Lord Runthorne's Dilemma: A Regency Romance

by Steele, Sarah-Jane

  “Just do the best you can,” he said.

  With a shrug that spoke eloquently of Baines’s view of the beasts on offer, the groom turned back and soon led out a fine, high stepping mount. Runthorne swept his hand over the animal’s neck down onto its flank. The fine skin quivered under his hand, but the horse stood firm. A sensitive beast, he decided, but well trained.

  “I will take him.”

  Baines sniffed. “You’ve finer in your stable, my lord.”

  “That will do, Baines.”

  “My apologies, my lord,” Baines said. He saddled the horse without another word and Runthorne swung up onto the beast’s back.

  He tightened the reins and the horse walked forward, hooves clacking on the cobbles. It had a smooth, easy gait and responded well to his signals. Captain Maybourne kept well trained horses.

  They were soon out past the formal gardens and he gave the horse its head. He urged the animal faster as though he could outrun the ruin he had made of his life. To the right was a folly, perched on top of a low hill. It gleamed in the early sunlight. Runthorne turned the horse’s head in the other direction.

  The wind of his passage made him crouch low in the saddle, his face close to the animal’s neck. No gentleman should ride that way, but he did not care. Elizabeth had once shared his impatience with the conventions.

  He closed his eyes briefly as the memories ambushed him again.

  She had been mounted on a high spirited mare and had been galloping for the pure devilment of it through Hyde Park. It had been so early that the birds had barely been awake, let alone any member of the ton who would have clicked their tongues, outraged at such a breach of etiquette. But he had not been shocked. He had fallen in love. She had been so full of life and mischief. Elizabeth had brought joy wherever she went. And he had drunk in that joy.

  Until the day she snatched it away.

  There had been no explanation, no justification, not even an apology. She had just disappeared and he had been frantic.

  He had forced himself into her home, but she was gone and nobody, not even her obnoxious brother, would tell him where. Perhaps he had not known. However, he had been happy enough to tell Runthorne that Elizabeth had been cast off for her behaviour.

  Runthorne loosed the reins, allowing the horse to slow then halt. The beast dipped its head and pulled at the sweet grass and he allowed it.

  Why had she done it? He did not believe she was happy, whatever she claimed. She seemed to have lost that delight in life that he had fallen in love with. Her aunt appeared to be kind to her, but for a lady as proud as Elizabeth, her loss of status must have been a huge blow. He wondered if she still rode. Surely they would not deny her that. Riding had been like life’s blood to her.

  The sun had risen higher now, almost blinding him and his sketchy breakfast seemed a long time ago. Runthorne turned his mount homeward. He did not know what made him turn his head. A sound, perhaps, or the sun still a little in his eyes? Whatever it was, he saw her and suddenly he was angry.

  Elizabeth, who had only ever ridden the most elegant of mares, was mounted on a grizzled cob that appeared as exciting as an old bed. It seemed so unkind. Without thinking, he set his heels, startling his mount into a gallop.

  The cob was so stolid, it did not even shy away at his precipitous arrival. Elizabeth eyed him with icy calm.

  “Good morning, my lord,” she said. “I trust you had a restful night.”

  He did not quite know what to say so said the first thing that came to his mind. “What is that?”

  Elizabeth held a small, brown haired child mounted before her. Her arms tightened around the little girl. She raised her chin, her eyes steady. There was a note of defiance in her voice. “This,” she said, “is Alice.”

  ***

  Lord Runthorne raised his eyebrows.

  “I trust you do not object,” Elizabeth said.

  “How could I? It appears to be a perfectly acceptable name,” he said, “albeit a strange one for that poor excuse for a mount.” He smiled.

  He was teasing her. The corner of her mouth twitched. “The horse is called Stuffy,” she said. She stroked her companion's hair. “This is Alice.”

  “Ah, I am corrected,” he said. “I am honoured to meet you, Miss Alice.” He bowed a little, his smile softening. Alice’s thumb travelled to her mouth and she buried her face into Elizabeth’s chest. She tightened her arm around the little girl.

  “She is shy with strangers,” Elizabeth said.

