The Runaway Chaperone: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Alice Kirks

“Would you like to take a turn?” He asked, gesturing at the circular pathway, proceeding around a stand of trees and headed, she knew, towards the flower-garden.

  “I would like that,” she said, swallowing hard. It was strange, how different he was! He had been so stern for the last days, but now, suddenly, he was being kinder. The word, she thought, blushing, was caring.

  “Good. I had hoped to talk a little with you. My sister fares well, these last days?”

  “Oh, yes,” Alexandra nodded. “Very well. You must have noticed that?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied. “I wished to ask you, since I believe there are things she…would not confide in me.”

  Alexandra nodded. “Mayhap.”

  It hadn’t been the case, whatever he might think. His sister had been quiet sometimes, and Alexandra knew that she was still thinking about Frank, but she hadn’t said anything about it. Alexandra hoped she would.

  They walked down the path together. Matthew walked close to her, and she held her breath as his leg bumped against hers. He stepped away, but the feeling of his body on hers stayed there, as if it had touched her with hot coals. She blushed and felt her face redden.

  “I have been busy recently,” Matthew said. He sounded hesitant.

  “What has been keeping you busy?” she asked.

  “Accounts and stewardship,” he said. “I haven’t had as much time for walks and such things as I’d really like.”

  “Well, now you can walk again,” Alexandra chuckled. She thought how comfortable it felt to talk with him. It seemed as if they did this often; him talking to her about his day, and her receiving his news or making some funny comment about it.

  It was, however, the first time they’d sought out each other’s company with no excuse except to talk to each other.

  Her heart jolted.

  “You seem in very good spirits, your Grace,” she said softly.

  He raised a brow. “I am. I suppose that might seem odd, considering how difficult I was.”

  “By no means!” she chuckled. “You weren’t difficult – I wondered what was on your mind, but I didn’t think you were difficult…not in the least.”

  “I am pleased. I had thought I was being rather moody.”

  She laughed. “What can I say? Either I must contradict you, or I must agree. Both options seem unpalatable.”

  He raised a brow, lips quirking. “Miss, may I say how refreshing you are?”

  She went red.

  They walked on in silence.

  “Miss,” he said after a long moment, “why was it you came to work here?”

  Alexandra frowned. What could she say? Of all the questions she had prepared for, this was not one.

  “Um…” she licked dry lips. “I suppose I was in need of it. I needed a roof, and shelter…food. Somewhere to feel secure, I suppose.” She found herself twisting her sleeve with her fingertips and forced herself to stop the nervous habit.

  “I see,” he said.

  Alexandra looked up and found herself looking into those dark eyes. She felt her heart thump and a heat that she’d never experienced before flushed through her body.

  She felt as if she might forget to breathe and drew air in slowly, trying to focus on something besides his eyes and how they made her feel.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  He sighed.

  “Alexandra, why?” he said. He chuckled, though the light didn’t reach his eyes. “I have been thinking about what I did, and I am ashamed that I told you to go. When I consider…what you said in answer to my question…I am appalled at what I almost did.”

  “Don’t be,” she said softly. “I would be happier to think that you changed your mind because you appreciate my work than because you simply didn’t wish me to starve.” She chuckled.

  “That’s not funny,” he said.

  Alexandra blushed. “Sorry. No offense meant.”

  “I wasn’t offended.”

  It was far away from the house, and they were alone. There was no way anybody could hear them. Alexandra was an arm’s length from him, and suddenly it felt too far, and also too close, as if at any minute he would reach across and embrace her.

  “Oh, Alexandra,” he sighed under his breath. “I wish that things were different.”

  She stared. He had said it so softly, that it took her a moment to fathom what he said. By the time she had strung the words together and made sense of it, it was too late – he was gone.

  Alexandra watched him as he walked back across the grass, his walk brisk and his spine stiff. She recalled what he had said, and she ached with all her heart to be able to tell him where she had come from.

  Chapter 18

  Alexandra went back up to her bedroom, feeling distressed. The conversation with the Duke had both delighted and unnerved her. She felt overjoyed by what he’d said. But the difficulty of the situation terrified her.

  What could she do, since she could not act on how she felt? She was stuck here, with danger on all sides, and she still had no idea how to rectify the situation between herself and Lord Blakeley. And now she could no longer doubt what she had hoped she had imagined.

