by Anne O'Brien
The sound of the front door slamming brought the conversation to a halt for the second time that morning. Frances felt that she would explode with inner tension if she had to stand and wait, so she picked up her skirts and ran from the room to the head of the stairs where she leaned over the banister to survey the hall below. There, handing his gloves and hat to Watkins, was Matthew.
‘Matthew!’ She ran down the stairs, heart full of dread, beating rapidly within her muslin bodice.
‘Where’s Hugh? Was it a duel? Is he hurt? Dead?’ She grasped his sleeve and shook it urgently. ‘Please don’t keep me in suspense.’
Matthew gently released his sleeve from her clutching fingers and took her hands.
‘It is over, Frances. Don’t take on so! He is not dead or hurt to any real degree. There now—there is no need to cry.’
‘Thank God!’ The blood drained from her heart, leaving her sick with relief, but she brushed the trace of tears from her cheeks with her hand. ‘Oh, Matthew! You have no idea … Where is he? Is he still at the stables?’
‘Well … no. I came back alone after delivering Ambrose to his lodgings. Hugh will be here shortly … I expect.’
Frances raised her head, her glance sharp, picking up an element of uncertainty in Matthew’s voice. ‘But where is he?’
A further hesitation. ‘He has gone to see Miss Vowchurch. He said that it was imperative that he see her immediately.’ Matthew frowned.
‘To see Penelope?’
‘Yes.’ He was startled by the stricken look on her face. ‘I do not think there is anything here to worry you, dear Frances.’ But the frown belied his reassurance.
‘Did … did he say why?’
‘No … just that he had to see her.’
‘Penelope!’ she whispered. It was like a nightmare, her worst fears realised, following so rapidly after that first torrent of relief and joy. ‘But Penelope is here.’
‘Oh, well. I expect he’ll come on here when he fails to see her in Grosvenor Square.’ He watched Frances closely, the distress that imprinted her pale features. ‘I don’t expect it means anything.’
Her fears swirled through her brain. So Aldeborough did return Penelope’s regard after all. How much he must love her to go straight to her from the duel. How much he must need to tell her of his safety. And she loves him. Frances cringed inwardly as the final realisation that Hugh would never love her took hold of her emotions. She could not pretend any longer that his attentions at night were anything more than those demanded by a casual affection and duty. The cravings of her heart would never be answered.
‘Are you quite well, Frances?’ Matthew touched her hand in concern.
It brought her back to the present. It was time for action, not for mindless despair, and she forced her weary brain into making some rapid decisions. She could not simply wait here, could not face Aldeborough, knowing how much he wanted Penelope, could not watch their emotional reunion after the threat of death and separation. But she could do something to halt the threats from Viscount Torrington. She could, and must, do something immediately. And it would give her the solitude she needed to allow her heart to recover … if it ever could. She grasped Matthew’s arm again, making him wince in surprise.
‘Matthew,’ she demanded forcefully. ‘Will you help me?’
‘Of course. Anything in my power.’
‘I want the travelling coach. And Benson. It is imperative that I leave now, this minute.’
‘What? Where are you going?’
‘The Priory.’
‘All the way to Yorkshire? Damnation, Frances, you cannot do that!’
‘Yes, I can. And it is vital that I do.’
‘No. Wait until Hugh gets back. Talk to him about it, that’s the best thing. There is no need for you to run away. I’m sure Hugh would never—’
‘I am not running away! You do not understand and I have no time to explain. I must go now. Will you order Benson to harness the horses?’
‘I must not let you go alone.’ He rubbed his hand over his face, eyeing her uncertainly. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘More sure than anything in the world.’
‘Then I had better go with you. Aldeborough would never forgive me if anything happened to you.’
‘There is no need, I assure you.’
‘You have no choice.’ Frances almost smiled, despite her anguish, at Matthew’s masterful tone, so similar to that of his brother. ‘If you go, I go with you.’
