The Marquess's Christmas Runaway

by Josie Bonham

  The Marquess's Christmas Runaway

  Josie Bonham

  Pitcheroak Press

  Copyright © 2020 Josie Bonham

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-913856-03-8

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One.

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Reluctant Brides

  Chapter One.

  Cheapside London, December 1806.

  Georgie lay on the hard, narrow bed fully clothed including her travelling cloak and boots. Even with the attic room’s only blanket wrapped tightly around her she was still cold. Night time was the worst. A tell-tale scrabbling around the edge of the room made her shudder. Her head rested on her travelling bag, which had been thrown into her prison after her. Better than no pillow at all and it kept it away from the rats. She couldn’t go on like this for much longer.

  Her hand found the gold chain she had managed to hide in the secret pocket of her cloak. It must be quite valuable. Someone would check on her in the morning. If it was a footman, the chain might be enough to persuade him to help her escape. James, in particular, hadn’t liked having to incarcerate her up here and a footman could easily find another job in London. If only she had thought to enlist James’s help, she might have escaped the first time. She should have realised Cousin Mary’s maid was spying on her. Just her luck that Cousin Algernon had been at home to stop her leaving.

  The sound of doors slamming down below jolted Georgie out of her uneasy half sleep. That would be Algernon coming home foxed again. She stretched her stiff limbs and drew the blanket more tightly around her. Sure enough, she heard the sound of someone staggering upstairs. Erratic footsteps carried on and Georgie froze. Algernon was climbing the attic stairs. A flicker of light showed under the door. Georgie sat up and threw the blanket off. The footsteps stopped nearby and were followed by the sound of the heavy key turning in the lock of her prison door.

  Algernon stumbled into the room and very deliberately rested his candlestick on the windowsill, sending dancing shadows all around. Georgie blinked in the light.

  “You might as well marry me, Georgie, and get this over with. M’mother won’t relent.” Algernon’s words came out as a slurred mumble and he rocked from side to side.

  The smell of alcohol wafted towards Georgie. Her heart thumped. This was her chance. She grabbed the handle of her travel bag at the same time as Algernon lunged towards her and caught hold of the end of the bed to steady himself.

  Georgie jumped up and edged towards the door.

  Algernon followed. “Oh no you don’t. It’s time I sampled the goods to make you see sense.”

  Georgie swung the bag at him as hard as she could. It caught him on the shoulder and he fell onto the bed, hitting his head on the bars of bedstead. He ended up lying across the bed on his stomach, breathing, heavily, but apparently unconscious. Whether from the knock to the head or the alcohol he had consumed she wasn’t sure. There was no time to lose. She snatched up his candlestick and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Every creak of the attic stairs was agony but Georgie reached the floor below, where the family bedrooms were, without incident. There was enough light from a couple of wall sconces to manage the rest of the way. She slipped into Algernon’s bedroom and extinguished the candle flame, leaving the candlestick on the floor by the door. With her breathing so ragged she feared immediate discovery, Georgie ran lightly down the main stairs and gently tried the front door. Luck was with her. It was one of those mornings when Algernon had left it unlocked.

  Georgie closed the door gently behind her and ran down the short flight of steps to the street. It was still dark, except for faint moonlight. After a few deep breaths of the cold night air, she pulled up the hood of her dark grey cloak and walked towards the main road. Cousin Mary had sent her on so many errands, in the time she had been forced to live with her, that Georgie knew the location of every obstacle to be avoided and was able to stay in the shadows close to the houses. There didn’t seem to be anyone about to see her but it was best to be careful. In all likelihood Cousin Mary would have her obnoxious lawyer friend send his people out to try and find out where she had gone.

  Georgie picked up speed as soon as she was well clear of the house until her breath came in heavy gasps, releasing white tendrils into the early morning air. There was always the chance that she had been spotted leaving by one of the servants. She hardly dared to look back but she kept a wary eye out for anyone who might recognise her. The street seemed deserted, without a pedestrian or carriage in sight. It must be too early even for any merchants, who owned a lot of the houses in the area, to be on their way to their places of business. Even if she had been spotted leaving there was still a chance of escape if she could find a hackney. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do to avoid being captured.

  The main road came into view and Georgie was relieved to see a fair number of carts rumbling past the end of the road. Probably on their way to markets but that meant there might be hackneys abroad soon. She redoubled her efforts. There was less shelter here. Sleet froze her cheeks and settled in dips in the uneven pavement. She ignored her burning lungs and threw herself around the corner. Her boots slipped on wet slush, taking her onto the cobbles of the main road. The side of a stationary cart caught her in the midriff and knocked the last remnants of breath from her. She grabbed at it and somehow stayed on her feet. The carter gave a string of oaths.

