The Runaway Heiress

by Anne O'Brien

  As he returned to shield her from further recriminations, her mind was free to travel back over the previous days. She remembered as in a dream standing in Aldeborough Church in the grey light of early morning with a special licence and a flustered vicar and with Sir Ambrose and the vicar’s wife as witnesses. No flowers. No music. Only the heavy starkness of Norman pillars and the air so cold that her breath had vaporised as she took her vows. She remembered the cold. No sooner had the vows been exchanged and her cheek dutifully kissed by Aldeborough than she had been installed in Aldeborough’s coach and the long, tedious journey had begun. Sir Ambrose had thoughtfully presented her with a tasteful posy of yellow flowers and kissed her fingers and called her Lady Aldeborough, a situation that she still found difficult to believe, but it had helped to strengthen her courage.

  And Aldeborough had been as good as his word. Her lips curled in memory of the beautiful dress that he had brought back with him to keep his promise. A dress of which dreams were made. In the height of fashion with a high waist and disconcertingly low neckline and tiny puff sleeves over long undersleeves, the jonquil taffeta was far more elegant than any gown she had ever seen. The tucked bodice was a little large, but nothing that a small alteration here and there could not remedy, and the silk ruching round the hem helped to disguise the fact that it was a little long. A simple satin straw bonnet with jonquil ribbons that set off her dark hair completed the ensemble. She had abandoned her puce disaster and travel-stained cloak without a qualm.

  And not only the dress, but fine kid gloves and matching kid heelless slippers. Not to mention the delightful package of shifts and petticoats and silk stockings. She blushed faintly that he should have purchased such intimate garments for her. And who had chosen the dress for her? She had found it difficult to thank him. He had merely brushed it aside as a matter of no importance. But Frances was now more than grateful for his foresight. Under Lady Aldeborough’s critical and unfriendly scrutiny, it was suddenly very important that she should be wearing a stylish blue velvet pelisse trimmed with grey fur and a pale blue silk bonnet, the brim fetchingly ornamented with one curling ostrich plume, both in the first stare of fashion.

  She had thought herself fortunate in her new wardrobe but this house, now her own, threatened to take her breath away. Her first impression as they had arrived had been fleeting, but there was no doubting its style and magnificence. In Cavendish Square, one of the very best addresses, the brick and stone façade with its pedimented doorway, decorative columns and imposing flight of steps bordered with iron railings could not fail to impress. All was elegance and good taste. Aldeborough might take it for granted, but she could not.

  She sighed as her attention returned to the heated words from the Marchioness and the cool rejoinders from Aldeborough.

  ‘What your father would have said I hesitate to think. And Richard—’

  Frances would never know what Richard would have thought or done for at this timely moment, the door burst open and a young man erupted with more energy than grace into the room.

  ‘Matthew! Perhaps you might enter my drawing room in a more seemly fashion. Your brother and I were engaged in a private conversation.’

  ‘Forgive me, Mother. I heard Hugh was back.’ Matthew looked anything but sorry and shrugged off his parent’s blighting words. ‘Is it true?’ He grinned as he embraced his brother in a friendly and vigorous greeting. ‘I have just seen Masters in town and he has told me all.’

  Aldeborough inhaled sharply in exasperation. ‘So just what has Masters told you? Perhaps, brother mine, this is not the best of times to elaborate!’ The warning was unfortunately lost in Matthew’s exuberance to discover the truth of the matter.

  ‘That you abducted Torrington’s niece from under his nose and forced her into marriage to get your hands on her inheritance.’

  Lady Aldeborough lowered herself carefully on to the chair behind her. ‘This is even worse than I thought. What have you done, Aldeborough?’ Her tone might be faint with shock, but her expression was steely.

  ‘So, is it true?’ Matthew insisted.

  ‘Of course it is true. Would you not expect me to be capable of such dishonourable behaviour? Even you, it seems, Matthew.’

  Matthew frowned at the bitter cynicism imprinted on his brother’s face, echoing in his harsh tones. ‘Well, no. I don’t believe it, as it happens. Are you jesting? And if it is true—where is she?’