‘Very well, I do not have the time to argue. As soon as possible. I will pack a bandbox. And I would be grateful if you did not tell anyone.’ With which she turned to run up the stairs, leaving Matthew, somewhat bemused, to wonder what more the day could hold and what his brother would say to him when he found out.
An hour later Aldeborough let himself in at his own front door. His visit to the Vowchurch establishment had failed in its objective, but yielded the information that Miss Vowchurch would be awaiting him in Cavendish Square.
But first he must see Frances and put her mind at rest. The need to see her was overwhelming, merely to touch her soft cheek with his fingertips and see her sapphire eyes smile into his.
‘Where will I find her ladyship, Watkins?’
‘She is not at home, my lord.’
‘What? Are you sure? But I thought … When did she leave?’
‘Her ladyship left about half an hour ago. In the travelling coach.’
A cold finger of fear began to trace its path down his spine. Before he could find words to enquire further, the door opened behind him and Matthew entered at speed, dressed in caped greatcoat and top boots as if for travel and with a distinctly harassed air.
‘Hugh! Thank God you have arrived. I tried to stop her, but she gave me the slip. I’m sure she meant to all the time. I’m damned sorry.’
‘What has she done?’ His left-handed grasp on his brother’s arm was not gentle. ‘Tell me!’
‘Gone!’
‘But where? For God’s sake, Matthew, tell me what you know!’ His first thought, which froze his blood, was that she had left him, fled from their marriage. He ran his hand through his hair, regardless of appearances, with fingers that were not quite steady. What in heaven’s name had he done to force her into such rapid flight? But then sanity reasserted itself. He might not know why she had gone, but surely there was only one place she would go.
‘The Priory,’ Matthew confirmed, regaining his wits as he caught his breath. ‘She said it was urgent and was … upset. Perhaps I should warn you, Hugh … I told her you had gone to see Miss Vowchurch.’
‘What did you say exactly?’
The Marquis had become very still. He saw the question in Matthew’s eyes. The uncertainty.
‘Matthew! Surely you did not believe … but it seems that you did!’ He struck his brother’s arm lightly with his gloves. ‘Did you really believe that I could be engaged in a liaison with Penelope Vowchurch?’ Aldeborough groaned, but managed a wry smile at his brother’s downcast demeanour. ‘And now Frances probably believes it too!’ He grasped Matthew’s shoulder. ‘I have to stop her, but first there is some unfinished business here which cannot wait. At least Benson will have the sense to put up at the White Hart at Hitchin. I’ll find her there. You can come with me, for your sins.’
‘To the Priory? But … you don’t want me with you, do you? Besides, I had planned to—’
‘You can drive my chestnuts in the curricle. My arm is too sore!’
‘I will go and get them ready!’
‘Aldeborough! At last!’
‘Hugh, where has Frances gone?’ asked Juliet. ‘Matthew knows, but refuses to say.’
‘She has probably left you, Aldeborough.’ The Dowager’s tone spoke of smug complacency. ‘I knew no good would come of that marriage, but you were never willing to take my advice. How you could have allowed yourself to enter into an alliance with—’
‘I think we need an explanation, dear boy,’ Lady
Cotherstone broke in quietly.
‘I agree. But you should know that Frances has not left me.’ He bowed ironically towards the Dowager. ‘I know where I shall find her and I know, in some part, why she has gone. As for the rest of the explanation, I do not believe that I am the best person here to give it. It surprises me that you are visiting so early, Miss Vowchurch.’
She sat, the picture of griefstricken loveliness. ‘I came because … because …’ Her breath caught a little. ‘I cannot say.’
‘As you are aware, I have just fought a duel.’ Aldeborough’s smile was icy, his grey eyes arctic. ‘You will be delighted to know, Miss Vowchurch, that Charles is safe, in good health, if a little battered. Although I doubt he will be fit to show his face in polite society for some little time.’
‘There, Penelope, it is just as we told you.’ Juliet reached across to clasp her hand in comfort. ‘There was no need to be so distressed.’
‘I do not think Miss Vowchurch deserves your sympathy, Juliet. In fact, she deserves our condemnation, is that not so?’
