by Anne O'Brien
‘You do not love me, Charles.’ Frances met his eyes with dignity. She would not be intimidated. ‘You never have. If you had, you would have done all in your power to ensure that your father treated me with care and consideration, not the cruelty and degradation which was my portion—and of which you must have been aware.
‘Perhaps I should warn you,’ she lashed out. ‘The highwaymen on our journey here have troubled my thoughts a great deal of late. You knew about them, did you not, Charles? And it was not common knowledge. They were hired murderers, not interested in theft, but in blood. I find it very interesting that you should be so well informed.’
‘What are you insinuating? What lies have you been listening to? Is it Aldeborough who has poisoned your mind against me?’
‘Are they lies, Charles? Who would have most to gain if I were widowed?’
A trace of unease flashed in his eyes for an instant.
‘You have no proof!’
‘Of course not. But if Aldeborough is harmed in any way I will think that you or my uncle would be more than a little involved. Do you deny it?’
‘Of course I do. This is mere fantasy, Frances.’
‘Possibly. Just like the depth of love that you have declared for me. I think you should leave. You are not welcome at Aldeborough Priory, Charles. Now, if you will release my wrist.’
She faced him, eyes blazing. His hand fell away.
‘Very well. Since you reject my offer so cruelly, I will bid you farewell, Frances. I hope you enjoy your new wealth. But before I leave, I would still wish to fulfil my other objective in coming here this morning. Despite your accusations and suspicions, it would be very wrong—petty, even—if I failed in completing my family’s obligation to you.’
He searched in his pocket and removed a small object. ‘This belonged to your mother. I brought it to give to you. It is yours by right. If you will permit me.’
He stepped forward to pin, with carefully impersonal fingers, a little brooch to the bodice of her gown. It was a simple ring brooch fashioned of amethysts and seed pearls.
‘There.’ He stepped back. ‘It becomes you. I wish I could have given it on a happier occasion.’
He turned on his heel without another word and left the garden to the heedless bees and Frances, who covered her face with her hands in a storm of emotion. She would have been surprised if she had been aware of the satisfaction in her cousin’s eyes.
Following a short period of reflection, which did nothing to calm her state of mind, Frances returned to the house. Uppermost in her thoughts was Charles: how dare he offer her marriage, how dare he pretend to an attachment that quite clearly had never existed until the prospect of a fortune had been snatched from before his eyes? As if she would believe his protestations of love and admiration. But her indignation soon vanished as her thoughts progressed to more serious issues. Was Torrington truly behind the ambush on the road from York? Of course Charles had denied it. What would she expect? But she thought that he had been less than comfortable with her accusation. And what terrible seeds of doubt Charles had sown. Deliberately, of course, but none the less successfully with such an unwarranted insight into her hopes and fears. After all, she knew that Aldeborough did not love her. He had never pretended otherwise. Letitia Winters was no secret. And her mother-in-law certainly had dreamed and planned for an alliance with Penelope Vowchurch. But had Aldeborough known about the bridge? Could he have stopped her? No, of course not. She could not believe such ill of him, would not believe it, but Charles had done his worst and the faint wisp of doubt remained to curl in her brain. It was no secret that he had married her out of honour and duty, destroying forever the possibility of a loving relationship. All her new-found confidence and delight in Aldeborough’s presence had been undermined, leaving her uncertain and ill at ease.
Knowing that Charles had manipulated her and angry at his success, she decided that she needed some sensible company to give her thoughts a calming direction. She crossed the entrance hall with the intention of finding Lady Cotherstone, who usually spent her mornings in the small winter parlour, when she heard voices from the library. The door was partially open. It seemed that Hedges had finished his business with Aldeborough and was gone. The voices she heard were those of her husband and Aunt May, so she changed direction, intending to join them. On some impulse she hesitated outside the door to hear Aunt May in mid-conversation.
‘So she is an heiress?’
‘So it seems. It explains a number of things that I did not understand.’ Aldeborough’s voice was thoughtful and she heard the rustle of papers as he cleared away the aftermath of Hedges’s visit.