  ‘Behind you. You will note her terrified appearance and the marks of coercion and cruelty about her person. I had to treat her most unkindly to persuade her that marriage with me would be an attractive proposition.’

  Matthew grinned, shrugging with some relief as Aldeborough’s expression relaxed and the tension slowly drained from his body, but he still had the grace to look more than a little embarrassed as he swung round towards the window embrasure. ‘Exactly. You deserved that. You had better come and meet her. I dare not imagine what impression you have made on her,’ Aldeborough added drily, but with a trace of humour at his brother’s discomfort.

  Aldeborough came to retrieve Frances from her seat by the window, taking her by the hand and leading her back into the centre of the room. ‘This, my lady, is my graceless brother Matthew, who believes that I beat you into submission. You have my permission to snub him completely if you wish.’

  ‘Please don’t. I had no intention of making you uncomfortable. I am very pleased to meet you.’ His engaging smile lit his youthful features.

  Frances found herself smiling back at the genuine greeting from the young man who was very close to her own age. He was slim and athletic and looked to have just grown out of the ungainly lack of co-ordination of youth. He was fairer than his brother, with blue eyes and an open, laughing countenance that Frances instantly felt drawn to. His manner suggested that he stood in awe of neither his mother nor Aldeborough, and his clothing that he was experimenting with the more extremes of fashion. His cravat was a miracle of folds and creases and his striped waistcoat caused Aldeborough to raise his eyebrows in amused disbelief.

  ‘And what have you been doing with yourself, apart from rigging yourself out like a dandy?’ Aldeborough queried. ‘Up to no good as usual, I expect.’

  ‘Definitely not. No debts and definitely no scandals. I say, Hugh. You haven’t changed your mind about buying me a commission, have you?’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  ‘But it looks as if we shall have to continue the war against Bonaparte.’

  ‘Very true. But we shall have to continue it without you. At least until you are a little older.’

  ‘But it will all be over by then. Do reconsider.’

  ‘I will think about it. But don’t raise your hopes.’

  This was clearly a frequently held exchange of views. Nothing daunted, Matthew changed tack. ‘By the by, the new horse you bought from Strefford was delivered yesterday. It is a splendid animal. Come and see it.’

  ‘I think it an excellent idea for you to go off to the stables if you are going to talk horseflesh,’ interposed Lady Aldeborough, determined to regain control of the situation. She rose to her feet again and disposed her shawl in elegant folds around her shoulders. ‘It will give me the opportunity to get to know your new wife a little better. We can have a cosy chat over a dish of tea. Do you not think so, my dear?’

  ‘Of course.’ Frances’s heart sank. She was not fooled by Lady Aldeborough’s sudden change of demeanour. Her civility was knife-edged and threatened to be deadly. It promised to be a difficult interview.

  ‘Will you be quite comfortable, my lady?’ Aldeborough allowed her the opportunity to play the coward, but she would not.

  ‘Certainly, my lord.’

  ‘Very well, Matthew. Lead me to the horse. And no, you cannot ride him, before you ask. I will return very soon.’ He gave Frances a brief smile of encouragement before following his brother through the door.

  Frances was left alone with her mother-in-law. She could not allow herself
to show any weakness or to be intimidated. Lady Aldeborough had the air of one who had spent a lifetime in achieving her own ends. And she would not be prepared to accept defeat on this occasion.

  ‘Miss Hanwell. Oh, do forgive me—I still cannot believe that you have actually entered into this alliance with my son.’ Her sugary tones set Frances’s teeth on edge. ‘Do come and sit here. I will ring for some tea. Perhaps you would like to tell me a little about yourself.’ The Dowager smiled, but achieved it only through sheer effort of will. Frances responded with as much equanimity as she could muster. She had nothing to lose. She knew at once that she would never win the good will, much less the affection, of this dominant lady and she wished fervently that Aldeborough had not forsaken her to such an ordeal.