‘I do not know what you are implying.’ Penelope suddenly rose to her feet, her pretty hands fluttering in agitation before she deliberately clasped them, to hide her nerves.
‘I am afraid that Charles has been more than a little outspoken. I went to see you before coming here, but it looks like our discussion must be had in public. He did not wish to take all the blame for the violence against my wife on himself, you see. I believe, surprising as it might seem, there was an understanding between you.’
‘It is a lie. I have no connection with Charles Hanwell.’
She remained composed, but found it impossible to raise her eyes.
‘I am afraid, Miss Vowchurch, that Charles made certain allegations.’ The Marquis watched her intently. ‘They were spoken in public and will become items of speculation.’
‘No.’ A faint trace of panic was now discernible in that one word.
‘It would suit your plans very well if I were free to marry again, wouldn’t it? And Frances stood in the way. But it would definitely not be to your advantage for me to die in a duel. Charles was not the most reliable of accomplices, was he? His interests were not quite as specific as yours. He was quite prepared to see both myself and my wife dead, rather than Frances alone, if it meant that he would inherit enough money to restore the fortunes of the Hanwell family.’
‘I do not understand you.’ Penelope’s face drained of all colour as she faced the truth. ‘I love you—have always loved you. And yet you have destroyed all my hopes and dreams—you have destroyed my life!’
‘No.’ Aldeborough’s voice was cold, but perhaps not without a touch of compassion. ‘You have destroyed your own. By pinning your hopes on something that could never be. And allowing yourself to be drawn into a callous plot of greed and hypocrisy.’
‘No!’ Penelope turned on Aldeborough a face now ravaged by tears and anger. ‘It was your fault. You should have told me that you would not marry me. Instead you said nothing, letting me go on hoping that time would heal your sorrow and that you would find me an acceptable wife.’
Aldeborough’s whole body stiffened as he drew in an uneven breath. ‘Yes,’ he admitted quietly, accepting the accusation, ‘some of the blame is mine. I allowed Richard’s death to touch me too closely.’ Every word was wrung out of him. ‘If I had not felt the guilt of his accident, if I had not closed my heart and mind to his death, I would have been more open with you. And because of that I did you, and Frances, greater harm than I could ever have realised. But nothing can excuse your desire to hurt Frances.’
Miss Vowchurch looked round the circle of faces, registering anger, pity, disbelief, disgust. Without a word she turned on her heel and, with what dignity she could muster, walked to the door. There she halted, turning back to look at Aldeborough, stretching out one hand in hopeless supplication. ‘I would have loved you. I would have been a good wife to you.’ She left the silent room, her footsteps receding into the hall.
Aunt May rose to her feet as if intending to go after her.
‘No.’ Aldeborough put out a hand to stop her. ‘Let her go. She has failed and it is over now.’
‘Very well. If that is your wish.’ Instead, she walked over to her nephew’s rigid figure to place a comforting hand on his arm. ‘Now, all you have to do is find Frances and convince her to return. It may not be an easy task, my boy, if she thought you went to Penelope first.’
‘Do you think I do not know that?’
Chapter Fifteen
The newly lit fire in the private parlour of the White Hart in Hitchin, although still more smoke than flame, was beginning to develop a comforting glow and warm the room, but Frances was too restless to sit and appreciate its soothing presence. Exhaustion made her light headed, but nervous energy kept her on the move, prowling from chair to settle, window seat to fireplace. She could not contemplate sleep and she had done no justice to the meal, the remains of which still littered the table.
She had not wished to halt her journey but had bowed to the dictates of common sense. Benson, Aldeborough’s coachman of many years standing and thus a man of authority in his lordship’s household, had assured her in bald terms that the horses needed a rest, even if her ladyship didn’t, and that they should put up at the White Hart where they would be sure of good food and accommodation. Some inns were definitely not clean or respectable. And Aldeborough would dismiss him on the spot, Benson thought privately, if he allowed any harm to come to her ladyship. Some rum goings-on amongst the Quality, travelling alone with only a slip of a maid! But it was his job to look after the Marchioness, especially when her husband was unaware of her intentions, so look after her he would!