  The Duke was as much in love with her as she was with him.

  “What can I do?”

  She sat down on the bed and shut her eyes. She had felt calm, but now an intense sense of restlessness had descended on her. The situation seemed so untenable.

  “I can’t tell him I love him. And he cannot tell me he loves me…not exactly.”

  She swallowed hard. It was unfair, on both of them. Neither of them could risk doing the one thing they wanted to do. She opened her eyes and went to the table.

  Over the last few days, she’d set about making some changes in the room, and she now had her own stock of notepaper and a pen upstairs. It wasn’t a desk, not exactly, but it was as close to one as she could create.

  “I have to tell someone I’m here.”

  She took a deep breath. She had nobody to trust.

  That’s not true.

  She took a deep breath. She had an aunt – actually a great-aunt, on her mother’s side, still living. The dowager Baroness Ginsberg. She had corresponded with her occasionally during her life, and Aunt Claudia had always proven to be supportive. She had not considered her as a potential place to run, both because they were not close, and because she lived near York. Would Aunt Claudia betray her to her father?

  “Maybe.”

  With the best will in the world, the older woman might – should her father approach her – reveal Alexandra’s whereabouts. It was best, she decided, to be vague.

  Dear Auntie Claudia, she wrote. I find myself in some difficulty and must seek your advice. I am in hiding, and nobody knows my true name. I have styled myself as a servant…

  She paused, and crossed that line out, starting again.

  Dear Auntie Claudia. I find myself in some difficulty and must seek your advice. Fleeing my home to escape an imprudent match pressed on me, I find myself in hiding. I am uncertain as to my predicament and may need to seek refuge with you. If possible, I would want my whereabouts concealed from my father.

  I am sure that, since you loved my mother, you will understand. I know you are aware of his unpredictable character and will assist me in this regard. I may arrive suddenly and without warning and am writing ahead to prepare you lest this should occur. I promise I shall not impose long on your hospitality. In thanks and fondness, your Alexandra.

  There.

  Alexandra hastily blotted the letter – she had no sand to scatter to dry the ink – and then folded it over. She had some sealing wax and dripped it on. She had no seal ring and would have to hope her aunt would be curious enough to open the letter. She was certainly not going to furnish her with her current address!

  Taking it downstairs, she approached the butler.

  “Could you send this whenever you said the post, please?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  Alexa
ndra did not pause to see if he read to whom the letter was addressed. She would leave him to draw whatever conclusion he pleased from that. It did not displease her to think he would be left with much to consider.

  “Maybe it will give him some reason to think twice before he’s rude.”

  She went upstairs to her room again and lit the candle. The light of the candle was comforting, especially when she felt so afraid.

  “Father could still find me here.”

  She said it, though even thinking it was frightening.

  She was far from sure of her safety, and of late she’d been noticing herself becoming more afraid – staring into corners, just waiting for someone to spring out and demand that she return with them to Fulham House at once.

  “Miss? Miss!”

  Alexandra jumped.

  “What is it?” she called through the door.

  “Miss? You’re needed upstairs.”

  “Oh! I’ll come directly.” Alexandra jumped up. “I forgot.”

  She went upstairs to the Long Room and waited outside the door. The Long Room was built under the gallery, and had no particular purpose, save to act as a sort of recreational room for the family. Arabella had her easel and paints in one corner, and a chaise-lounge was pulled over to the fireplace, looking out through a long window over the garden. It was a perfect place to curl up on a wintery afternoon.

  “Oh, Mrs. Bramley! I think it’s lovely! And the yellow silk…so fetching!”

  Alexandra focused on the two figures. One was Arabella, who was twirling around as she tried on a long white gown, patterned with tiny yellow flowers. The other, Alexandra guessed, was the seamstress – a woman of perhaps twenty-eight years old, with a severe bun of dark hair and a kind face.

  “It is very pretty, my Lady. You said you wanted the same dress made up in yellow?”

  “I did, yes,” Arabella agreed. Then she spotted Alexandra, and gestured to her, a big smile on her face. “Come on in! Mrs. Bramley, this is Alexandra, my companion and chaperone. Alexandra, Mrs. Bramley. She’s my seamstress. She’s just fitting some gowns for my debut! I wanted you to get measured, too.”