  “Watch what you’re a doing Miss. If we’d moved off then you’d a been under the wheels.” He shook his head at her in reproach but what she could see of his face, above the thick muffler wrapped around his neck and over his chin, seemed friendly enough.

  Georgie gulped in more air and nodded, unable to speak. The traffic started moving again and the driver of a carriage arriving behind shouted at them to move on. Georgie tried to step away but was obliged to catch hold of the cart again as her feet scrabbled to gain purchase on the wet footpath. The carter stood up and waved a fist at the coachman.

  “Give over. Can’t you see as how the young miss is winded?”

  He jumped down from the cart and picked up her valise. “You better ride with me for a bit until you can breathe again.”

  Georgie didn’t argue. He threw her bag onto the bales of hay filling the back of the cart, and helped her on to the seat. She took the reins from him and risked a glance around. There was no sign of pursuit. Her
heart hammered. The few minutes it took for the carter to walk around, addressing a few pithy comments to the complaining coachman on the way, seemed like a lifetime. Her breathing eased as they moved off. They were going in the right direction even if progress was slow. The traffic thinned out and the carter turned and tilted his head towards her.

  “Can you talk now, Miss

  “Yes. Thank you so much. I was in such a hurry I slipped.”

  “I could see that.” He raised bushy eyebrows. “Where is it you’re in a rush to get to?”

  Georgie breathed deeply. She had no choice but to trust him. “Fetter Lane. If you would drop me before you go off the route, I’ll happily pay you.”

  “I have to deliver this lot to Smithfield.” He jerked his head towards the back of the cart. “I can take you all the way. By the weight of that bag it’s the White Horse you want.”

  “Yes please. It’s my aunt you see.” A sob broke from her, quickly suppressed. In a way it was the truth, if Aunt Anne was still alive she would be living safely with her.

  “Bad news, eh. Don’t worry, Miss. It’s early yet. You’ll be in plenty of time for a morning coach. Folks won’t be too keen to travel in this weather, so there should be seats going.”

  Georgie peered behind whenever her rescuer wasn’t looking. The sky was starting to lighten up and she kept her hood pulled forward, covering most of her face. No one seemed to have the slightest interest in them. If she had got away without being seen it would be hours before anyone checked on her.

  ***

  The red brick façade of the White Horse coaching inn came into view. Georgie gasped at the size of it and the press of people milling around watching the coaches leave. They pulled up nearby. The noise of constant arrivals and departures was deafening. Georgie tipped the carter and he lifted her valise down. She winced as she picked it up. Her ribs felt bruised and her shoulder ached from running with the heavy bag. The carter gave her a cheery wave before moving off. Luck was favouring her so far. Would she get a ticket for the Canterbury stage coach?

  Her ears roared for a moment and the noise receded. She gave her head a shake. She was not the sort of female to faint away at the slightest thing. Everything came back into focus and she carried on. It took her some time to pick her way through the melee and find the coach booking office.

  The elderly clerk scratched his head. “Kent you say, Miss?”

  “Yes please.”

  “Hmm. The Canterbury coach is fully booked. There might be another way to route you.” He licked his lips and rubbed his hands together, not meeting her gaze.

  Georgie had heard about the practice of sending people a roundabout way to charge more and stood her ground. She had no choice with the meagre contents of her purse.

  “I’ll ride on the outside if I have to but I must get to …” She paused. It wouldn’t do to give too much away. “To Canterbury, this evening.” She could tell the guard on the coach that she wanted to get off before Canterbury.

  A porter came in staggering under a pile of packages. He dumped them in an alcove. “That’s the last lot from the Cambridge mail coach.”

  “Good.” The clerk sighed. “Do you know if there is any space on the Canterbury stage?” He nodded at Georgie. “She’s only a slip of a thing.”

  Georgie held her breath.

  The porter smiled. “They’re loading up. The coachman was moaning because someone hasn’t turned up. Can’t say as how I blame them; we’ll have snow for sure soon. You’re in luck if you can afford an inside seat, Miss.”

  The clerk named a price that sounded high, but she had enough to cover it with a little left over. The landlady at the Golden Cross would surely put her up for a few nights and wait for payment. Her funds wouldn’t stretch to lodgings as well as coach fare.

  She handed over the fee and the porter picked up her valise.

  “Follow me. They’re nearly ready to leave.”

  Georgie trotted after him. He dropped her valise by a coach and shouted up to the driver.

  “This is the last one. Hope the snow holds off for you.”

  Georgie shivered. Snow was all she needed but, as long as she made it to the safety of the Golden Cross, heavy snow that stopped travel later on would help her. If she stayed hidden from Cousin Mary for five more days she would be free. It was certainly cold enough for more snow. The outside passengers were muffled up in so many layers of clothes it was difficult to tell what sex they were. She scrambled into the coach and a plump woman made room for her on the forward facing seat.

