A Dangerous Collaboration (A Veronica Speedwell Mystery) by Deanna Raybourn (english novels for students .txt) 📕

“That is the most appalling, sentimental rubbish—”

I broke in. “And of course, he has this,” I added, sweeping an arm to indicate the castle. “I am sure your country seat is impressive, but it isn’t a castle, is it? And you only inherited it last year. You didn’t even have a title when Rosamund met you. Besides, I seem to recall that your father kept you on rather limited purse strings.”

“I managed,” he said through clenched teeth. He rose and refilled his glass.

“But your father was not in ill health,” I persisted. “He was the head of the family and there was no indication he would leave you to inherit for another twenty years. What woman would care to wait for her husband to step into dead man’s shoes when she could be mistress of this castle right at the beginning?”

“You think she wanted him for his castle?” he demanded.

“Oh, not entirely. I meant what I said about his personal attractions. Granted, he is a bit careworn at present, but I suspect he is capable of quite pleasurable wooing. And there is something gravely sweet about him, old-fashioned, as you say. Courtly.”

“Courtly!” He fairly spat the word. “You think Rosamund preferred courtliness?”

I shrugged. “I did not know her. But I can tell you that it is easy to see why a woman would rather throw her lot in with a pleasant and easy gentleman of wealth like Malcolm Romilly instead of gambling her happiness on you. It is the difference between walking a paddock with a pony and galloping barebacked over the Downs in a lightning storm with a stallion between your thighs.”

I darted him a look and he broke into a smile, raising his glass. “Hoist with my own petard.”

“Well, what did you expect?” I asked, smoothing my dressing gown. “Of course you are the obvious choice for any woman of spirit and verve. But Malcolm is safe, and for many women, there is no greater attraction than security.”

“How dull you make it sound!” he observed.

“It is not dull to want to know that one will always be fed and clothed and have a roof over one’s head. Only someone who has never faced the specter of the workhouse could think security to be dull. Rosamund was forced to earn her way in the world. That means the greatest luxury imaginable to her must have been Malcolm’s stability. His predictability would have consoled her, would have made her feel safe as nothing else in the world possibly could.”

“You would never do that,” he said suddenly. “You would choose the lightning.”

I turned to look at the fire. “We are discussing Rosamund,” I reminded him. “And she chose Malcolm. I presume you did give her a choice. You offered her marriage?”

“I did,” he told me promptly. “Or at least I tried. She wouldn’t let me finish. We were sitting on the little shingle beach overlooking the Sisters. Her hair had come loose, masses of dark hair, tossing in the wind. She sat there, plucking the petals off a flower, offering each one up to the breezes. ‘He loves me, he loves me not,’ she teased me. And that is when I took her hard by the shoulders and told her of course I loved her. By way of response, she broke the flower in half, throwing the pieces of it to the beach. ‘Then you’re a fool,’ she said, with such maddening coolness you would have thought we were strangers. And only the previous night she had been in my bed, clawing at me like a wild thing.”

His hand tightened again around the glass and for an instant I thought he meant to throw it. Instead, he put it with great care onto the table at his elbow. “She told me that she intended to marry Malcolm and that was the end of it. Nothing I could say would dissuade her. I am sorry to say I was ungentlemanly enough to threaten to reveal our dalliance. The previous night was not the first time we had been together. Four, five times over that month. It was like a game to her at the beginning. She was reserved and cool, as untouchable as a Renaissance Madonna during the day, when others were around. But when we could steal a few moments alone, she was unleashed, like nothing I had ever known, demanding and violent in her passions.”

I said nothing. He went on, talking almost more to the fire than to me. “When I threatened to go to Malcolm with the truth, she laughed. She said it was my word against hers and who would believe a libertine like me? The next morning, they announced their engagement at breakfast. I shall never forget the air of triumph about her as she clung to him. He was so damnably proud of it, making everyone look at the Romilly betrothal ring on her finger. I could not bear the sight of them. I left that same day. I told Malcolm that my father required me to accompany him on a trip to Russia and that I had left it too long. He pleaded with me to stay, to stand up at his wedding as his supporter, but I told him Father insisted, and I went. I never saw her again.”

“When did you give her the harpsichord?”

A cruel smile touched his lips. “I found it in London, just before I left for Russia. It had already been decorated with the mythological scenes and I thought it would be a grand joke if I had my own face painted onto the image of Jupiter and the striped roses added to garland Leda’s head. It took the artist only a day to make the changes, and I had it sent on to her, a sort of secret engagement present. Only she would know what it was meant to represent. She practiced every day, you know. I loved to think of