An Escapade and an Engagement

by Annie Burrows

  ‘Of course it has. Milly, I can see you must have given up hope to say such a thing, but—’

  ‘There was never any hope for me with him,’ she said as she yanked the ribbons into a bow under her chin. ‘But at least now I’ve met a man who does see me as a woman. Tom’s waiting for me right now. In the lane that goes up to The Workings. In his curricle…’

  ‘Not… You don’t mean Lord Halstead?’

  ‘Why not Lord Halstead?’

  ‘Well, because I…I can’t believe he loves you. Not if he has asked you to run away with him like this.’ She’d learned that much from her relationship with Harry. ‘Besides, if you run off with another man it will break Richard’s heart.’

  ‘If you think anything I do might touch Richard’s heart,’ Milly said bitterly, ‘let alone break it, you are very much mistaken.’

  She turned to the bed and picked up her valise.

  ‘Of course it will hurt him!’ How could Milly be so obtuse? She had been devastated when Harry abandoned her, and she hadn’t loved him at all. It was the betrayal, the lies he’d told. And it would be ten times worse for Richard, because he did love Milly. Was on the verge of proposing to her.

  ‘Well, that only goes to show how little you really know him. That’s ’cos he’s only let you see him in the guise of a gentleman. But that’s not really him. He’s a soldier at heart. And an officer to boot. There’s nothing soft about him to hurt. He’s steel through to the core.’

  ‘Even if that were true—’ which she didn’t believe for a minute ‘—you can’t just go throwing your life away because you are upset.’ It was the kind of thing she’d done in the past. Completely overreacted when she’d been hurt and angry. ‘You don’t really think Lord Halstead is going to offer to marry you if you run off with him tonight, do you?’

  ‘Course not! What do you take me for?’

  Lady Jayne gasped. She could just about see why Milly would have been content to become Richard’s mistress. If a woman loved a man enough she might easily sacrifice her virtue. But this was not the same at all.

  ‘Milly, have you taken leave of your senses? You hardly know the man!’

  ‘I know enough,’ said Milly defiantly. ‘He’s fun, at least. Since we’ve been down here I’ve had such laughs with him while he’s been trying to work out if I’m really his Spanish lady from the masquerade. It was him as took me home, you know, after Richard spirited you away.’

  ‘But…’

  Milly’s face softened. ‘Look, I can see you’re worried about what will become of me, but you needn’t be. I’m not daft. I know this thing with Tom won’t last long, but I’ll survive. I’ve still got the house Richard gave me…’

  ‘Milly! You cannot actually want to demean yourself by letting a man like that…use you? Then throw you away as though you were of no account?’ For that was what men did with their mistresses, was it not?

  Milly made an impatient gesture with her hand to silence her.

  ‘Don’t start preaching at me, Jayne. You don’t understand…anything. You cannot begin to know how awful it was, all those months when we didn’t know if Richard was going to live or die. Fred was out foraging, and I was scrimping and saving and making do when his precious family wouldn’t lift a finger to help. Especially when you consider our regiment was having picnics and parties and balls all the way to Paris. And where was I? Chatham!’

  She spat the word as though it was a curse.

  ‘And then, when he did come into all this—’ with a rather wild laugh she waved at the opulence of the room in which they stood ‘—and said he was grateful for all I’d done, and he was going to treat me right, I thought he was going to set me up in style. Give me a carriage and a pair of cream horses so I could go round the park like as if I was someone. Or a box at the theatre—now, that wouldn’t have gone amiss neither. But instead of making sure I could start having some real fun he packed me off to Bedford Place and told me to be a good girl. But I’m not a girl,’ she cried, stamping her foot. ‘I’m a woman!’

  Oh, how often Lady Jayne had wrought herself up to the same pitch as her friend was in now. Even though she could understand Richard’s motives, she could feel every ounce of Milly’s frustration. In just such a mood she’d vowed not to dance with a single man in London. In just such a mood she’d decided to go to that masquerade and meet Harry.

  And who had been hurt? Not the person who’d provoked her into the act of defiance. Just herself.

  ‘No!’ cried Lady Jayne, stepping in front of Milly as she picked up her valise and made for the door. ‘I won’t let you do this. I can see you are very upset, but you have to stop and listen…’

  ‘You really think you can stop me? I’m a head and a half taller than you, and far, far stronger if it comes to a fight. And I know tricks you couldn’t even dream of.’

  ‘I…I am quite sure you do,’ she replied, lifting her chin. ‘But I have something very important to tell you. It will change everything…’

  But Milly did not stop. She did not listen. With a mulish pout, Milly simply pushed Lady Jayne aside and stalked into their sitting room.

  She ran after her and seized her arm as she reached for the door handle.

