Lord Runthorne's Dilemma: A Regency Romance

by Steele, Sarah-Jane

  “Nothing, my friend,” he said. “Merely a word or two, or perhaps a game and some company. That is if Miss Granger would excuse us?”

  She stood, still a little unsteady. “Oh, of course, if you will excuse me my lord, Captain Fitzalan?”

  “You do not have to go,” Charles said.

  “I think she does.”

  Miss Granger looked between them, obviously confused. Then a delicate rose tinted her cheeks as she took his meaning.

  “Oh, I assure you, my lord, Captain Fitzalan has been nothing but a gentleman. It was I who persuaded him to teach me the cue. There was really nothing, I mean…” She trailed off, the rose of her cheeks intensifying.

  Runthorne bowed a correct inch. “Forgive me, Miss Granger,” he said, “you misunderstand me. I merely meant that I desired private speech with Captain Fitzalan.”

  “Of course.” She dropped a small curtsey. “If you will excuse me,” she said. He held the door open for her and she almost ran from the room. He closed the door behind her and frowned at Charles.

  “That was not well done, Charles,” he said. “Miss Granger is more than half in love with you. You have no right to encourage her.”

  “Miss Granger is a kind, sweet, innocent girl,” Charles said, which was, Runthorne thought, no answer at all.

  “All the more reason you should not flirt with her. You know as well as I what would have happened to her reputation if anyone else had walked in on you.”

  Charles folded his arms. “I hardly think you are in a position to criticise my behaviour,” he said.

  Runthorne turned away and selected a cue with more care than the action warranted.

  “Spot or plain,” he said, offering Charles the choice of cue ball.

  Choice made they both simultaneously hit their cue balls. Charles’ ricocheted off the top cushion and came to rest at the bottom of the table. Runthorne’s slowed to a smooth finish a few inches from the bottom cushion.

  Charles took his cue ball in silence, a silence that was strained. Runthorne placed the red ball on its spot and settled his cue ball. He sighted along his cue and drew it back smoothly.

  “Damnit, Runthorne, say something.”

  Runthorne’s cue struck the ball a touch off centre making it jump off the table. He sighed. “Well, I may well call you out for fouling my shot,” he said, hoping to make Charles chuckle.

  The joke fell flat.

  “Talk to me, Charles,” he said, leaning his cue against the table.

  Charles placed his cue ball carefully on the table and concentrated on chalking the end of his cue as he spoke. “Do you realise what you are doing? You accuse me of trifling with Miss Granger, but I have been completely honest with her. She will have nothing to complain of. I wonder if Elizabeth would be able to say the same of you.”

  Runthorne rolled his cue ball in his fingers. “Would you care to elaborate?”

  Charles blew residue dust from the end of his cue. “You flirt with her, talk to her alone, ride with her. You treat her as though she was your future marchioness, not Miss Lacey. If I didn’t know you better, I would think you were trying to hurt her. Punish her, perhaps.” He bent over the table and potted the red.

  “Of course I am not.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Runthorne took the red from the pocket and placed it on its spot. “I admit that I enjoy her company, but that is all.”

  Charles crossed his arms. “Do you know how strange that sounds? Damnit, James,” he said, dropping all formality. “I care deeply for Elizabeth, but she left you at the altar.”

  Runthorne frowned. Had Charles implied that he loved Elizabeth?

  “I cannot comprehend it myself, Charles, but it does not matter.” He paused, searching for a way to make his friend understand. “She makes me feel comfortable,” he said, at last.

  “Comfortable? You make her sound like an old sofa.”

  Runthorne shrugged. “Yet that is the best way I can describe it. She makes me laugh.”

  But it was more than that. He could not imagine needing to escape from her, in the way he had fled Aurelia. It was inexplicable but, for all the hurt she had done him, he felt that on the deepest level she was his friend. She knew him as well as he did her.

  “No, Charles, I am not punishing her. I do not know why she ran away, but I would wager my title that she had a good reason.”

