Francesca knew what she was about to do would cause a considerable amount of strife in her life, but she also fully appreciated that there simply was no other way.
“I suggest you get back on your box, Simmington, and turn the carriage around right now. The guests here are not expected, and are not welcome.” Francesca’s voice was cold and hard.
Simmington stood indecisively, unsure what to do.
“Francesca? What the blazes are you talking about, girl?” her father snapped, slamming open the door and yelling for Simmington to get the steps. When Simmington jumped to follow his orders, Francesca stalked forward, yanked the steps out of the coachman’s hand and threw them into the bushes.
She was so very sick and tired of living in fear. Fear of Mr Lindsay’s threatening visits. Fear of enjoying a walk out on the moors in case she met Charlie and Tom. Fear of Simon leaving and breaking her heart. She had spent each day since her arrival at Thistledown living in fear of her family arriving and demanding she return to the family homestead, so they could sell her like a horse to the highest bidder.
She had wealth. She had a house to call her own. She was no burden to anyone and, although she was making life considerably harder for herself, she had the freedom to choose what she wanted to do, when she wanted to do it. Nobody was going to take that away from her. Not Simon and certainly not her family.
Manners dictated that she smile, stand back and accommodate her family’s unexpected and rudely unannounced arrival. Good breeding demanded that she smile through their snide remarks at the state of the house, ignore the sniping at her lack of beauty and social skills, and pretend she hadn’t heard the constant demands from her mother, and petulant whining of her sisters.
Her temper demanded that she not waste any more of her life on people who didn’t care whether she was alive or dead. Who only saw her for her monetary value and nothing else. Her family’s needs and wants were most probably the least important matter in her life right now. Her heart was breaking from the news that Simon was leaving, tomorrow at the latest.
Turning toward the carriage, she yanked the door and slammed it closed – hard.
“Simmington, get back on your box,” she ordered.
“I say, Francesca, what the devil are you playing at? Let us out of here at once.”
“You aren’t staying. If you head back to Launceston right now I am sure you will find a coaching inn that will meet your wife’s exacting standards. I am afraid Thistledown is closed to unannounced visitors,” she snapped crisply, turning away when her mother began to screech about the ordeals of travelling and she must have rest and sustenance – now.
She glared at Simmington, who slapped the reins. The horses had taken no more than a few steps when the heavy thumping on the roof made Simmington stop them again.
“Simmington,” Francesca warned, ignoring the shrieks and wails coming from within the carriage.
Her father leaned as far out of the carriage as his shoulders would allow and he began to shout.
“I demand you let us out of here, Francesca, this moment, or I swear to God I will lock you in your room and never let you out again.”
“Ha! You could try, you arrogant fop,” Francesca snapped, standing back and glaring at the coachman. “Simmington, if you don’t get this carriage out of here I am going inside for my gun and I won’t be responsible for what I do.”
Simmington jumped, and the horses began to walk. Even from several feet away Francesca heard the hard thumping on the roof of the carriage. Simmington stopped the horses once more.
Determined not to be thwarted, and protect Thistledown from an invasion of probably the most spoilt people God ever put on the earth, Francesca placed her hands on her hips and shot Simmington a warning look. Shaking his head, Simmington immediately snapped the reins and the horses began to move for the third time.
From the depths of the hall, Simon, who had been watching the interplay carefully, began to laugh. It was so comical, watching the carriage stop and start. The groomsmen on the back were struggling to keep the boxes on top of the conveyance. The jerking of the carriage as it rocked backward and forward threw Francesca’s father off his feet, and he kept falling back into the carriage. His disappearance was heralded with cries of objection from the women he fell on. Simmington looked as though he was going to have a stroke and the horses had taken to shaking their heads and stomping their feet in confusion.
Simon leaned against the large newel post at the bottom of the steps and crossed his arms. He was aware of Pie and Archie moving to stand beside him to watch, and Bertie peering out from the security of the sitting room. He had never seen this fiery side of Francesca before and was stunned by it. She was simply beautiful. Her hair had fallen out of its pins, and lay in wild disarray around her shoulders. Her pale bosom heaved with the force of her temper but it was her eyes. Those beautifully, usually warm amber eyes shot shards of scorching fire that burned him, even from several feet away.
“Should we intervene, or wait until they have done a full circuit of the fountain?” Archie asked wryly, watching as Francesca waved her fist at the confused coachmen. The funniest thing was the sight of the two footmen on the back of the conveyance who were trying desperately to keep all of the boxes on the back; boxes that continued to fall off when the carriage rocked. They had long since given up jumping down to collect one or two boxes and had resorted to one standing on the ground ready to catch any fallers and immediately throw them back up again to the second, who had taken to randomly throwing them onto the roof in a haphazard pile that was likely to fall off anyway.
“We’ll give it another few minutes,” Simon said, pleased that Francesca was able to burn off some of her temper. It would make her less likely to singe his own ears when he sent her to Hugo and Harriett’s. “As long as they don’t try to take her, or harm her in any way, we will let her vent her fury at them.”