  “A wise precaution,” he said. Now he frowned at Elizabeth and she twisted the reins in her fingers, jerking them a little. Stuffy, of course, did not react. “What I am more concerned about is why you,” the finger he pointed at her was mesmerising, “are sitting,” his finger flicked downwards, “on that.”

  Elizabeth stiffened, she hated feeling in the wrong, and Lord Runthorne had the despicable knack of doing just that. “I am riding this horse because I choose to,” she said.

  “Why?”

  She shook her head. “Because,” she said, “I must have some form of transport. We are too far from town for Alice to walk.”

  He sighed as though he doubted her intelligence. “I meant,” he said with the same deliberation she had used, “why are you riding that stuffy,” here a grin flashed across his face, “old cob, when I know for a fact that Captain Maybourne’s stable is full of fine horseflesh.” He frowned and Elizabeth felt surprisingly warmed by his concern. “Do they deny you the basics of your station?”

  Elizabeth stroked Alice’s hair, again, smoothing a strand that was tickling her chin. “You forget, my lord, my station is vastly different to what it was.” Then she shook her head.

  “Please do not think that I am denied anything, in the normal way of things, but you must understand that the guests have prior claim on the best in the stable. I assure you, I do not wish to put Miss Lacey’s nose out of joint,” she could not resist adding.

  Lord Runthorne opened his mouth, as though he was going to argue with her, then he turned his head away.

  “Quite so,” Elizabeth said.

  “I dislike seeing you mounted so poorly,” he said.

  “Stuffy is more than suitable for my current needs.” Elizabeth knew she spoke sharply, but his concern for her was reigniting emotions she had spent all night attempting to deny.

  She wished he would go away.

  It seemed, however, that Lord Runthorne thought a change in conversation was sufficient. “So, you often give rides to local children?”

  “No.”

  “But you are today?”

  “Yes.”

  “I detect a mystery.”

  “There is no such thing.”

  Alice began to whimper and even Stuffy twitched. She soothed them both, trying to hold on to her temper. “If it is any concern of yours,” and she truly hoped that her tone indicated that it was not, “Alice had wandered too far from home and was tired. I am merely taking her back.” She was glaring now, but did not care.

  “It may surprise you, my lord, but children younger than Alice work very hard, and their families need the pennies they earn, so any moment’s delay in getting her home is taking food out of their mouths. As slow as he is, Stuffy still goes faster than Alice can walk. So, my lord, I trust that answers your important questions.” She paused for affect. “I hope you will delay us no longer, my lord?”

  “I assure you, Elizabeth, you have been free to leave since I arrived.”

  Elizabeth tightened her reins and nudged Stuffy’s side. Stuffy ignored her. Elizabeth kicked him a little harder. Still, the stubborn cob would not move. Her cheeks began to burn.

  “Allow me.” He leaned over and slapped Stuffy on the rump.

  Stuffy broke into an amble. With a horrible, superior smile on his face, Lord Runthorne allowed his stallion to match pace.

  ***

  “There is no need for you to accompany us.”

  Elizabeth was facing forward, refusing to r
eturn his gaze, so Runthorne contented himself with admiring her profile. Her features were more defined now, he thought, as though everything superfluous had been burnt away, leaving behind her true essence.

  She dipped her head to murmur something to the child, and Runthorne smiled. She looked so natural. He wondered if she would ever have a child of her own and felt a burning hope that she would. The child giggled and gazed up at Elizabeth with such trust that he felt his heart clench.

  She was a pretty child with hair perhaps a shade darker than Elizabeth’s and a sweet, heart-shaped face. Her clothes were shabby, but appeared clean and well mended. Heavy, ugly shoes hung from her skinny ankles, but at least she was shod. Many poor children went barefoot in all weathers.

  She was about five or six years he judged, although it was often hard to tell with peasant children as so many of them were undernourished. This one seemed better fed than most, so perhaps he was not too wide of the mark. She, Alice he reminded himself, clutched a bulky sack to her chest, as though it contained precious jewels.

  He shook his head, and met Elizabeth’s curious gaze. “I was just wondering how far to the town,” he said, which was no explanation, he knew.