  He took up his cue and looked at the configuration on the table without really seeing it. Instead he saw himself and Elizabeth.

  And Charles.

  Was there something between them? Aurelia had said as much. But she was wrong.

  She must be.

  “You are betrothed,” Charles said, as though from a great distance. “I do not want to see Elizabeth hurt.”

  Runthorne bent over the table, keeping his face averted so Charles would not see his expression. He felt sick. Dear God, was Aurelia right? Was his best friend in love with Elizabeth? Perhaps Charles always had been. How had he not seen it before? Hot on the heels of that thought was the scalding realisation that he too was still hopelessly in love with her.

  Barely able to see, he sent his cue ball speeding down the table to smash Charles’ ball into the corner.

  “You are quite right, Charles,” he said, pleased at how calm he sounded. “I have been thoughtless in my dealings with Miss Hampton.”

  “James?”

  Runthorne made himself smile. “Don’t worry, Charles, you have brought me to my senses. I am, as you so rightly pointed out, engaged to Aurelia, and I am also,” he hesitated before continuing, “happy with that situation.”

  He racked his cue, with extreme care. “If you will excuse me, Charles, I find I have things I must do.”

  ***

  Runthorne strode along the corridor. Guilt warred with anger. On the one hand he knew he had behaved appallingly to Charles but on the other the man deserved it. How dare he even look at Elizabeth let alone love her.

  He flexed his shoulders. It was a large house, but it now felt too small, too enclosed. He needed air. Without changing his footwear, Runthorne stepped outside.

  He paused on the gracious terrace that fronted the house. The air was warm, but a gentle breeze prevented it from being heavy. His tension eased as the heat of the sun caressed his face and he closed his eyes to more deeply appreciate it. He could almost imagine it was the touch of warm fingers. In the distance a bird called and he snapped open his eyes.

  He walked down the steps, more slowly now, and onto the long driveway. Stones crunched under his feet and the sharp edges seemed to bruise him through the thin soles of his shoes. For a moment he wavered, wondering if he should go back, perhaps change into boots, but somehow he felt drawn on. With a tiny shrug at his own indecisiveness he stepped off the drive onto the velvet smoothness of the lawn.

  The ground was summer dry, but the short grass was springy enough that walking was easy. Too easy, as it allowed Runthorne to return to his thoughts.

  He had behaved unforgivably, he knew that, and the knowledge did not sit well. He had always considered himself a man of honour, but he had acted like blackguard.

  He did not love Aurelia, indeed he had never pretended to, nor did he think she loved him. However she had accepted his proposal in good faith and she did not deserve to be insulted.

  The going was becoming harder now, the grass a little longer, tangling slightly over his shoes. Aurelia would make him a good wife he argued silently. She knew how to behave, would be undemanding, not expecting him to dance attendance on her.

  Elizabeth, on the other hand had always seemed to enjoy his company.

  He rather thought Aurelia would create her own court, leaving him free to pursue his own interests.

  Had he married Elizabeth, she would have objected quite vocally to those other ‘interests’.

  He gave Aurelia enough credit to trust his heir, at least, would be his own child, which was more than some men could claim. He was sure that
any dalliances would be conducted with discretion. He would have nothing with which to reproach her.

  They would have an ordinary, conventional marriage, no different to those he saw around him every day.

  He felt trapped.

  The lawn had changed and now the ground was rough and uncultivated. Runthorne turned, ready to walk back.

  He had made his decision when he had asked Aurelia to marry him. Only she could break their betrothal, and he knew that she never would. So he was honour bound to smile and dance at his wedding, just like so many other men. In the distance a bird chuckled, as though mocking him.

  “Damnit all,” he swore.

  Again he heard a rich chuckle. But it was not a bird this time. He recognised the sound. It was coming from a tangle of bushes to his left.

  Somebody was making Elizabeth laugh.