“There’s a lot built up,” Bertie called from the sitting room. “Years of misery and upset they have caused her. Good on her, I say.”
Simon nodded, knowing that she needed to get this out of her system. If she had any chance of laying past ghosts to rest, she had to at first confront them, as painful as that might be.
Francesca’s patience was wearing thin and she began to wonder if she should just go and borrow Simon’s pistol and start to pick them off, one by one.
“I say, Francesca, you are going to regret behaving like this,” her father shouted from the carriage. “I demand that you get those steps back and let us down this instant. I knew I should have taken the strap to you when you refused to marry that Roger thingmwhatsit.”
“I told you she was cruel and heartless. Always was a selfish one that one,” she heard her mother wail. “Refusing to marry a perfectly amiable and wealthy gentleman, and for what? To live in this ramshackle old hovel? It’s not on, I tell you, it simply cannot continue. She is bringing disgrace upon the entire Hillier name. It has to be stopped!”
Simon heard the words clearly and it was enough to push him into motion. Walking out of the front door, he moved to stand beside Francesca and slid an arm around her waist in silent support. When she looked up at him askance, he winked at her, well aware that the carriage had gone silent. He could see the veritable sea of faces jostling to get a better view of him but refused to look at them, staring instead at Francesca’s father.
“Mr Hillier, I presume,” Simon drawled, his voice cold and hard. He heard someone gasp from deep within the carriage, but at least the awful wailing had stopped.
“Who the blazes are you? Have you taken leave of your senses, girl, and taken a lover? The scandal! Just what in the hell do you think you are doing?” Mr Hillier’s florid face grew redder as he continued to pour vitriol out of the window. “You always were headstrong but I never took you for a floozy. I didn’t think even you would stoop that low. Have you never stopped to consider the effect this has on your poor mother, let alone your sisters’ matrimonial chan
ces?” Hillier turned a hard glare at Simon. “I don’t know who you are, you scoundrel, but you have taken advantage of a betrothed woman.”
“I’m not betrothed,” Francesca spat, refusing to allow her father to issue such a lie.
“We agreed a contract with Roger Thingmwhatsit. After a lot of persuasion on my part, he has finally relented and agreed to take you off our hands. It’s a done deal,” he snapped, pointing one long finger at her. “Although God knows how much this is going to cost me. Now I am going to have to pave the way to informing him that you are not going into the marriage pure. Heaven forbid you find out you are with child before the wedding. You will have to get rid of it, do you understand? Get rid of it!”
Simon glanced down at Francesca. “Does he ever shut up?”
“Not really. When he does manage to get a word in, he takes the opportunity to make up for lost time.” She sensed Simon still looking at her and turned toward him, one brow raised in query. “What?”
“I love you,” he whispered, smiling gently at the shock on her face.
“Pardon?” she gasped, staring at him with a mixture of delight and confusion. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Simon growled, smiling down at her. Some invisible weight; some unimaginable burden he had been carrying around for quite some time suddenly lifted, adding light to the shadows and bringing forward a peace that he had never experienced before. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
To the sound of squabbling coming from inside the carriage, and the relentless vocal threats to Francesca’s safety, Simon tipped her chin upward and kissed her the way he had wanted to do for the past several weeks. Drawing her tight against his chest, he angled his head and laid siege to her senses.
He had tried to talk her into leaving for Padstow, only to come across her anger. Maybe a more seductive persuasion was needed. One thing was for certain, having stood and watched the depths of Francesca’s desperation to protect everything she held dear to her heart, he couldn’t disappear and leave her. He wasn’t cold and callous enough to simply turn his back and walk away, and leave her to the mercenary machinations of the man who had sired her. He fully understood her love of Thistledown. Sometime over the past several weeks, it had grown on him too. The wild moors, at first glance barren and bleak, were home to a plethora of wildlife that was simply awe inspiring. The bracken and craggy bluffs that loomed out of the ground like sentries keeping a watchful and protective eye on the barren land were an integral part of the wild and unkempt landscape. It called to the wildness within him and brought him peace and mystery at the same time. He loved it almost as much as he loved the woman in his arms.
He still didn’t know if his love of Thistledown was because he could see the hidden beauty that would be revealed by some tender loving care, or whether it was because it was such a large part of who Francesca was. Either way, he knew it was now a large part of him too; of who he was now, and he simply couldn’t ignore it.
When a particularly loud wail broke his thoughts, he broke the kiss and turned toward the carriage.
“I sir, am Francesca’s husband,” he snarled, drawing himself up to his full height. He ignored Francesca’s soft gasp from beside him and glared ominously at the grey-haired man who was clearly outraged.
“And who might you be?” Hillier demanded disparagingly, raking Simon from head to toe with a contemptuous glare.
