The Runaway Heiress

by Brenda Hiatt

  The Runaway Heiress

  Brenda Hiatt

  The Runaway Heiress

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  Copyright 2005 by Brenda Hiatt

  Electronic edition

  Cover art by Dar Albert

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  This is a work of fiction. Though some actual historical places, persons and events are depicted in this work, the primary characters and their stories are fictional. Any resemblance between those characters and actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

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  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Dolphin Star Press

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  978-1-940618-46-3

  Also by Brenda Hiatt

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  Scandalous Virtue

  Rogue’s Honor

  Noble Deceptions

  Innocent Passions

  Saintly Sins

  Gallant Scoundrel

  Tessa’s Touch

  The Runaway Heiress

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Scandalous Virtue

  Author's Note

  Also by Benda Hiatt

  About the Author

  Synopsis

  A Marriage of Inconvenience?

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  Dina’s only chance to keep her inheritance from going to pay her brother’s gaming debts is to marry before her twenty-fifth birthday. When her carefully planned elopement goes awry, in desperation, she travels to Gretna Green alone. There she finds herself rescuing a naïve young lady from a fortune hunter, which earns the gratitude of the young lady’s handsome—and eligible—brother, who has come in hot pursuit. When he asks her to name her reward, she has her answer ready.

  Grant Turpin, better known to his friends as Thor, is grateful to the girl who saved his sister’s honor, but is stunned when she demands marriage in repayment of his debt to her. She insists she will not infringe on his freedom in the least, but the more time he spends with her, the less attractive that freedom appears. Instead, he becomes increasingly determined to win her heart along with her hand. Surely spending Christmas with her at his parents’ estate will help him to do just that?

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  Book 2 of the “Seven Saints Hunt Club” series, set in the same world as “The Saint of Seven Dials” series.

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  For two FREE short stories (including a prequel to “The Saint of Seven Dials” series) and the latest news about my books, please subscribe to my newsletter (click here).

  Chapter One

  Staffordshire, England - December 1, 1816

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  THE horses stamped with impatience on the dark, deserted road North. A cold rain fell impartially on the sturdy traveling coach, the huddled postboy on the box and the couple who faced each other at the edge of the road, several yards away.

  Undine Moore stared at her would-be bridegroom in blank disbelief, shivering as icy water wound along the once-jaunty ribbons of her bonnet and found its way inside her cloak and down her bodice, where it added to the chill his words had given her.

  "Not going? What do you mean we're not going?" Anxiety —and anger —made her normally low voice shrill. "We've been planning this for a month."

  Diggory Tallow appeared paler and thinner than ever in the flickering lights of the coach lamps. "I know we have, Dina, but I've realized an elopement will not serve. Think of the gossip, the scandal . . . of your brother's anger. A more conventional wedding—"

  "There's no time and you know it," Dina protested. "My birthday is in four days. If we wait for a license —which Silas will doubtless attempt to prevent us from procuring in any case —my share of the estate will become his."

  Diggory stared at the ground, making patterns in the mud with the toe of his boot, and shrugged. "It's . . . it's not as though I'm marrying you for your money, Dina."

  "Of course not." Indeed, Diggory's fortune was three or four times greater than her own. "But why should Silas have what is rightfully mine— what should be ours?"

  She lowered her voice persuasively. "Come, Diggory, I've gone through the difficulty of slipping out of the house and walking all the way here in the rain. The carriage is already hired. And there's no knowing when Silas may return to Ashcombe, making another attempt impossible. Let's head for Scotland as we've planned. We'll be married before Silas can stop us."

  Though he still did not meet her eye, Diggory spoke firmly —more firmly than she'd ever heard him speak before. "I'm sorry, Dina. I can't."

  "But why not? What has changed?" It was unlike the normally malleable Diggory to resist her leadership. His docility had been one reason she'd set her cap at him in the first place —that and his availability, as he lived only two miles from Ashcombe and visited Silas frequently.

  Of course, he had always dragged his heels when it had come to actually planning a wedding. She assumed it was fear of her brother, who admittedly was almost twice Diggory's size, and had clearly established his dominance over the smaller man during his years as Diggory's upperclassman at Cambridge.

  Finally, after repeated excuses to delay their nuptials, Dina had realized the only course that would guarantee her absolutely necessary marriage before her twenty-fifth birthday was an elopement. Rather to her surprise, Diggory had seemed perfectly amenable —until now.

  "Do you no longer care for me?" she asked when he did not answer, trying to ignore the water soaking through her thick wool cloak as well as the guilt that assailed her at asking such a question. She quieted it by telling herself —again —that though she did not love Diggory, she would be a good wife to him.

  "It's . . . it's not that," he stammered, flicking a quick glance at her before staring at his feet again.