  She sank back onto the seat. The gap was so narrow it was difficult to avoid the knees of the man sitting opposite. Nausea threatened to overcome her as the smell of onions wafted across from him. It must be because she hadn’t eaten for so long. She mentally added up how much money she had left. It should be enough to buy something to eat at one of the stops. The coach pulled away. She was so tired she drifted into an uneasy sleep, only for the memory of Algernon’s wet lips on hers to plague her dreams.

  ***

  She was back in Cousin Mary’s shabby drawing room, fighting Algernon off with all her strength. Her throat constricted with terror and in desperation she kicked out at him with her sturdy walking boots. Algernon’s yelp brought his mother running. She breathed easier when he flounced out of the room, declaring he didn’t want to marry a shrew who went around kicking people.

  “What do you think you are doing, attacking my son.” Cousin Mary glared at her. “Running away too, after all I’ve done for you, you ungrateful wretch.”

  Georgie stood tall and faced her. “How can you expect me to stay here with your son trying to seduce me at every turn.” Somehow, she kept her voice steady.

  Cousin Mary’s face went bright red. “You’ll marry him or starve, my girl. I’m not letting your fortune slip through our fingers.” She stared at Georgie, her eyes cold, hard pebbles. “I’ll have you put in the attics until you see sense.” Her voice rose to a screech. “James, William. In here, now!”

  The two manservants came running and Georgie was carried, kicking and screaming, up to the attics. She was thrown into a dark room with the tiniest of windows. The door slammed in her face.

  ***

  Georgie woke up with a start. The man who smelled of onions was grumbling loudly and she realised they were stationary. She felt clammy despite the cold. Cousin Mary hadn’t found her, had she?

  The plump woman patted her shoulder. “Don’t look so worried, dear. It’s only some silly lads overtaking us for fun, not highwaymen.”

  The coach started up again and Georgie saw a curricle in the ditch as they pulled out wide. Her conscience was troubling her about leaving Algernon with a possible head injury, but she wouldn’t have had another chance to escape. He’d been so foxed he’d landed softly and besides he should have stood up to his mother and stopped her from trying to starve her into submission. The plump lady opened a bag and the smell of fresh bread made her stomach rumble. Three days without food had left her feeling weak.

  She managed to buy a scalding hot cup of coffee and a small piece of bread and cheese at one of the longer halts. Her mouth fell open at the price. She wouldn’t be able to afford anything else. She didn’t have time to finish the food but she took it back on the coach with her. It relieved the worst of the hunger pangs. They were in a battle to outrun the weather. The sleet of London turned to light snow during the second half of the journey. Georgie could hear shouted curses coming from the coachman as he was forced to slow down in places.

  The light began to fade and Georgie shivered as she watched the flakes of snow falling past the window. They were definitely getting bigger. She drifted into an uneasy slumber and woke with a start when her head knocked against the side of the coach. It slowed and then lurched onwards. A glance out of the window confirmed that snow was lying in a thin layer on the road. At least they weren’t far away now. They rounded the sharp bend that lay before the Golden Cross. She tensed when the coach slith
ered across to the other side of the road. Fortunately, there was nothing coming in the other direction.

  The coach slowed and turned into the yard of the inn. She was the only passenger to alight. The guard threw her valise down and the coach was on its way as soon as the ostlers had changed the horses. She crept in around the back and made use of the necessary house. Then if anyone saw her they wouldn’t be surprised she hadn’t gone in the front way. The back hall was deserted. Was it her imagination or was it dirtier than she remembered? The floor looked as if it hadn’t been swept for a while and surely that was dust on the skirting board. How strange. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself as a wave of dizziness hit her. If the place had changed hands she was in trouble.

  Chapter Two

  Max Lovell, Marquess of Hargreaves, put his cue away. “Three losses are enough for one day. Well done.”

  Simon Pyrce shook his head. “That’s the first time I’ve beaten you at billiards in as long as I can remember. You’re losing your touch, Hargreaves. With the ladies too.” He slapped Max on the back. “Must be the shock of missing out with the merry widow to old Villiers.”

  Max grunted. “I thought I had been discreet.”

  “You were, old boy, only those of us who know you well would have guessed you were interested in that direction.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Max drew in a sharp breath. He ought to be used to being the butt of gossip.

  “Don’t look so blue-devilled, no harm done and you never had a chance if it was a ring she was after.”

  “No, I suppose not.” How had he misread the signs so badly with Lydia? “Villiers has done me a favour. I’ll be damned if I ever let another woman trick me into proposing.”

  “Not still worried about that old scandal, are you?” Simon gripped his shoulder. “Come on, I’ve ordered a late luncheon to be laid out in the breakfast room for those who want it. Some estate reared beef and a good claret will soon set you straight.”