  The arrival of the tea tray gave Frances a much-needed breathing space. When everything had been disposed to her liking, Lady Aldeborough handed Frances a fine bone-china tea cup.

  ‘Now. Let us have a feminine gossip.’

  Frances cringed inwardly, predicting accurately the direction it would take.

  ‘Who are your family? Do I know them?’

  ‘My uncle is Viscount Torrington—and he is also my guardian.’

  ‘So, are your parents then dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How unfortunate. I do not think I have ever seen you in London. Or at any country-house parties. Perhaps you have never been introduced into society?’

  ‘I have always lived in the country on my uncle’s estate.’

  A pause developed as the Dowager considered the information. ‘Perhaps you have other living relatives?’ The catechism continued.

  ‘The present Earl of Wigmore is my mother’s nephew, my cousin.’

  ‘Really?’ Elegant eyebrows rose in apparent disbelief. ‘I am somewhat acquainted with the family, of course, but I was not aware of your existence.’

  ‘We have not kept close contact.’ Frances was determined not to give any more cause for speculation.

  ‘I see.’ Lady Aldeborough placed her cup down with careful precision before fixing Frances with austere censure. ‘Let us be clear about this, my dear. I am very disappointed in the turn of events. So shoddy, you understand. And as for what the world will make of the rumours of an abduction—’

  ‘There was no abduction. I did nothing against my will.’

  ‘Whatever the truth of it, it is quite shocking. As Marquis of Aldeborough, my son should have enjoyed a wedding at which all the members of the ton were present. An event of the Season, no less. Instead of which …’ Her mother-in-law shrugged with elegant disdain.

  There was no suitable response for Frances to make. She waited in silence for the next onslaught, raising her teacup to her lips.

  ‘It makes me wish once again that Richard was still alive.’

  ‘Richard?’

  ‘My son. My first-born son.’ The Dowager indicated with a melancholy sigh and a wave of her hand an impressive three-quarter-length portrait in pride of place above the mantelpiece. ‘It is very like. It was completed a mere few months before his death.’

  ‘I … I’m sorry. I did not know.’

  ‘How should you? He was everything a mother could wish for. Duty and loyalty to the family came first with him. Not at all like Hugh. He should never have died.’

  Frances studied the portrait with interest as her companion applied a fine lace handkerchief to her lashes. The young man before her was very like her husband. Indeed, the Laffords all had the same straight nose and dark brows and forthright gaze. Richard was dark too, like his brother, but the portrait highlighted a subtle difference between the two. The hint of mischief in Richard’s hooded eyes and roguish smile were unmistakable. He sat at his ease in a rural setting with the Priory clearly depicted in the background, a shotgun tucked through his arm and a gun dog at his side. The artist was good, successfully catching the vivid personality and love of life—Frances had the impression that he could have stepped out of the frame at any moment. Even though she had never known him, it was difficult to believe that he was dead. What a terrible tragedy! No wonder his mother mourned him with such passionate intensity.

  ‘Was … was it an accident?’ Frances asked to break the painful silence.

  ‘Some might try to imply that it was—to hide the truth from the world—but his death was to Hugh’s advantage, a fact which must be obvious to all. It breaks my heart to think of it.’

  Frances privately doubted that she had a heart to break.

  Lady Aldeborough continued, long pent-up bitterness pouring out. ‘And Penelope, his fiancée. So beautiful and elegant. So well connected—so suitable. She would have made an excellent Marchioness. As if she had been born to it.’

  ‘I can see that she must have been greatly distressed.’

  ‘Penelope has remarkable self-control. And of course she still hoped to become my daughter-in-law in the fullness of time. But now it has all changed. I do not know how I shall have the courage to break the news to her. But, of course, Hugh would never think of that. He has always been selfish and frippery. His taking a commission in the Army to fight in the Peninsula was the death of his father.’

  As Lady Aldeborough appeared to be intent on holding her son to blame for everything, Frances felt moved to defend her absent husband.

  ‘I have not found him to be selfish.’

