Lady Rosabella's Ruse - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,54
men can be brought to the end of their patience. I thought he loved me.’ Tears flowed down her face.
‘You love him.’
‘Oh, yes. It was a love match. Everyone said so.’ She turned her face away. ‘Or I thought so. Mama said the first thing every man does after the honeymoon is set up a mistress.’
Mama sounded like an idiot. She took the delicate hand in hers. ‘Not every husband. I think you must ask him. Confront him with what you saw. Confess what you did, and tell him that nothing happened. It didn’t, did it?’
‘Oh, no. I couldn’t. I thought I could, but I couldn’t. You have been married. Do you think he will believe me?’
Dear heavens, trapped by her own lies. ‘I am sure of it.’
‘Will you vouch for me?’
She winced, but she supposed she could vouch for Stanford’s whereabouts. She opened her mouth to say so, when the sounds of a carriage drawing up in the courtyard brought the weepy young bride to her feet. ‘The post chaise. I must have my luggage brought down.’ She glanced at Rosa’s valise. ‘Are you leaving, too? Are you going to London? Come with me.’ She ran to the window to look out.
Rosa stared at her back. A feeling of recklessness entered her chest. ‘Yes. I am going to London.’ She could also vouch for Lady Smythe’s innocence, as far as Garth was concerned, and it would be comforting to have a friend on her journey to London.
Penelope swung around, her eyes wide and round. ‘What shall I do? It is not the post chaise. It is my husband.’
Oh, now the fat was in the fire along with Rosa’s hope of an easy escape.
‘He mustn’t find me here,’ the young bride said. ‘I must hide.’
‘Far better you face him right away,’ Rosa said, hoping she was right. ‘Tell him the truth. If he cares for you, he will believe you.’ She crossed her fingers in her skirts. ‘You look so adorably sad, all you have to do is fall into his arms and thank him for coming to your rescue. I am sure he will melt.’ If he loved her he would.
Lady Smythe smoothed her skirts and patted her hair. ‘Do you think so?’ Her lower lip trembled. Her lovely green eyes glistened with tears. Who could resist?
‘I am sure of it. Far better you greet him alone, though.’
The sound of a slamming door made them both jump. ‘You don’t think it would be better if you stayed with me?’
‘No, but I will stay close by, in case he…in case you need my help.’
She nodded and straightened her shoulders. ‘After all, he is the one in the wrong.’
Rosa wasn’t sure accusing him would work, but what did she know? She picked up her valise and scurried ignominiously out of the door, saying, ‘I’ll wait further along the passage, just in case.’
She barely escaped being run over by a fair-haired young man with steely grey eyes and very definite chin.
‘Library?’ he snapped at her.
She pointed. Oh, dear, perhaps she had been wrong to desert Lady Smythe. She hesitated just beyond the door, then slipped into a niche, squeezing behind a statue of Eros artfully draped with fabric. She had no wish to be caught eavesdropping.
‘Mark,’ Lady Smythe said in dramatic accents. ‘You came for me. What took you so long?’ She burst into tears.
The deep sounds of a male voice offering comfort was followed by the sound of sobbing and explanations. Rosa could only imagine what Lady Smythe was saying, but whatever it was seemed to work because Lady Smythe said, ‘Oh, Mark, I never should have come here.’
A lengthy silence ensued. Lady Smythe clearly wasn’t in need of help. Rosa was working her way around the statue’s plinth when she heard footsteps. She held her breath and remained perfectly still. It was probably one of the servants going about their business.
‘Mark?’ Stanford’s voice. ‘Thank God you are here.’
‘Stanford? You bastard,’ the other man said in a low growl.
Oh, dear, this could get ugly. Perhaps she ought to go and testify on Stanford’s behalf.
The sound of a strike and then a thud made her run for the door and peep in.
Garth was measuring his length on the carpet and staring up at Lord Smythe. He was grinning. He tested his jaw. ‘You always did have a punishing left.’
‘Get up, you coward,’ Lord Smythe growled. ‘I will have satisfaction.’
Stanford looked at Lady Smythe and raised a mocking brow. ‘Well, Penelope?’