‘Some interesting clauses there,’ Aunt May continued.
‘Mischief making, I would say, although I can appreciate the original purpose behind them.’
‘I think you may be right. I think it will pay me to take more care than has been my wont. There is a danger here that I do not like.’
‘You should never have done it as you did, Hugh. To assist her to run away and then marry her without Torrington’s permission or even knowledge.’
‘I know. I do not need you to remind me.’ Frances heard a note of resignation. ‘It was despicable and I deserve to be horsewhipped. But it is done and we have to live with the consequences.’
Before she could hear any more damaging comments, Frances pushed the door further open and made an entrance.
Lady Cotherstone sat by the fireplace, Wellington at her feet, a glass of claret in her hand. Her wrinkled face lit in welcome.
‘Frances! Come here, my dear, and let me kiss you. I understand that you have received some excellent news.’
‘Yes. I still find it difficult to take in.’ Frances obeyed, if distractedly, allowing the old lady to pat her hand and kiss her cheek with the casual affection that her own family had never shown her.
‘So you are an heiress. And you, my dear boy—’ she raised her eyebrows at Aldeborough ‘—could be accused of being a fortune hunter. If, of course, you needed the money. As I am sure you don’t.’
‘Only if I have to pay for your upkeep much longer, Aunt May. Look at the way you’re making inroads into my claret, not to mention the port my father laid down.’
He turned to Frances with an easy smile, completely unaware of her present distress. ‘I hope the news made you happy.’
She looked at him, unsmiling, considering her response. Could she tell him of her anxieties? She could not find the words—but neither could she remain silent. ‘I overheard your conversation. I didn’t intend to,’ she explained stiffly. ‘I am sorry that our marriage has put your life in danger.’
‘My life?’ His reply was careful, his expression bland. ‘What did I say that made you think that?’
‘About taking care—about danger. My uncle obviously blames you for removing the possibility of a fortune from his grasp. It explains the highwaymen, does it not?’
‘It is possible,’ he agreed, treading carefully, ‘but there is no proof. It is certainly not your fault. There is no blame whatsoever attached to you.’
‘But if you had not married me, you would be in no danger. And, you see, there was never any need for you to burden yourself with me.’ She fought to control her distress. ‘I had the money to be independent and set up my own household after all.’
‘I see.’ Any warmth in his face was gone. His eyes were cold. ‘How unfortunate for you that you did not know about your inheritance sooner.’
‘And for you. Then you could have married someone of your own choosing who would have been acceptable to your family.’
You should never have done it as you did …
I know.
The words, confirming all her fears, echoed again and again in her mind.
Tension, bitter and bleak, stretched between them.
He saw the desolation in her eyes, terribly aware that he had forced her into marriage against her wishes. And that the marriage had put her life in danger rath
er than his. He could not warn her. Could not tell her about the pistol shot at the bridge, or explain the clauses in the will, which would once again implant fear in the very core of her existence. He felt paralysed by lack of choice and retreated behind a stony façade.
She returned his gaze. Suddenly all she could focus on was Charles’s poisonous words. And she knew the truth of them. That Aldeborough loved Letitia Winters and would, without doubt, have chosen to marry Penelope. His caresses had meant nothing. His love and the delights of his body were given elsewhere. She must never allow him to know that he had captured her heart on the night when he had pressed his lips to the scars on her back and shown her how to enjoy the exquisite pleasure of his lovemaking. She had too much pride. He must never be burdened by the knowledge of her love, which he had not sought. He must never know. She had done enough damage.
Lady Cotherstone, looking from one to the other, decided for her own reasons to intervene. ‘What nonsense! You are very acceptable to me, my dear, and I am the only family that matters. In my opinion, Aldeborough could not have done any better for himself when he married you. You appear to me to be the ideal wife.’
Frances continued to look at him, a clear question in her eyes.