  “And that made you shake your head?” Her smile warmed him. He had missed that.

  “Not exactly. I was considering if there was a haberdashery there,” he improvised.

  “So it was that that made you shake your head?”

  Was there just a hint of laughter in her eyes, he wondered? “I shook my head, because I decided that it was highly unlikely that there would be,” he said, hoping that that would be the end of the matter.

  “Please, Miss, what’s a haberdashery?” The child had a soft voice and, although she stumbled over the unfamiliar word, was better spoken then he would have thought.

  “A place where you can buy ribbons,” Elizabeth answered.

  “Oh we have one of them,” Alice said with pride. “It’s down Cock Street, along from the doctor’s house.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “So it is. There, my lord, your journey will not be in vain. I am sure Miss Lacey will be delighted with a length of ribbon.”

  Privately, Runthorne thought Aurelia would be disgusted with the merchandise available in a provincial shop, but he nodded.

  “So, is it much farther?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “If that rise were not in the way, you would be able to see it,” she said. “I think you will be a little surprised.”

  She was correct. They paused for a moment on the brow of the hill. A substantial town bustled below them, and the sounds of healthy commerce rose on the still air.

  “It appears to be an affluent community,” he said.

  “For some,” Elizabeth nodded. “My apologies, Alice,” she said to the child before her, “we will not delay you any longer. I know you have many chores.”

  “Thank you, Miss.”

  At first they rode through wide, pretty streets lined with many little shops but, gradually, those streets grew narrower, darker, until they became a warren of alleyways and bolt holes.

  “Do not worry, my lord, I know where I am going.” Elizabeth said and Runthorne realised she had noticed his increased scrutiny of their surroundings.

  “Then I leave my safety entirely in your hands.”

  “Your trust is well placed,” Elizabeth said. “We are here.”

  A slim woman stood in the street, one hand on her hip, the other supporting a small baby. Her scowl melted into a relieved smile when she saw them. Like Alice the woman was poorly dressed, but clean. She dropped an absent minded curtsey.

  “Alice Turner, how many times have I told you not to wander too far away? I have been out of my mind with worry over you.”

  “Mrs Turner, please do not be too hard on Alice,” Elizabeth said, lowering the child to the ground. “We would have been back long since, but I was somewhat delayed.” The glance she shot him informed him where the blame lay.

  “Indeed, Mrs Turner,” Runthorne said, “had I not intercepted them, I am sure Miss Hampton would have been here a great deal sooner.”

  “Well as to that, sir,” Mrs Turner said, “I can’t say I like Miss Hampton coming here, alone.” She now turned her reproving look on Elizabeth. “You should take more care, Miss,” she said, as though she was an elderly matron. Runthorne judged she was younger than Elizabeth. “It’s not safe for the likes of you down this way.

  “Now, Alice,” she added turning her attention to the child, “you just make your curtsey to the gentleman and Miss Hampton. Wash your face and hands and have a bite to eat. There’s bread on the table, then you can get to work. I hope you have plenty in that sack, but if not you can start the spinning. Go on, child.”

  “Yes, mam,” Alice said, as Mrs Turner paused for breath. She sketched a curtsey then dashed into the tiny house still clutching her sack.

  “Mrs Turner, please do not blame Alice,” Elizabeth said, leaning down from the cob. She dropped her voice to a murmur so that Runthorne could not quite catch what she said. He did, however, see the gleam of coins passing from one hand to another.

  Mrs Turner dropped a deeper bob than before. “Well, Miss, you are kind to say so,” she said, clearly mollified, “but you shouldn’t let Alice bother you so.”

  “She is never a bother.” Elizabeth smiled and turned her cob’s head. “My lord, would you care to see a little more of our town?”

  “I would be delighted,” he said but, as they headed back to the main street, he paid little attention to the sights. He was too busy puzzling over the odd relationship between Elizabeth Hampton and Alice Turner.

  ***

  The sun was high over their heads before they turned their mounts homeward. They travelled in companionable silence until Elizabeth suddenly pointed to a row of unnatural mounds in the distance.