  Hoping that denoted a softening of his inexplicable stance, Dina shivered visibly. "I'm freezing. Let's at least get into the chaise to discuss it, shall we?"

  Diggory bit his lip. "I, ah, I don't think we'd better. I can't stay long."

  Dina wondered with a spurt of amusement whether he feared she might try to kidnap him, to force him to elope with her after all. Then, as he shifted uncomfortably, she wondered if she shouldn't do just that.

  No, it would take at least two days to reach Scotland. She could never compel him to remain with her if he was truly unwilling. Perhaps if she had brought along a pistol . . .

  "You promised to help me safeguard my inheritance," she said, not bothering to hide her irritation. "This is the only way to do that now."

  "Yes, well, I've been thinking." He spoke quickly, as though he'd rehearsed his words in advance. "Surely you can trust your brother to do that? You can't really think he'll refuse you your dowry, once you do marry?"

  Dina let out a hiss of exasperation, for she'd been over this with Diggory before. "No, I can't trust Silas in this, not with his gambling debts mounting. His own fortune is gone. I've no desire to see mine go t
he same way, nor can I believe you would wish for that either."

  "No, but I . . . well, that is . . ."

  "You're afraid of him, I understand that," she persisted.

  "Not . . . not afraid, exactly . . ."

  Her brother had always held a great deal of influence over Diggory. No doubt Silas had tyrannized him— along with the other underclassmen —at school. Her brother had always been a bully, as Dina herself knew from long experience. Though now they were adults he rarely threatened her physically, he still occasionally vented his temper by restricting her to the house. She didn't care to think what he might do if she went back there now, if he discovered where she'd gone and why.

  "Silas likes you," Dina told Diggory firmly. "He might be angry at first, but he actually told me recently that he'd like to have you as a brother-in-law."

  She'd nearly told Silas about her betrothal when he'd said that, but caution had prevented her. She knew that Silas was not eager for her to marry. He'd used one excuse after another to prevent her London come-out, until he could honestly claim he couldn't afford it. And on the two or three occasions that local gentlemen had shown interest in her, Silas had "convinced" them to look elsewhere.

  "He's told me that, too," Diggory said now. "That's why I'm sure he'll do right by us, if we just wait."

  Dina frowned at him in the darkness. "Silas told you— Did you tell him I had agreed to marry you?"

  A long silence greeted her question, then, "I, ah, may have mentioned it once." His sudden nervousness was palpable.

  Vague suspicions that had played at the edges of her mind off and on for months suddenly crystalized. "Silas knows all about our plan, doesn't he? He's persuaded you to play along, pretend you were going to go through with this elopement, only to renege at the last minute."

  When it would be far too late for her to find another willing bridegroom.

  The frightened glance Diggory sent her was all the answer she needed, belying his stammered denial.

  "But don't you see that by marrying me, you will have control of my fortune instead of Silas?" she said with growing urgency. She must convince him, persuade him back to her side. "How could he convince you to give that up, even assuming you care nothing for me?"

  "It's not that I don't —that is—I told you it's not about the money. Silas has made it clear I'll be sorry if I marry you before your birthday. On the other hand, if we wait, he has promised to do well by us and . . . and not to hurt me."

  "Then he's been in it from the first?" she demanded, aghast. That meant they had both been stringing her along for most of the past year, keeping her secure in the belief that she'd found a way out of her dilemma —and so keeping her from seeking another solution.

  "I . . . I'd better go," he said, turning toward the carriage.

  Dina's heart pounded as she watched her last hope disappear. How could she have been so stupid? She'd thought she was the one pulling Diggory's strings, when all the time it had been Silas pulling both Diggory's and her own. And now—was she to tamely return home and admit defeat?

  "No," she said sharply. Diggory stopped, his hand on the door of the hired chaise, to glance back at her curiously.

  Dina took two quick steps toward him, pulled back her arm and drove her fist into his jaw with all her might. With a single grunt of surprise, Diggory collapsed into a heap on the muddy road.

  "'Ere, now!" exclaimed the startled postboy, who had been discreetly ignoring the entire exchange until then. "What'd ye do to him, miss?"

  "He, ah, had too much to drink," Dina improvised, looking down at Diggory's awkwardly sprawled form with only the smallest bit of regret. Should she ask the postboy to help her get him into the carriage? No, already he was beginning to stir —and groan.

  She stepped around to the front of the coach. "I assume you've already been paid for the first stage?" she asked.

  "That's the funny thing. He told me to get the rig up for a trip all the way to Scotland, then tonight he just give me half a crown to bring 'im here, then back to 'is house."