‘My aunt is always perceptive.’ His reply rejected her silent query and was particularly enigmatic to Frances’s intense disappointment and frustration. The pain around her heart increased to invade her whole body. ‘I hope that you are able to live with the situation,’ he added.
‘And you, too, my lord.’ Her voice was flat and without hope.
Aldeborough’s gaze suddenly sharpened as he surveyed his bride and his hands stilled on the papers before him.
‘Is something amiss, my lord?’ There was a distinct and deliberate challenge in Frances’s response to the scrutiny.
He walked around the desk to stand before her and raised his hand to touch the pretty jewel pinned to her bodice.
‘An attractive brooch.’ There was a question in his voice. ‘Have I seen it before?’
‘No, my lord. It belonged to my mother, so I believe.’
‘Indeed. And how did it come into your possession?’
‘Charles gave it to me.’
‘And when might that happy event have taken place?’
‘About an hour ago. In the herb garden.’ She lifted her chin and met his eyes. She would not explain further.
‘Would it make any difference if I expressed a dislike of my wife accepting jewellery from another man?’
‘No, my lord. If it belonged to my mother, it is rightfully mine. I have nothing else of hers. Would you wish me to refuse it?’
Lady Cotherstone sighed and again broke the tension. ‘I have decided that I would like to spend some of the Season in town. If you have finished estate business, Hugh, I would return with you.’ It was an imperious command. ‘A few weeks of entertainment and the opportunity to visit friends is just what I need. And Wellington would enjoy a change of scene. When shall we go?’
‘My lady?’ Aldeborough asked Frances.
‘Whenever you wish, my lord.’ She took refuge in formality.
‘Then as soon as may be. My immediate business here is complete.’
‘Then I will go and talk to Mrs Scott and tell her of our impending departure.’ Frances turned and walked out without a backward glance.
‘Take care with her, Hugh.’ Aunt May rose from her seat and shook out her voluminous brocade skirts.
‘It is my intention.’
‘She loves you, you know.’
‘No. I do not believe she does.’ Aldeborough went to stare out of the window, not seeing the promise of spring in the blossoming flower beds or the rooks flirting on the breeze. ‘Her experiences at Torrington Hall were hideous beyond belief. Now she feels comfortable and safe. And for that she is grateful, that is all. But the safety may be becoming an issue and I don’t want her to be aware of it. She once told me inadvertently that one of the main advantages of this marriage for her is that she is no longer afraid. I would not have that peace of mind destroyed for anything. And I think I may have already jeopardised it unwittingly.’
‘I cannot think how. And you said I was perceptive. But I will wager my pearl necklet that girl loves you. All you have to do is give her some way of showing it. Unless you don’t wish to, of course. Relationships can be far easier without the burden of love, as I am sure you are aware. All I would say is—don’t make the same mistake that your parents did, living in isolation from each other, both of them becoming bitter and uncaring.’
‘And Charles?’ he asked, discovering a sudden desire to seek reassurance against the jealousy that burned with a bright flame in his gut on seeing Frances wearing the amethysts and pearls. ‘Perhaps she has more affection for him than she has for me after all.’
‘Of course she does not! She cares nothing for Charles. But you are hardly in a good position to object to her wearing her mother’s brooch when Letitia Winters has been seen wearing a very fine emerald necklace recently.’
Lady Cotherstone was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath from her nephew and hid a smile of satisfaction. To her delight, he flushed and refused to meet her wickedly glinting eyes.
‘This is all far too deep for me!’ The Marquis grimaced as he tried to escape from his aunt’s deliberate probing. ‘Aunt May, I could wish you would not find so much enjoyment in stirring up the mud at the bottom of the pond. You are an interfering old woman, but I have to admit that you are one in a million.’ He came round the desk to kiss her cheek. ‘There are developments here of which you are perhaps unaware. I would be grateful if you would leave it for now.’ He looked tired, strain around his eyes.
