The Runaway Chaperone: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Alice Kirks

“Will you tell Lady Arabella I’m leaving?” Alexandra asked. She wasn’t looking up at him, but looking down at her feet, resting on the silk mat. Matthew swallowed hard.

  “I’ll explain to her what is happening, yes. Of course, she would like you to say goodbye to her too.”

  “I don’t know if that would be a good idea,” