed and worn and several sizes too big, having been handed down from Mrs Chappell’s older children. They had just returned from a walk and Rosamund was removing her bonnet for her.

‘Sweetheart, this is your home now. Surely you do not want to go back?’

‘No, I like it ’ere, but Mama will be real angry if I’m not there.’

‘Why would she be angry?’

‘I ’ave to do me chores and ’elp her in the kitchen, or I ’ave to go to bed wivout me supper.’

That Mrs Chappell expected a child so young to work in the kitchen and, what was worse, to be punished by depriving her of food appalled Rosamund. ‘Annabelle, there is something you must know.’ She paused to gather her thoughts. ‘Mrs Chappell is not your real mama. She is what you call a foster mother.’

‘Wha’s tha’?’

Rosamund explained as gently as she could. ‘Lord Portman is your papa. You were sent to Mrs Chappell because your own mother died when you were born and there was no one to look after you. Now you have me. I am married to your papa and that makes me your stepmama. I will never let you go back there to be ill treated, I promise you.’

‘You mean tha’?’ Her eyes lit up with pleasure.

‘Yes.’ She smiled and kissed the child’s cheek. ‘But you have to learn to be the little lady, so I have arranged for you to have lessons.’ She had already established that Annabelle had not begun to learn to read and write, a fact that had angered Harry, who thought some of his guineas had been spent on tuition for her. It just showed how divorced from reality he had been over his daughter.

When he was at home, he saw and talked to Annabelle every day, though she was more than a little in awe of him and he found it difficult to unbend, especially as he found her vulgar way of speaking repugnant. ‘Get her some elocution lessons,’ he had told Rosamund. ‘She sounds like a gutter urchin.’ Rosamund, who was beginning to understand his moods, knew the abruptness hid a burgeoning love for his daughter he found difficult to express. He was often away on business, though what that business was she had no idea. He had not seen fit to enlighten her.

Hearing the sound of a coach and horses on the gravel one afternoon, she thought it was Harry returning, but it was her brother. He was dressed in his usual elegant way: black silk with silver embroidery and a black cravat. ‘Thought I’d pay you a visit to see how you are going along,’ he said, breezing into the small parlour where she was teaching Annabelle her letters.

‘Very well,’ she said, instructing the footman who had admitted him to send the parlour maid to her.

‘And who is this?’ He beamed at the child, who was staring at him in curiosity.

‘This is Annabelle,’ Rosamund said. Then to the
child, ‘Run along to the kitchen, sweetheart. Cook will find you something to eat, and then you must find Janet. She will look after you.’ She watched the child leave the room, then turned to her brother. ‘Sit down, Max. Will you drink tea?’

‘Tea?’ He dropped on to a sofa opposite her. ‘Have you nothing stronger?’

‘Of course, but as it is early in the afternoon, I thought you might prefer the beverage.’

He sighed. ‘Very well, tea will do.’

A maid appeared and Rosamund gave the order, then turned back to Max. ‘What brings you here?’

‘I told you. I came to see how you are faring.’

‘As you see, I am well.’

‘Increasing, are you?’ he asked bluntly.

‘It is early days.’

‘You have been married nigh on three months, time enough, I should have thought. I hope you do not disappoint his lordship in that respect. He will have no compunction about divorcing you an’ you do. It was his whole reason for marrying you.’

She had no intention of telling him the truth, that if it had been his lordship’s reason, he must have changed his mind. Fortunately a maid arrived with the tea tray and saved her the bother of giving Max a put-down. She dismissed the maid and set about making tea.

‘How is Charlotte?’ she asked before he could resume quizzing her.

‘As extravagant as ever.’

‘And the children?’

‘As demanding as ever. You do not know how lucky you are.’

‘Indeed I do,’ she said, and meant it. There was only one cloud on her horizon, but she hoped that might be dispelled with a little patience, not that she would have breathed a word of that to anyone, not even to Janet, who knew most things about her; certainly not to her brother.

‘Is Portman about?’ he asked.

‘No, he is in town.’ She poured tea and handed him a cup. He took it, then put it on the floor at his side so that he could extract a small flask from his pocket which he emptied into the tea.