  He had no right to be jealous, but anger tore aside all good sense. He pushed through the bushes, uncaring of the noise he made or the branches snagging his coat. Elizabeth’s poke bonnet lay discarded on the ground.

  Rational thought gave way to fear. Fear that Elizabeth was compromised. He had to save her from her foolishness. The bushes gave up their last struggle and Runthorne burst out into a wide clearing.

  “Draw a circle, then down and flick.”

  Elizabeth sat on a fallen tree, her dark hair crowned with daisies. She was drawing with a stick on a patch of loose earth. Sitting at her feet were a small group of children, all from the town by their clothing. They also held sticks. Some mimicked Elizabeth. The others stared at him in astonishment. One, the smallest, began to cry. Elizabeth started.

  “Goodness, Lord Runthorne, whatever are you doing?” Elizabeth gathered the child onto her lap and blotted the tears with her handkerchief. She smiled at the little girl then shot him a furious glare. “Well?”

  He was torn between embarrassment and pleasure.

  “I was just out for a walk,” he said, “and heard you.” He decided not to add what he had thought she was doing.

  Elizabeth continued to glare at him. He cleared his throat. “Is this a game?”

  “No.”

  Runthorne pushed his fingers through his hair. A twig fell to the ground. He cleared his throat again.

  “Do you have a chill?” Elizabeth was as composed as a matron in her drawing room.

  Most women would have been mortified to have been discovered romping with the local urchins. He tried to imagine Aurelia in the same circumstances and his imagination failed.

  He smiled. “Thank you for your concern, but no, I am quite well.”

  Elizabeth did not return his smile and he had the distinct impression that she had read his thoughts when he had burst into the clearing. “I should not wish for the children to take a cold from you. None of them can afford to be ill. There has been too much sickness recently.”

  This time he kept the smile from his lips. Elizabeth’s eyes dared him to argue, but good sense prevailed and he merely nodded.

  For a moment, Elizabeth continued to glare. Then she clapped her hands. “It is time to go home, children. Please try to practise your letters before tomorrow. Collect your baskets. Tom,” she said to the tallest boy, “please make certain they all get home safely. Alice, give my kind regards to your mother. I shall call on her shortly. Now, hurry.”

  The children scattered, collecting up baskets that he now saw were full of wild strawberries and some greenery.

  “Nettles for soup,” Elizabeth said, again seeming to read his mind. “Sometimes they find wild garlic and other herbs. Captain Maybourne allows the children to forage for whatever grows wild as long as they do not disturb the game birds. I make sure they come to no harm.” She removed the daisies from her hair as the last child departed. Runthorne offered her his arm.

  “I think I should prefer to walk back along the path,” Elizabeth said. “The bushes are too dense to walk through with any decorum.”

  She was laughing at him, but he did not think it was unkind. He winced, relieved that he was back in her good graces. “You are cruel, lady,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. Her eyes were thoughtful. “I think, perhaps, I am.”

  Runthorne slowed his steps to hers. The leisurely pace came back to him, as though he had never stopped walking by her side. It felt natural. He always walked too fast for Aurelia, or too slowly.

  He pushed the treacherous thought away and concentrated on Elizabeth’s words.

  “I really feel that I owe you an apology,” she said, as they walked along the path. “It was cruel of me to jilt you as I did.”

  He had not expected this. “Some would say so but I have no doubt you had your reasons,” he said. “I wish you had shared them with me at the time.”

  Elizabeth kept her face averted, seemingly intent on not miss-stepping on the stony path.

  “I am sure I left my bonnet near here,” she said. “Ah, there it is.”

  Her hand slipped from his arm and she darted to one side to scoop up the bonnet. She tied the ribbon in a smart bow under her ear. The bonnet had a deep brim, shading her eyes and casting her features into shadow making her face hard to read.

  She did not re-take his arm.

  Elizabeth continued speaking, her voice even and unemotional, as though she was discussing the weather. “Yes, it was cruel. Ill-mannered as well and I am sorry for it. I do hope you will forgive me.”

