The sunlight was bright, falling in a shaft of sunbeams across Jessica’s face. Her eyes opened sleepily and she stared across the room at the unfamiliar blue silk wallpaper and the bowl of delphiniums standing in the corner on the lilac and white carpet. A shadow moved across the sunlight and she sat up abruptly. Someone was sitting on the window seat.
“Rosamund?”
Rosamund smiled uncertainly, her long pale hands clasped neatly in her lap, her golden hair piled expertly into tumbling Grecian locks that peeped precisely from beneath her lacy mobcap. “Jessica.”
“What do you want?” Jessica pulled the brocade coverlet around her bare shoulders.
“To end our differences.”
“Why? Oh, I don’t mean to sound so distrustful, but you must admit this change of heart has come somewhat abruptly.”
“I know.” Rosamund reddened uncomfortably and her hands moved nervously over the sprigged muslin of her gown. “I was being churlish.”
“With good cause. I have given you little reason to like me, I know that.”
“It was something Nicholas said last night—about Philip not being worth the breach in our friendship. He was right, you know. Or perhaps you do not know, for no doubt my husband showed only his charming and attentive side to you. He loved you dearly in his way.”
“As I did him.”
“Then continue to remember him kindly, for it can do no harm now.”
“So mellow suddenly?”
“You know I felt nothing but dislike for him. I know well enough you considered that before going with him. I love Francis. Did you know?”
Jessica nodded. “And how does he feel?”
“Oh, would that I knew. You know how he is. Even if he was consumed with desire for me he would say nothing. First of all, I was married to Philip and Francis was betrothed to you. Then Philip died and I am a widow in fresh weeds.” She smiled, glancing down at the dark green embroidery on the pale cream muslin. “Or at least, I should be. But I cannot pretend to mourn a man I hated.”
“And I would mourn him but have no right. We are a pair, aren’t we?”
“I must explain my behavior toward you, Jess. You see, I had forgiven you for the blow to my pride. I felt no animosity toward you, for you kept Philip in London and I was not forced to be polite to him or to.... Well, I saw little of him, shall we say. When he died I thought that, at last, Francis might notice me, for I was determined I would come before his attention until he was forced to notice me. But you came back, Jess. That was like a blow across the face to me. I knew Francis had asked you to marry him because he loved you, not because the match was arranged or because it was a prudent marriage. You were virtually penniless, a farmer’s daughter, and he was the greatest landowner in north Somerset. For him, at least, it was a love match. Can you understand how I felt when I knew you would be in Henbury once more? Alone and, no doubt, as beautiful as ever. I could not cope with my jealousy, and I freely admit it.”
“I don’t want Francis. I never have. I was grievously at fault in ever accepting his proposal in the first place. You had to marry Philip, for it was your father’s wish. There was no such onus on me, and yet I chose to accept Francis’ suit.”
“The prospect of such a marriage must have been a great temptation, and he is so gentle and kind.” Rosamund lowered her eyes shyly.
For a moment Jessica saw Francis as he had been in the study at Varangian. What if Nicholas’ suspicions were correct? She did not look at Rosamund. “Your way to him is clear, Rosamund, for I offer no threat. I do assure you that he does not love me. He may have once, but certainly not now. Does that reassure you a little?”
Rosamund’s eyes filled with sudden tears and Jessica stared at the expression of guilt on her face. Guilt? With a quick breath Rosamund seemed about to say something more when a new sound was heard outside the bedroom door.
A stick tap-tapped on the polished wooden floor and Rosamund went pale. “Lady Amelia!” she whispered, getting nervously to her feet.
The door opened and the old lady came in. She was dressed from head to toe in the deepest mourning, her black mobcap adorned with long weepers. Beads of jet flashed on her thin chest, and her heavy crepe skirts rustled as she crossed the room to stand by the bed. She glanced coldly at Rosamund. “You may go now, miss.”
“Yes, Lady Amelia.”
The sharp bright eyes moved over the sprigged muslin. “You will wear black, madam. I insist upon it.”
Rosamund said nothing, but her chin came up defiantly as she went to the door, closing it quietly behind her.
“Why are you here, Miss Durleigh?”
“Force of circumstances, Lady Amelia, and most certainly not choice.”
“There is no need to be flippant, missy. I have given orders for the gig to be made ready. You may leave the moment you are dressed.”
“Very well.”
The old lady walked to the window to look out over the ornamental gardens with their high, decorative hedges and pools. “My son should not have brought you here. I am angered that he saw fit to do so. What is it about you, Miss Durleigh? Nicholas associates with you for one evening and comes home with the coachman wounded by his pistol. Do you begin to set your sights at my elder son now?”
Jessica smiled dryly. “If this is the direction of your conversation, Lady Amelia, then you have chosen it and not I. I set my sights at Francis Varangian, not at Philip. Your sons are perfectly capable of seeking out for themselves that which they want. I know that to be so of Philip, and I should imagine that Sir Nicholas is the same. You play them false by suggesting they are susceptible to the wiles of a mere woman.”
“A whore, Miss Durleigh, a whore.”
“You may insult me if you choose, for I am most certainly a prisoner in this bed until you leave.”
Lady Amelia turned quickly to look at her. “I despise you, missy, as I have never despised another human being in my life. Until he became so besotted with you, Philip was everything any mother could desire in a son. But you changed him. He became secretive and scheming, treating all and sundry with contempt, viciousness even, and spending far more money than he could ever have come by legally. To keep you, no doubt. You have a lot to answer for, Miss Durleigh. Now get you from this house and never return again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly.” Jessica stared at the Jacobean lowers embroidered on the coverlet, her face a lull red, and she felt cold and sick at the old woman’s hatred.
The stick tapped around the edge of the carpet, and at the door Lady Amelia paused. “Where did he get his money?” she asked slowly, watching Jessica carefully.
“I do not know. I trusted him in every way and felt no need to inquire of such things.”
The thin lips tightened angrily at the barb, but Jessica sensed the old woman had somehow relaxed, that her answer to the question had in some way settled an anxiety.
When the door closed at last, Jessica slipped from the bed and picked up the diamond necklace from its hiding place beneath the pillow. The stones winked and glittered in the sunbeams from the window as she looked at it. The money had come from Francis Varangian, she knew that now. But why? Why? Everything seemed set to fit into place, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that insist upon being completed. And the finished picture she knew she would not like.
She slipped the necklace into her reticule and picked up the bloodstained, yellow silk gown.