By reason of her title, and the fact that the Marquis was well known to them from previous visits, Frances had been provided with a comfortable parlour and separate bedchamber with a smaller room for her maid. But her tired mind could not rest. It was imperative that she see her uncle. She must bring a halt to the series of events that threatened Aldeborough. And if she must sacrifice her inheritance, then so be it. Relief flooded through her as she remembered that at least Aldeborough was alive after the duel which he had been forced into. She could not contemplate the alternative. He had escaped the duel unharmed, but in the hours of enforced idleness in the coach, when her thoughts turned again and again to the same anxieties, she found that her relief was short-lived, to be replaced by despair that brought tears to gather on her lashes and spill down her cheeks. He must love Penelope Vowchurch so very much to go to her straight from the duel. It was more important to him to tell her of his safety and relieve her anxieties than to inform his wife. And Penelope had been so distraught. Frances was forced to conclude that she had entirely misread that lady’s cold reserve. But she could not bear to remain in Cavendish Square to witness their reunion and happiness together. It was far better for everyone if she retire to the Priory and so allow Aldeborough some freedom. Her decision gave her no pleasure but it had to be done. But first she must undo the complications brought about by her marriage.
The White Hart was noisy with so much coming and going of carriages outside her window that Frances doubted if she would sleep at all. There were raised voices and footsteps echoing in the corridors as newly arrived travellers were shown to their rooms. Suddenly, her door was flung open.
‘I’m sorry.’ She turned towards the door. ‘This is a private parlour—’ The words died on her lips.
On the threshold stood Aldeborough.
‘Good evening, my lord,’ she managed for the benefit of the landlord who had ushered his new guest into the room and still hovered in the doorway. Her voice trembled with nerves, but she faced her husband bravely.
He said nothing, merely advanced into the room. He stripped off his gloves and greatcoat and cast them on to a chair with barely confined fury. His eyes glinted with temper. Frances found herself taking refuge behind a high-backed chair at the head of the table, gripping the
wood with fingers that were white to the bone. She had not expected him to follow her. Or at least, not so rapidly.
‘Do you wish for some refreshment? Something to eat? I’m sure—’
He closed the door firmly on the speculative gaze of the landlord and turned to face her.
‘No. I do not want anything to eat or drink. What I want, Madame Wife, is to know exactly what you think you are doing.’
‘I am going to the Priory.’
‘I realise that. But, in God’s name, why? And without a word to anyone.’
‘I told Matthew.’
‘So I should be thankful for small mercies.’ His tone was bitterly sarcastic, overlying the banked anger. ‘But you didn’t tell me!’
‘I did not want to disturb you.’
‘Disturb?’ If she had meant to ignite the flames she had certainly succeeded. He took a few hasty paces around the room and came to rest, head bent, hands spread on the scarred oak of the table before him, flinching as he inadvertently exerted too much pressure on his wounded arm.
‘I have just spent one of the worst twenty-four hours in my existence. I have fought a duel with your misbegotten cousin Charles, when against my better judgement I did not kill him. I arrive home to be informed by my mother that you have left me, without a word, taking my travelling coach, horses and Benson as well. You can imagine how much my mother enjoyed breaking the bad news! I have had to explain to her that—never mind, I’ll not go into that. I have had to suffer Matthew driving me in my curricle for the best part of five hours, so I am covered with dust and my shoulder hurts like the devil.’ He paused, but only to draw breath.
‘There was no reason that I can see for you to follow me!’ Frances interrupted when she could.
‘Of course not! It would have been quite acceptable for me to allow my wife to drive around the country on her own. I have been out of my mind with worry the whole journey. And then, instead of finding you dead in a ditch, here you are, comfortably ensconced at the White Hart! At least Benson had the sense to put up here, otherwise I would be searching the whole country for you. No, my dear wife, of course I am not disturbed.’