  ‘To be the object of an abduction or an elopement—or whatever the truth might be, for I do not think the episode has been explained at all clearly to my satisfaction—I can think of nothing more degrading.’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘That smacks of selfishness to me.’

  ‘That was not his fault, in all fairness. My husband’ —Lady Aldeborough winced at Frances’s deliberate choice of words— ‘has treated me with all care and consideration. He saw to my every comfort on our journey here. I accept that our marriage is not what you had hoped for, but Aldeborough has shown me every civility and courtesy. I cannot condone your criticism of him.’

  ‘Be that as it may, there is much of my son that you do not know. But you have married him and will soon learn. I hope you do not live to regret it. Now, tell me. Have you a dowry? Have you brought any money into the union? At least that would be something good.’

  Frances took a deep breath to try to explain her inheritance in the most favourable light when the door opened on the return of Aldeborough and Matthew. She grasped the opportunity to allow the question to remain unanswered and turned towards her husband with some relief.

  They were obviously in the middle of some joke and Frances was arrested by the expression on Aldeborough’s face. She had never seen him so approachable. His eyes alight with laughter and his quick grin at some comment were heartstoppingly and devastatingly attractive. She had much more to learn about her husband than she had realised. And the unknown Richard.

  The smile stayed in Aldeborough’s eyes as he approached across the room. ‘I see you have survived,’ he commented ironically, showing recognition of her predicament. ‘I knew you would.’

  ‘Of course.’ Frances raised her chin and looked directly into his eyes. ‘Your mother and I have enjoyed a … an exchange of views. I already feel that we understand each other very well.’

  Aldeborough’s raised eyebrows did not go unmarked.

  He came to her that night.

  Immediately upon a quiet knock, he entered the Blue Damask bedroom, where Frances had been temporarily accommodated until the suite next to the master bedroom could be cleaned and decorated to her taste. The door clicked shut behind him. He halted momentarily, his whole body tense, his senses on the alert, and then with a rueful shrug and a slight smile he advanced across the fine Aubusson carpet.

  ‘Don’t do it, Molly. I trust you are not contemplating escape yet again. It is a long way to the ground and I cannot vouch for your safety. Paving stones, I believe, can be very unforgiving.’

  Frances stepped back from the open window where she had been leaning to cool her heated cheeks. The blood
returned to her face in a rose wash, her throat dry and her heartbeat quickening. As ever, he dominated the room with his height, broad shoulders and excellent co-ordination. And, as always, he was impeccably dressed notwithstanding the late hour. He made her feel ruffled and hopelessly unsophisticated.

  ‘No, but you could not blame me if I was! And I would be grateful if you did not call me Molly!’

  He reached behind her to close the window and redraw the blinds, allowing her the space to regain her composure.

  ‘Your maid did not come to help you undress? You should have rung for her.’ He indicated the embroidered bell pull by the hearth.

  ‘I sent her away.’ Frances hesitated. ‘I did not want her tonight. I have never had a maid, you see.’

  She caught her reflection in the gilt-edged mirror of the dressing table. She looked exhausted. Beneath her eyes were smudges of violet, her pale skin almost transparent. And Aldeborough’s unexpected presence made her edgy and nervous. She rubbed her hands over her face as if they could erase her anxiety. They failed miserably.

  ‘I told you that it was a mistake for you to marry me.’ Her voice expressed her weariness in spite of all her efforts to control it. ‘Your mother hates me. And she will find great pleasure in telling all your family and friends that I am a fortune hunter with no countenance, style or talents to attract.’

  He crossed the room deliberately to take her by the shoulders and turn her face towards the light from a branch of candles. He then startled her by lifting his hand to gently smooth the lines of tension between her eyebrows with his thumb. He frowned down at her as if his thoughts were anything but pleasant.

  ‘I am sorry. It has been a very trying day for you. Perhaps in retrospect I should have seen my mother alone first, but I don’t think it would have made much difference. I was proud of you. You were able to conduct yourself with assurance and composure in difficult circumstances. It cannot have been easy for you.’

  Frances blinked at the unexpected compliment. ‘If you are kind and sympathetic I shall cry.’