“I, sir, am the third Earl of Marlbrook and I would strongly recommend you speak about my wife, Lady Marlbrook, in more amiable tones, or I shall see to it that you are driven off this property and your disgraceful show of ill-mannered behaviour is known within every social circle of worth.” Simon felt very much like his formidable father as he glared down his patrician nose at Francesca’s sire. “Now, I do believe my wife has made her feelings perfectly clear. Seeing as you have seen fit to travel all this way without having the common decency to announce your arrival, especially knowing you have not been invited, I am sure you will understand that Thistledown is currently undergoing extensive renovations to return it to its former glory. We are not in a position to accommodate guests, even ones such as yourselves. Meantime, as my wife says, I am sure you will find an adequate coaching inn, but maybe you should try further afield, maybe in - ,” he glanced down at Francesca enquiringly, “Oxfordshire, was it?”
Francesca’s lips twitched as she absorbed the priceless look on her father’s face. He didn’t know whether to be blissfully happy, or outraged that he had been thwarted in such a fashion.
“I do believe that any future communication should be directed through my solicitors, Kepplewhite, Ambleton and Bestwick, Mayfair, London.” He took several steps back, drawing Francesca with him. “Simmington! Drive on and don’t stop until you reach Oxfordshire.”
The sound of wailing from within the carriage could be heard as it trundled away, leaving blessed silence in its wake.
“Just tell me one thing,” Simon asked, shaking his head ruefully at her.
“What’s that?”
“Are you frequently prone to such fiery fits of temper?”
Francesca wrinkled up her nose and felt her cheeks flood with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, it was very unladylike of me, but I simply cannot stand them being here. You have no idea what they are like.”
“Oh, I think I do,” Simon sighed, wondering how someone so horrible could create such a gracious beauty as Francesca. No wonder James Hillier had taken her under his wing and adopted her. He felt a strange kinship for the man, and gratitude for his generosity toward the young woman beside him.
Turning her gently toward the house, he closed the front door behind them with a sigh of relief, pleased to have been able to ease the strain of another of her problems.
Francesca was still struggling with the shock of Simon’s actions. Not only announcing she was his wife, but also declaring his love for her. She daren’t even think about the kiss he had given her. Had it all been pretend? She wasn’t sure and didn’t know how to ask.
“You two aren’t married, are you?” Archie asked with a frown, wondering if he had missed something.
Simon shook his head and smiled. “But they don’t know that. Even if they do have the temerity to check, they have no idea where we married to be able to check the parish records.
“Clever,” Archie replied, pulling a face. “I thought for a minute there that I had missed the event of the year.”
“What?” Simon asked incredulously. “Is it implausible that I might consider marriage one day?”
“Not you, Simon. Of all of us, you are the last one who would be snared by the parson’s trap.” Pie shook his head and disappeared into the kitchens.
Francesca felt her heart break as the cold wash of reality swept over her. She realised then that the show outside had been for display only. Simon being Simon, knowing he was leaving, had done whatever he could to help protect her from threat, even from her own family.
For one brief, glorious moment, standing outside in the sunshine, with his loving eyes glinting down at her, and his wonderful lips smiling so affectionately, it had felt like she was living a dream. His husky words of love still echoed in her soul. The thought that she would never hear them again, never see him again, broke her heart into a thousand tiny pieces. She didn’t know whether to love him or hate him.
She suddenly felt the need to be by herself, and hung back while Simon, Bertie and Archie disappeared into the kitchen after Pie.
That was it, Francesca thought morosely. The last tentative remnants of her connection to family were well and truly severed. Although she wasn’t entirely convinced that greed wouldn’t encourage them to make a return journey, just to convince themselves that Simon was who he said he was, and was as wealthy as titled gentlemen usually were. If it brought her a few more weeks of peace to recover from the ordeal of losing Simon, then she could only be grateful for his involvement in her problems. If only he could have thought of another way to help her.
Laying everything down at her feet, and then snatching it all away in the guise of subterfuge, was too cruel. She was aware that Pie and Archie had known Simon for a long time. It was unsurprising that they were familiar with Simon’s aversion to the ‘parson’s trap’ as they called it.
She suddenly felt the walls closing in on her and had to struggle to contain the flood of tears that threatened. She had spent many days of her youth walking mile after mile across the moors. They called to her now, drawing her out into the wild, so unpredictable, so untamed, so unfettered by the demands of people that she yearned to be a part of it. It was impossible to out-run heartbreak, she knew that, but she could at least seek brief respite from it. If only for a few hours.
Fetching her cloak from her room, she swept out of the front door moments later, and flew down the steps, dragging her cloak around her shoulders as she went. At the fountain she paused. Left or right? She could see the part of the path where she had met Charlie and Tom only a few short weeks ago, and immediately turned in the other direction. The memory of a trail she hadn’t used in an age came back to her. She couldn’t be entirely sure she could remember where it ran, but knew it would take her several hours to walk all the way around. With luck, by the time she returned to Thistledown, the men would have made their final preparations, and she could retire to bed without having to meet Simon again. She couldn’t bear the thought of a drawn-out goodbye. She didn’t trust herself not to cling to him and make ridiculous declarations that were grounded in truth rather than subterfuge.
At no point during her escape did she think to leave a note to Simon informing him of her decision.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Do you think she has fallen asleep somewhere?” Pie asked, watching Simon glance toward the door for the hundredth time since they left the hallway.
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