  ‘Milly, stop! I can’t let you leave like this. I can’t!’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Jayney!’ Milly dropped her valise, wrapped her arms round her waist, lifted her from the floor and flung her away from the door. ‘Can’t you see this will be to your advantage? Now you know I’m no competition, there’s nothing to stop you going after Richard yourself.’

  ‘What?’ She straightened up, rubbing at her waist where she could still feel Milly’s steely strong grip.

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me. I’ve seen the way you come alive for him, when you can barely be bothered to be polite to any other man.’ She thrust her face into hers. ‘You go for the heroic type, don’t you? That was what attracted you to your Hyde Park soldier. The uniform. The veneer of manliness.’

  Lady Jayne retreated, shaking her head. It hadn’t been like that with Harry at all!

  ‘Well, take it from me, Richard is ten times the man Harry was. I’ve had my hands on every single inch of his body. And I can vouch for the fact he’s got all the equipment necessary to keep a woman well satisfied.’

  ‘Milly!’

  ‘Even if it was true that my leaving might affect him, we both know he’s on the hunt for a Society bride.’

  ‘No! W-well he was, but he told me—’

  ‘All you need do,’ Milly interrupted, prodding her in the chest with her forefinger, making Lady Jayne take another step back, ‘is flutter those great long eyelashes of yours, put your arms round his neck and let him kiss you. And I guarantee all will be right with his world again.’

  ‘No. You’ve got it dreadfully wrong…’ she protested, just as Milly shoved her hard in the chest and sent her reeling back.

  And slammed the bedroom door in her face.

  With every coarse remark, each jab of her finger, she had sent Lady Jayne retreating across the sitting room. She had been so shocked that Milly had known all along how she felt about Richard—especially when she’d only just untangled her web of emotions in his regard the day before—she had not noticed the moment she teetered on the threshold of her own room. But now she was on the wrong side of the door, while Milly was turning the key in the lock.

  ‘Let me out! Milly! You must—’ she slammed the palms of her hands against the locked
door ‘—not leave!’

  She grabbed the doorknob and tugged with all her might. It would not yield.

  ‘Milly!’ she yelled as loud as she could. But Milly’s steps did not falter. And then she heard the outer door slam.

  Oh, this was terrible. Not only was Milly ruining her own future by acting on the kind of anger that Lady Jayne knew only too well, but she was also going to devastate Richard. This affaire would ruin any chance of him finding the happiness he’d only just started to reach for.

  She kicked the annoyingly solid bedroom door just once, to relieve her feelings, welcoming the pain that shot through her toes. Because it was all her fault. If she hadn’t gone to that masquerade Milly might never have met Lord Halstead. If she hadn’t been such a selfish, jealous, coward she would have told Milly yesterday that Richard was going to propose, and then none of this would be happening.

  There was only one way to make amends. With a determined glint in her eye, she marched across to the window.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lady Jayne opened the casement and leaned out, examining the climb she would have to make. For she had to get to Richard and warn him what was going on, and this window was the only way out of her room.

  The apex of the porte-cochère was only a foot or so beneath her windowsill. The pitch of the tiles was quite steep and, since it had been raining earlier that evening, they were slick with moisture. The drop from the guttering that ran along the lowest edge of the slope to the ground looked to be another fifteen or twenty feet.

  She had no fear of heights, since she had spent a great deal of her childhood, during the years when her father had just wanted her kept out of his sight, climbing trees. But this was not going to be an easy descent. That slippery slope had no handholds. And there was no way to avoid dropping the last bit.

  She leaned out a bit farther. If she slid crabwise across the porte-cochère, to its lowest point, she might be able to find a toehold amongst the ivy. It covered the whole frontage of the house, and she knew from experience that a plant that vigorous would have some sturdy branches under all that thick foliage. Failing all else, she could grab a vine and let it slow her descent to the ground as it peeled away from the wall.

  The image of getting a vine in her hand reminded her of a rope. A rope. Yes, if only she had a rope she could cling to it as she slid slowly down the sloping tiles. And then, even if it was not all that long, if she could hang from the end of it and reduce her fall by even a few feet it would make all the difference. If she only had to drop, say, ten feet, it would be like coming off a horse that was jumping a hedge, which she had done plenty of times.

  You had to roll, her groom had taught her from an early age. Not just slam into the ground like a sack of potatoes, but crumple and roll. And then, though you still got bruises, you weren’t so likely to break bones.

  She turned round, scanning her room for something to fashion into a rope. Her eyes snagged on the plaited cords that tied back the silk damask hangings of her bed. She unlooped them and swiftly knotted them together as best she could. Then tied the end of the first one to the central stone pillar between her windows. Then gave a little tug, to make sure it was secure. She wished she had packed her breeches. But, since she had promised never to climb out of a window again, it hadn’t occurred to her she might want them.

  She clucked her tongue in annoyance. When would she stop making stupid, rash vows that she had no hope of keeping? Oh, dear. Was she doomed to end up like Milly? One day throwing her life away completely in a fit of…pique?