  Dina bit back an unladylike curse. She'd given Diggory enough money last week to transport them all the way to the border. "A moment," she said, bending down to search his pockets before he came fully to himself. In a moment, she found the twenty pounds she'd given him in his breast pocket.

  Standing, she showed the postboy the money. "This should get me to Gretna Green. Will you take me the first stage?"

  Slowly, the fellow nodded. "Just you? What about the bloke?" he asked, pointing.

  "He'll be all right," she assured him —and herself. "It seems he didn't wish to go to Scotland after all . . . but I do."

  Picking up her satchel from the side of the road, she opened the door to the coach and climbed inside just as Diggory managed to sit up, confusedly rubbing his jaw. She tapped on the roof, and with a lurch, the carriage headed north.

  Dina had intended to elope, and elope she would— though what good doing so alone would do her, she wasn't sure. Still, it was preferable to returning home, where Silas would make certain she couldn't escape again before her fateful birthday. Perhaps by the time she reached the border, she would come up with a plan.

  "Quite a run, eh?" asked Lord Rushford with a grin as the members of the Seven Saints hunt club returned to Ivy Lodge, where they resided during foxhunting season.

  "One of the best this year," agreed Grant Turpin, better known to his intimates as Thor because of his imposing stature. "The Quorn can always be counted on for an excellent day's sport. Superb pack, that. Which reminds me, I need to check on Princess. She's near to whelping."

  Thor planned to build a foxhound pack of his own one day, and had been breeding some superior bloodlines toward that end. With a nod to his cronies, he headed in the direction of the stables, one corner of which he'd set up as a kennel block for the season, where he could supervise a few of his more promising pairings.

  A chorus of tiny whimperings greeted him as he neared the stall where he'd left Princess. His groom, who also helped with the hounds, met him with a grin. "Six pups, sir," he announced. "Three dogs and three bitches. All healthy."

  "Good man, Farrell," Thor exclaimed, entering the stall to kneel next to Princess. She looked tired but contented, greeting him with a thump of her tail as she nursed her new brood. Thor examined each perfect pup in turn, humming with satisfaction.

  It was early for a whelping, as most pups were born in February or March, but he'd had a chance to put Belvoir's Rounder to Princess, so had bred her on an early heat. Besides, the early whelping might give these pups an advantage over smaller, younger ones when they were walked out to farmers in May.

  Thor stood, smiling. "They seem off to an excellent start," he said to Farrell. "Mind you keep plenty of fresh straw in here, as it's like to be cold tonight." Turning, he headed back to wash up for dinner, ducking his head slightly, as the stall door barely accommodated his height, which was some inches over six feet.

  He was halfway across the stableyard when he heard rapid footsteps. Looking up, he was startled to see Jonas, a footman from his parents' house in Lincolnshire, hurrying toward him.

  "Thank heaven you're here, sir!" the man exclaimed, quickening his pace further. "I set out this morning, soon as we found out, and only just arrived. The roads were a fright."

  "Found out what?" Thor asked, alarmed. "Are my parents—?"

  "They're . . . they're fine," Jonas panted. "That is, Lord and Lady Rumble are in good health, or was when I left. It's Miss Turpin that . . . well, here." He pulled a sealed envelope from his pocket and handed it to Thor.

  Quickly, he broke the seal and unfolded it, to read what his father had written in his precise, scholarly hand.

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  My Dear Son,

  I hope this finds you well. I regret to inform you that your sister Violet has done something your mother believes most unwise, in eloping with a certain Mr. Plunkett, a young man she met at one of the local assemblies. The house is in an u
proar since the event and your mother in decline, so I trust you will write speedily to assure her that you will do all in your power to recover your sister and protect both her virtue and her dowry —for your mother believes this Mr. Plunkett to be a fortune-hunter. For my part, I can't help thinking that if Violet truly cares for the fellow, little harm can come from their marriage, but your mother is of another mind. In hopes you will respond accordingly,

  Your affectionate father, etc.

  * * *

  Thor was already striding toward the house as he finished reading. He'd have thought that if anything could bestir his phlegmatic, unflappable father to action, it would be the elopement of his only daughter, but it appeared he was wrong. Indeed, his father's easygoing attitude had no doubt been an added encouragement to this Plunkett fellow.

  He cursed under his breath, not only over the likely loss of his sister, but at the knowledge that he would doubtless miss the next week of hunting. Of course, there was nothing else for it but to go after Violet and do what he could, as it was clear his father meant to do nothing himself.

  Heaven only knew what agonies his more emotional mother was suffering. There was a degree of irony in her opposition to Violet's marriage, considering how she'd been mercilessly badgering Thor himself to wed, to the point that he had begun to avoid going home. Still, he would not be so uncharitable as to mention that to her. At least, not unless this current matter was resolved happily, against all odds.