  He waited, expecting something more, but Elizabeth appeared to have finished. “Of course I forgive you,” he said, finally

  There was nothing else he could say.

  “Good.” Another silence fell. He had the oddest sensation that he was in one of Aurelia’s plays without a script.

  “May I enquire what those reasons were?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your reasons for jilting me?”

  Elizabeth shrugged, but did not look up at him. “They were foolish, childish really.” She tilted her head back and Runthorne caught a glimpse of her face, serene in the sunlight. “It is such a beautiful day,” she said, “let us not ruin it by raking over old coals.”

  He bowed to her wishes. He could do nothing else. As they walked back to the house, he thought an observer would believe them to be friends in perfect accord.

  Only he knew that he felt as though she had wrenched his heart from his breast.

  Surely she would not speak so calmly if she had ever, truly loved him.

  It was for the best, he told himself sternly. She had done him a favour by jilting him. It would have been agony to have been married to her if she did not love him, not when he loved her. At least his marriage to Aurelia would be honest, neither pretending to love the other.

  The sun continued to shine, but Runthorne shivered.

  ***

  “We have been blessed with the weather this summer,” Elizabeth said. “I do hope it continues fine.”

  “Indeed.”

  “At least until after the harvest is brought in. It would be disastrous if the weather changed now.”

  Lord Runthorne merely grunted.

  Elizabeth’s cheeks felt stiff with the light smile she kept plastered to her lips. She could feel a headache building.

  She glanced up at him. His face was expressionless, giving no indication that he believed, or even cared about her explanation for jilting him. Elizabeth’s headache grew worse.

  “Well, here we are.”

  Lord Runthorne bowed. It was a minute inclination which was all a gentleman offered a distant acquaintance. “As you say, Miss Hampton, here we are.”

  Elizabeth clenched her fists. He had no right to call her by her given name, but she felt the loss when he did not.

  “If you would excuse me, I must wait upon my betrothed.”

  Elizabeth watched his back as he walked up the steps and into the house. She kept her tears firmly at bay. Aunt Edina was right, he must think she did not care for him, had never cared for him and she had to make a life for herself without him. />
  She just wished that she did not ache as though she had torn out her own heart and trampled it under foot.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Elizabeth began to walk aimlessly across the lawn. She should be relieved, she knew. Lord Runthorne was now convinced that she felt nothing for him. But all she felt was hollow.

  She needed distraction.

  Ahead she saw Mary and Charles strolling along the path and she hastened her steps.

  “Mary,” she called.

  Her friend turned. Her face was startled and a little pink.

  “Really, my love, you should not let yourself become over warm,” Elizabeth said. Then she stopped. They were not touching but there was an aura of intimacy around Mary and Charles that made Elizabeth pause.

  “Charles?”

  “Yes, Elizabeth?”

  Despite everything, all her heartache, Elizabeth smiled. In the midst of her own darkness, she saw a glimmer of light. “I am so happy for you both,” she said.

  Her friend’s blush deepened. “I am sure I do not understand,” she said, but the laughing look she sent Elizabeth from beneath her lashes gave her the lie.

  “You are a sly minx,” Elizabeth said, hugging her young friend. “How did this happen?”

  “Shush, Elizabeth, you are giving me the blush.”

  “Charles, you may walk behind us, but I must speak to Mary privately.”

  Charles bowed them ahead, but not before Elizabeth saw his satisfied grin.

  “Now, my love, tell me everything.”

  Mary glanced over her shoulder before obliging her. “I am not quite sure how it happened,” she said in her soft voice. “It was the first time we met. I never thought I would fall in love so quickly, but he assures me he felt the same.”

  “Oh, it can happen like that,” Elizabeth said, remembering.

  Her friend nodded. “He is so good and kind and handsome and, oh, how could I not love him?”

  Elizabeth chuckled. “That, I cannot tell you,” she said. Her friend’s delight was lifting her own heart. “What does Captain Maybourne say?”