  Not if she could help it. She firmed her lips and hitched her nightgown up round her thighs. She’d made mistakes in her past. Bad ones. But she wasn’t so stupid she hadn’t learned from them.

  She knotted the yards of fine lawn in place with the belt of her dressing gown and swung her legs over the sill, clinging tightly to the plaited velvet cord.

  There was a ripping noise.

  She couldn’t worry about whatever she’d torn just now. She had to concentrate on getting to Richard as fast as possible. To that end she turned to lie on her tummy on the tiles, skinning her knees in the process. Ignoring the pain, and the unpleasant sensation of wetness seeping through the front of her nightgown, she began to worm her way down.

  It was when she was about halfway down that the rope went slack and then, to her horror, went slithering past her. Somewhere along its length it must have come untied.

  Oh, why, she thought as she scrabbled in vain for purchase on the wet tiles, had none of those expensive tutors and governesses she’d had ever taught her how to tie knots?

  After breaking several fingernails, she thought of kicking off her silk slippers. Maybe she could dig her toes into the steep and slippery slope. It didn’t help at all. In fact, she felt as though she was sliding downwards even faster.

  She shrieked as her feet went over the edge.

  But then, by some miracle, she managed to grab hold of the limestone trough that acted as guttering. For a second or two she hung, suspended by her fingertips in midair.

  And then she was falling through empty space.

  Instinctively she curled into a ball as she hit the gravel driveway. When she stopped rolling she lay quite still for a moment or two, taking stock and thanking providence for that groom. The one person who had taught her anything of real value.

  It did not feel as though she had broken anything. With a determined grimace, she made herself sit up.

  She was facing the massive, locked front door.

  She could pound on the knocker, she supposed. Yes, and raise half the household. And then they would all know that Milly had run off with Lord Halstead after locking her in her room. Which was the last thing she wanted.

  No, somehow she had to find Richard—and only Richard. Nobody else must ever know about this night’s work.

  She got to her feet and stood for a few moments, willing her legs to stop shaking, and wondered which out of the three storeys of closed, curtained windows this part of the house possessed was his.

  And then she remembered him saying how hard he found it to sleep with the windows shut. But that Fred was here now. Fred who knew how he liked things done.

  All she had to do was walk round the house looking for an open window. She didn’t know anyone else who was likely to leave a window open at night, since most people believed that the night air was injurious to the health.

  Although, she reflected as she made for the corner of the house, that did not stop anyone from staying out until dawn when they were in London. If night air was really that bad, surely it would be dangerous to go outside at night? She paused and scanned the windows on the west wing. All shut.

  She set off again, going round to the back, where she came to a jumble of buildings that looked like kitchens and offices, which ran clear away to the stable block. He would not sleep down here.

  So she retraced her steps to the front of the house, then continued round to examine the east wing, which had been tacked on to the earliest buildings at about the same time as the porte-cochère, by the looks of the stonework.

  And felt a sense of jubilation when she spied, on the first floor, a single sash pushed up. It had to be Richard’s room!

  Only now that she’d found it how on earth was she to attract his attention? If she shouted for him she’d likely wake half the household.

  She would have to throw something up at his window and hope it would wake him. She bent down,
scooped up a handful of gravel from the driveway and flung it upwards.

  Then squealed and scampered backwards as half of it came raining straight back down on her head. Gravel, she discovered, scattered in all directions when you threw it.

  She’d have to find a pebble, then. But not too large a one. She did not want to run the risk of smashing anything. Broken glass would take too much explaining away in the morning.

  A quick rummage through the urns that stood on the edge of the terrace proved unfruitful, the compost in them being so soft and crumbly she suspected it must have gone through a sieve. She trotted to the end, dived into the shrubbery and from beneath the very first bush managed to extract a couple of roughish small stones.

  She threw the first one at the window, and almost stamped her foot with vexation when it went wide of where she had aimed it, striking the brickwork way to the left of the open window.

  She stepped to the right half a pace and threw again. This time, to her immense satisfaction, the pebble flew right through the open window.

  Only then there was a crash, as of breaking glass, and the sound of a man’s voice cursing. Richard’s head and shoulders appeared above the sill, as though he had been crouched beneath it.

  ‘What the devil?’ He stood up and leaned out. ‘Lady Jayne? What do you think you are doing down there? My God! I almost shot you!’

  ‘Oh, hush, Richard. Do not shout. Only come down quickly and let me in.’ She gesticulated at a set of doors on the terrace. She thought she remembered him telling her they led into the library.

  He nodded and disappeared.

  She undid the belt of her dressing gown—the only knot that night that had held fast—so that her tattered nightdress covered the lower part of her legs once more. Then hopped from one bare foot to the other, wondering what they’d think when they cleaned the gutters out in spring and found a pair of ladies’ slippers up there.