‘I wish I’d known,’ he said. ‘It would have saved me a journey.’

‘You said you came to see me.’

‘So I did. Need to see him too.’

‘He may be back this evening. You are welcome to stay.’ She sipped her own tea. ‘What do you want to see him about?’

‘Business.’

‘And would the business have anything to do with money?’ He looked discomforted and she added. ‘How much do you want?’

He brightened. ‘Why, do you have any you can spare?’

‘I don’t always spend my pin money. I can let you have two hundred.’

‘Two hundred! Not near enough.’

‘Max, you seemed to be well up in the stirrups when Papa died. You and Charlotte were extravagantly dressed and you paid for the wine and the carriage at my wedding.’

‘It did not last long.’

‘What did not last long? What are you talking about?’

He looked sheepish. ‘Father’s money.’

‘But you said there was none. I had to leave my home and sell all the furniture and—’ She stopped suddenly. ‘You are not talking about that bag of counterfeit guineas, are you?’ His shamefaced expression gave her his answer. ‘Oh, Max…’

‘Well, I could not let them go to waste, could I? Father was cheated by whoever gave them to him. They should have been genuine. I did not see why we should be the losers.’

‘You said you were going to find out how he came by them. Did you do anything about it? Did you try tracing Mr O’Keefe and the Barnstaple Mining Company?’

‘No such man, no such company.’

She knew from his tone he had not even tried. ‘So instead you decided to pass counterfeit coins. You are a fool.’

‘No one knows who passed them, I was very careful.’

‘So you say. What if they are traced to you?’

‘They won’t be. And even if they are, I can always plead ignorance. It is almost impossible to tell them from genuine ones. You saw them.’

‘And now they are all gone, you come here to beg from my husband.’

‘He can afford it.’ He paused. ‘You won’t tell him what I have just told you, will you?’

‘No, of course not. I do not want to see you hanged. But I am very glad you do not have any more of them.’

He did not confirm that and in the silence that followed, they heard horses and wheels on the drive, and a few minutes later, Harry came into the room.

He had been looking forward to an evening with his wife, talking to her about her day and the progress Annabelle was making. Whenever he saw Rosamund and his daughter with their heads together, laughing at some game they were playing, his heart ached with regret that he had missed so much of the child’s growing and a strange longing to take his wife in his arms and make love to her. Really make love, not simply make her with child. His whole reason for marrying her had been turned on its head. All he wanted to do these days was to do his work for the Piccadilly Gentlemen as thoroughly and quickly as he could and come back to Bishop’s Court. He was not altogether pleased to see his brother-in-law, though he made himself sound cheerful. ‘You here, Chalmers,’ he said.

Max scrambled to his feet to execute a bow, ‘In the area. Thought I’d pay a call. Didn’t think you would mind.’

‘Don’t mind at all, my dear fellow,’ he said, remembering to be the fop Max believed him to be and returning the bow with even more exaggeration than usual. ‘My wife’s brother is always welcome at Bishop’s Court. Staying, are you?’

‘If I may? I have a little matter to put to you.’

‘After dinner,’ Harry said, taking a cup of freshly brewed tea from Rosamund and smiling at her, as he did so. The hand that offered the cup had been shaking a little and she seemed flustered. He wondered what she and her brother had been talking about to agitate her. He wished he could like the man for her sake, but he found his false joviality irksome. It did not take a genius to guess what he wanted.

He was proved right later that evening. Dinner was over, Rosamund had gone to Annabelle’s room to see her into bed and tell her a story, leaving the men to smoke and drink in the library.

‘I had no idea Bishop’s Court was so large,’ Max said. ‘It must cost a fortune to keep up.’

‘Luckily I have a fortune,’ Harry said drily. ‘My forebears managed their wealth wisely.’

‘And no doubt you are carrying on the good work.’

‘I try.’ He smiled and waited, knowing what was coming.

‘It is a pity my forebears were not so clever,’ Max said. ‘Particularly my father. He allowed himself to be cheated.’