‘Such as the accident on the bridge?’ She held up her hand as Aldeborough failed to control his surprise at her insight. ‘I will resist asking you what really happened. But I was not born yesterday, Hugh, and I have ears. You cannot expect people not to talk. I have seen Frances riding your chestnut hunter and I do not believe for a moment that she simply fell in the water. And the bridge did not collapse under the mare, did it? All I will say is that you need to take care for her … and yourself. Now—’ she made her way to the door ‘—tell me when I must be ready to travel. I have a lot of luggage to organise.’
As she reached the doorway, Lady Cotherstone paused to survey her nephew, struck by a sudden thought.
‘Well, Aunt May? What now?’
‘I was just thinking, Hugh. Have you ever considered writing poetry?’
‘Poetry? What bee have you got in your bonnet now? No, I have not!’
‘A pity!’ She walked out, leaving Aldeborough lost for words.
Chapter Eleven
‘I cannot understand why anyone would choose to spend a dull evening at Almack’s! And as for the inflated consequence of the Patronesses—it sets my teeth on edge to have to be polite to them. I hope you don’t expect me to undertake the role of chaperon.’ Aunt May’s notion of a round of pleasure in London did not include an evening at—as she put it—the stultifyingly rigid, dowdy assembly rooms, where nothing mattered but consequence and formality and where all she would be allowed to drink was tepid lemonade or tea.
‘Because we have received admission vouchers,’ explained Frances, not for the first time. ‘And, as you are very well aware, if I am to complete my début into London society, it is important that I appear at Almack’s! You are just being difficult.’
‘Hmm! I dare say.’
‘Besides, we do not need you,’ she added wickedly. ‘Aldeborough has agreed to accompany Juliet and myself, so you can stay at home and converse with the Dowager!’
‘More fool he!’
Their return to London had been slow, exhausting, blighted by constant carping from Lady Cotherstone about the state of the road, the inns, the beds and anything else that took her fancy, but otherwise had been blessedly uneventful. Aldeborough had escaped the worst of the complaints by choosing to ride with Matthew, leaving the carriage to
the two ladies and Wellington. Frances found herself out of all patience with him, at the same time experiencing some relief that she was free to pursue her own thoughts without Aldeborough’s unsettling presence.
In Cavendish Square Juliet welcomed them with undisguised enthusiasm, pleased at the prospect of Frances’s company once again. The Dowager sniffed and hoped that Lady Cotherstone had had a comfortable journey, but voiced the opinion that she would find town life far too strenuous at her time of life and would soon long for the tranquillity of the country. Hopefully before the end of the week. Aunt May’s eyes twinkled as she declared that she was not nearly too old and would enjoy renewing old friendships. And as for Wellington! Lady Aldeborough hoped that accommodation could be found for That Animal in the stables. Aunt May, pretending deafness, ignored this suggestion and Wellington was soon under everyone’s feet. It promised to be a friction-filled household.
Between Frances and Aldeborough there was a coldness. The relaxed, harmonious days when they had just begun to discover such pleasure in each other’s company had been eroded, those revealing words spoken by Aldeborough etched diamond bright in Frances’s memory. Now they kept their distance, stepped carefully around each other, unwilling to unearth more damaging influences on their marriage. Frances discovered a desire to wear her mother’s brooch with surprising frequency. Aldeborough chose to ignore it. Charles would have been delighted with the results of his meddling.
Almack’s was everything that Frances had been led to believe by Aunt May, but it was undoubtedly the key to her full acceptance into polite society and so she was determined to enjoy the occasion. She chose to wear the jonquil gown that she had worn on her wedding day and smiled at the memories it resurrected. She sighed with a mixture of pleasure and ruffled pride as she remembered Aldeborough’s high-handed actions, his refusal to allow her to refuse his offer, his determination that she should be restored to society with a spotless reputation. But perhaps Charles’s bitter attack held more truth than she wished to accept. He would not wish to be denounced as a seducer of innocent virgins, however much he might appear to be unconcerned with his reputation as a rake. But there was no point in allowing her mind to circle again and again. She would hold the knowledge of her love close in her own heart, despite the pain, and concentrate on making a suitably demure impression on the exacting Patronesses of Almack’s.