  “It is said that those low hills over there are burial mounds,” Elizabeth said. She gave an odd, one shouldered shrug that brought a nostalgic smile to Runthorne’s lips. “I have no idea if that is true, but the locals enjoy scaring themselves with stories.”

  “Do you believe them?” He was surprised to find that he was truly curious.

  “Of course not,” Elizabeth said but she did not meet his eye.

  He leaned forward in his saddle, dropping his voice to an appropriately sepulchral level. “‘Do you dare to walk those hills at night when the mists rise up to swallow you down into the depths?’”

  Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed. “I had forgotten,” she said. Then she bit her lip as she thought for a moment. “‘Oh, no, no, no,’” she gasped in a breathy, childish voice. “‘I do not dare, but I must, for if I do not my beloved brother’s life shall be forfeit.’”

  He grinned. It was a nonsense game they had invented, each trying to outdo the other in gothic silliness. He could not imagine playing it with anyone other than Elizabeth. Certainly not Aurelia.

  Where had that thought come from?

  “‘Should you dare to walk the paths of the dead, should you emerge unscathed from their chilly embrace, then your brother will be returned to you,’” he said, trying to ignore his disquiet. “‘But, beware, should you not escape the icy kiss of your forbears, not only your life but your very soul shall be sacrificed.’”

  “‘Oh,’” Elizabeth mimicked the horrified whimper of the true heroine to perfection. “‘They come, they come.’ Or, at least,” she added in her normal voice glancing over her shoulder, “he comes. Quickly, before we have to speak to him. No, my lord, do not look.”

  It was too late. Runthorne had already turned in his saddle. A tall, exquisitely dressed man rode towards them, mounted on a showy chestnut mare whose coat was the perfect match for her rider’s pomaded hair.

  “Gosh, Miss Hampton, is that you?” He raised his rakishly tilted hat and beamed.

  “As you see, sir.” Elizabeth appeared resigned to their fate. “Lord Runthorne, may I present Mr Compton. He has a house just beyond those mounds.�
�

  Runthorne nodded. “‘Amongst the halls of the dead’,” he said.

  “Gosh, what?” Mr Compton’s toothy smile faltered.

  “Miss Hampton was just regaling me with the local history,” he said with, he felt, more patience than the other warranted.

  “Haw. A history man are you? I never quite took to it, not much in the old brain box, you know.” Neither Runthorne nor Elizabeth joined him in his neighing laugh.

  “The Marquess of Runthorne has joined my aunt’s house party,” Elizabeth said into the eventual silence.

  “Capital, capital. Glad to know you, my lord.” Suddenly, Mr Compton’s jaw dropped. “I say,” he said. “I say, I say, I say.”

  “So you said,” Elizabeth murmured. Runthorne stifled a chuckle.

  “Are you quite well, Mr Compton?” Runthorne turned in his saddle to see what had caught the Exquisite’s attention.

  ***

  Miss Lacey, perched as graceful as a lily on an elegant palfrey, trotted towards them with Charles in tow. Elizabeth could not help admiring the figure she cut.

  The girl’s trim waist was emphasised by the beautiful tailoring of her habit and made to appear even tinier by the full flare of the skirt. A matching hat was balanced precariously on top of her artfully piled tresses and a single feather curled down to brush her cheek.

  “Runthorne, there you are,” she gushed, fluttering her fingers. Even her gloves were dyed to match her riding habit. Impractical, Elizabeth thought, but so stylish.

  She glanced down at her own, drab habit. It was at least six years out of date and showed a great deal of wear. In her heart she knew that clothes were not the most important thing in the world, little Alice and her family had taught her that. But she could not suppress a twinge of envy.

  Miss Lacey’s mare sidled and she did nothing to calm the animal, merely allowing it to shoulder Stuffy away. Elizabeth sighed. It would seem that the accord she and Lord Runthorne had enjoyed was now at an end. The palfrey continued to shy and dance in place, until he reached down a hand and took the reins.

  “Oh, you are so clever, Runthorne,” Miss Lacey said, “I always feel safe when you are with me.”