‘Yes, you have told me this before.’ He did not like to be reminded of how he came to marry Rosamund. It was something of which he was ashamed, but Chalmers seemed to have no shame. ‘How can I help you? I assume that is the reason for your visit.’

‘I am being dunned all round. A couple of thousand should see me clear. Let you have it back when I can.’

Harry got up and went to his desk, where he wrote out an order on his bank for two thousand guineas, which he handed over without a word. It was worth it to try to atone for the wrong he was convinced he had done Rosamund.

‘Thank you,’ Max said, folding it and tucking it into the pocket of his waistcoat.

They had so little in common the conversation dwindled to a halt. Max stood up and yawned. ‘If you will excuse me, my lord, I am for bed. I should like to make an early start in the morning, if that is convenient to you.’

‘Oh, quite convenient,’ Harry said, hiding a smile. The man had got what he wanted and could not get away fast enough. He wondered how often he would be asked to prop up his debts. For Rosamund’s sake, he would do it.

Alone again, he poured himself more cognac and sprawled on the sofa with his feet up on its arm, and allowed himself to meditate. Apart from the months immediately after Beth’s death, he had always enjoyed his life. He loved his home and looking after his estate; talking to his tenants and the men who toiled in the fields and their wives, who worked just as hard as their menfolk. He was especially jovial towards the children and made sure that none on his estate was in want of a good meal and a stout pair of boots.

On the other side of his life was his work for the Piccadilly Gentlemen, which was varied, demanding and often dangerous. It added a spice to his existence and he revelled in it. His busy life had, until he met Rosamund, stopped him from brooding about the past, a past he could not change, however hard he tried. But now there was a third dimension: his wife and daughter. And that was where his unease lay. He wanted to make her his wife in more than name, but the old fear kept returning. He imagined her suffering as Beth had suffered, heard her cries and saw the blood and his desire abated and left him dissatisfied and restless. The only cure was action.

Rosamund came down for breakfast as she usually did. It was often the only time she and Harry could talk; he was always going off somewhere. He looked up
from his plate of ham and eggs when she came in. ‘Good morning, my dear,’ he said, rising to greet her and see her to her chair while noting the pink crepe dress with its crossover bodice, which emphasised the fullness of her breasts and narrow waist. ‘It is another warm day. I think the harvest might be early this year.’

‘Yes, I noticed the corn was ripening. A good harvest will be a boon to the farmers after so many years of poor yields.’ She paused. ‘Is Max still abed?’

‘No,’ he said, resuming his seat. ‘I am told he left very early. Pressing business to attend to, I believe.’

‘Paying his debts with your money, I do not doubt,’ she said, looking sideways at him as she helped herself to bread and butter and some of Cook’s damson preserve. His expression was unfathomable.

‘Now what makes you think that?’

‘I know my brother. Besides, he as good as admitted it to me. You do not have to indulge him, you know. I should not hold it against you.’

‘No, but I should not like to see him in a debtors’ prison, if I could prevent it with a small donation. He is my brother-in-law, after all. Families should look after each other.’

‘I sometimes wonder if his need of money was not the reason he was so anxious I should marry you.’

‘And were you also influenced by that when you agreed?’

She looked startled. ‘Do you believe that?’

‘Perhaps not, but I sometimes ask myself what your reasons really were.’

She managed a laugh. ‘It was the alternatives I found unacceptable, my lord: to live with Max and his unruly
children or be a puppy dog to Lady Bonhaven. Besides, I had hoped to find the men who cheated my father, something I would never have been given time for had I chosen either course. I thought the prospect of being the mother of your children would compensate for—’

‘Compensate for what?’ he prompted. They had both abandoned their breakfasts.

‘Compensate for a lack of…’ She could not say it, could not tell him the word she was searching for was love. He would laugh at her. It was not, had never been, a part of their bargain.

‘You think I have wronged you.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘No, I did not say that. You most certainly have not wronged me. Why, you have been kind and generous to a fault.’

‘But is kindness enough?’ he asked softly.

‘I think it must be.’

It was an enigmatic reply that did not address the question. ‘You said you hoped to find the men who cheated your father,’ he said, changing the subject abruptly. ‘How did they cheat him exactly?’