presented a calm expression. ‘If you would excuse me?’ She moved to step around him.
He shifted and blocked her path. ‘I would excuse you anything at all,’ he said with a dark smile. ‘What is your offence?’
‘I say, Stanford,’ called Mr Phillips, a man so pale he looked as if he had never stepped in the sun, pale eyes, pale thinning hair, pale skin. ‘They are setting up the butts. Time to make good on your boast.’
The crowd on the balcony were drifting down the steps at the far end, heading for the lawn.
A flicker of emotion passed over his face. Annoyance at the interruption? Before he could say more, Rosa ducked around him and hurried to Lady Keswick’s side, her heart beating far faster than she wanted to admit. ‘You win, my lady.’ Her voice sounded breathless as if she’d run a mile. She drew in a steadying breath. ‘The gardeners were indeed too much of a match for the gentlemen.’
‘Fifty guineas isn’t a bad profit for indolence,’ Lady Keswick said with twinkling eyes. ‘Hapton is a fool with his money. Tell Jonas to see that the lads get a shilling each for their effort. Will you join the guests at the butts?’
‘I have no skill with a bow and prefer to watch from up here. Would you like to move closer to the balcony for a better view?’
Lady Keswick reached out and patted her hand. ‘You are a good girl, Rose. And you have talent. By summer’s end I am sure I can find you a place in the opera.’
The end of the summer might be too late. Triggs was beginning to press for his money.
Rosa pushed the old lady towards the terrace wall. ‘Has no one replied?’
‘Have patience. They are busy people. One of them will come through, I am sure.’
It was their agreement. Rosa would help entertain the guests over the next few weeks, and Lady Keswick would help her find a role in an opera company.
Only things were not going quite as she’d planned. The money she was earning as a companion was not enough for her urgent needs. It was beginning to look as if she might need to find something more lucrative. A role in an opera seemed as if it might be her best option.
To date, though, there had been no one interested in hiring an unknown singer, in spite of Lady Keswick’s unqualified praise.
Hopefully, Rosa wouldn’t need to fall back on her talent. Hopefully, she would find what she needed tonight and all her worries would be solved.
‘I am grateful for your help.’
‘Pshaw,’ the old lady said as she looked down at the company gathered on the lawn. ‘Did I tell you I was considered the best female archer in all of Sussex in my girlhood?’
Many times. ‘How did that come about?’ Rosa opened her parasol, shading them both from the afternoon sun.
‘It was in seventy-eight,’ Lady Keswick mused. Then scrunched up her face. ‘Or was it seventy-nine? No matter. Keswick was present, you know. He always said that was the day he learned about love …’
Love. Wasn’t it love that had brought Rosa to Sussex and to the house of a woman with a less-than-stellar reputation? An actress who had married an elderly nobleman. When Rosa saw Lady Keswick’s advertisement for a companion at this house, so close to where Rosa had grown up, the opportunity had seemed heaven-sent.
And if she was wrong about her father’s love? What then? Her hands clenched inside her gloves. She would not let such doubts enter her head. The idea was too painful to contemplate.
‘Oh, I say, nice shot!’ Lady Keswick cried, dragging Rosa’s attention back to the contest. Lady Smythe had hit the bull and was now laughing up at Lord Bannerby. It was the first time she’d seen the young woman look even moderately happy since she’d arrived. Bannerby tucked a loose strand of copper hair behind a shell-like ear with a grin that said his intentions were all bad, while Stanford glowered at the pair from the sidelines as if he wanted to challenge Bannerby to a duel for that touch.
Jealousy between rival males. Something in Rosa’s chest felt uncomfortable, the way a pebble in a shoe felt. A painful irritation.
She really didn’t belong in this house. The sooner she left the better. And tonight’s search would end all her difficulties. It must.
Garth stared up at the haloed moon and drew on his cigar. He sent a stream of smoke upwards to form a cloud above his head. A fluky gust of wind whipped it away. He enjoyed a smoke before bed, yet hated the smell of stale cigars first thing in the morning. So here he stood on the terrace to blow a cloud after the rest of the guests had retired. Some to their own rooms. Some to those of other guests.
He grinned as he recalled Bannerby’s obvious confusion when he’d chased him away from Penelope’s door. Hopefully that would be an end to the man’s ambition.
His lip curled. All he needed to do now was get the foolish wench to go home before a braver man than Bannerby tried his luck. Hapton, for example.
Garth turned the cigar in his fingers and observed the glowing tip through narrowed eyes. If he could get her out of here quickly, perhaps Mark need never know.
A scandal of that sort would make life for Mark unbearable. Unsupportable. The stupid wench.
He drew hard on his cheroot, fury at her deception a low fire in his stomach.
The sky turned dark. Rain spattered on his shoulders and in his hair, left dark spots on the terrace flags in a sudden rush of wind. The shower ceased. The cloud cleared, leaving the moonlit landscape grey and full of shadows. He gazed at that telltale ring of moisture around the moon and the increasing number of clouds floating by. More rain to come.
A door opened and closed somewhere around the corner. Someone coming in or going out? Mildly curious, he stubbed out his cigar and strolled down the steps. As he rounded the corner, he glimpsed the back of a figure enveloped in a black cloak. A woman, he thought from the slender shape and quick short steps. A chambermaid off to meet her beau in the village? He frowned. If he remembered correctly, the village lay in the other direction. There was something familiar about the hurrying figure. One of the guests?
A smile pulled at his lips. Intrigue was rife in this house, but why would one of the guests need to leave the comfort of a well-appointed bed in pursuit of bliss? Tantalised, he followed and caught another glimpse of the quick-paced shadow disappearing into the woodland to the east of the house, then a whiff of jasmine.
Mrs Travenor? Rose. Her height should have given her away, but she was the last female he would have expected to see scurrying off to an assignation. Was he, then, so naïve? Hardly.
She might have purity in her face, but beneath her still surface, she was as wicked as any woman. A pang of disappointment stilled him. No, he wasn’t disappointed. He was glad. It meant his instincts about her were right. He would only be disappointed if she’d proved to be virtuous.
Arriving at the entrance to the woods a few moments later, Garth saw no sign of the woman. Paths led in three directions and, with no sound to guide him, he halted.
He inhaled. Was it imagination, or did a trace of her perfume linger on the rich damp air? Where was she going? It was not a good night to meet a man out of doors unless there was some handily placed