  “Oh, no, my Lady,” Alexandra said hesitantly. “I couldn’t…” she wasn’t going to risk that. And London! She would have to make herself absolutely invisible if they went there. The thought of how dangerous it would be, to be spotted in a ballroom, terrified her.

  The viscount could be there.

  The viscount was the man to whom she had been promised. Viscount Nailsworth. Just thinking of the name made her shiver. She could not risk seeing him! Nor could she risk bumping into the odious man she had seen in the village; the one she knew her father had send and who she also knew had always disliked her. She was sure he would enjoy delivering her back home.

  “Alexandra…” Arabella said, going to her and taking her hand. “What is it? You look like you might collapse. Please, come and sit down. Mrs. Bramley? Could you pull the bell for some water? Or tea, Alexandra? Would you like tea?” Arabella led her to the chaise-lounge. It was piled up with fabrics, but Arabella pushed them aside. Alexandra coughed weakly.

  “No, my Lady, I’m fine,” she insisted. “I just felt a little odd…” she fanned herself. She really did feel ill. The thought of bumping into Lord Nailsworth at a ball was terrifying.

  A memory of the first ball where she’d met him surged up. She remembered his firm grip, and the way his dark eyes had moved over her body, invasive and demeaning at the same time. She had felt defiled and belittled. She felt the same feelings now, and tensed, trying to make the memories go away.

  “Hush, Alexandra,” Arabella murmured. “It’s all right. Here. Here’s some water.” She took a cup of water from the butler, and handed it to Alexandra, who sipped it.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Please, don’t be,” Arabella said. She sat down beside Alexandra, heedless of the pile of soft fabrics. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it cannot be that bad. Mrs. Bramley? Could we conclude the fitting now? I want to take Alexandra upstairs and see to it that she’s well cared-for.”

  “I’m fine,” Alexandra whispered.

  Arabella just patted her hand, and looked up, hazel eyes wide. “I think you’re not.”

  Alexandra tried to smile, but she felt so weak and so tired.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Arabella stood while Mrs. Bramley helped her out of her gown. She wore a long petticoat and stays underneath, the bodice of the petticoat made of silk and equipped with little filmy sleeves. She stood still while Mrs. Bramley buttoned up her day-dress – a cream dress covered with frothy lace – and then turned back to Alexandra.

  “All done. Now, let’s go to the Little Room. There’s a fire up there and we can send for tea and something to eat. You look as if you need something before dinner.”

  “Thank you,” Alexandra murmured. She let Arabella lead her from the room, feeling an ache in her heart at the kindness shown to her by the young girl. Arabella could be playful and sometimes much younger than her sixteen years, but now she was instantly serious.

  “Mr. Denning, please send up hot tea, and some of those delicious little cakes the cook makes. We’ll go upstairs. Is there a fire up there?” she gestured in the direction of the Little Room.

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  “Very good. Thank you.”

  Alexandra let her charge lead her up the stairs, too weak to protest as Arabella pushed her gently onto the big, cushioned chair by the fireplace and sat down opposite, on a stool.

  “Now, tell me how you feel,” she said.

  The drapes were drawn shut, and it was quite dark in the room, save for the flames burning behind the grate and the candles lit in the holders on the wall.

  It was a space where Alexandra felt safe. With the door shut, nobody could overhear them.

  “I’m just tired,” she said.

  “Well, when you’ve eaten and drunk, you’ll be all better,” Arabella assured firmly. “Ah. Here’s Denning now. That was fast!”

  She gestured to the butler, and both of them waited in silence while he was gone. Alexandra could see a pensive look on Arabella’s face, and when the butler had finished, Arabella cleared her throat.

  “Alexandra,” she asked. “Have you ever fallen in love with anyone?”

  “Oh!” Alexandra went pink. She didn’t want to tell her the truth: yes, with your brother. Instead, she tried to think about the question. “I suppose,” she said after a moment. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” Arabella said, though she sounded a little too careless. After a moment, she spoke again. “I mean…I was in love, wasn’t I?”

  “With Frank?” Alexandra asked. The tea was on the table between them, and she poured a cup for herself, the delicious smell drifting up to her nostrils. “I think so.”

  “I miss him,” Arabella said. Her young face was composed, but Alexandra could see tears in her eyes. She felt a lump in her own throat.

  “I know,” she said softly. “I am so sorry.”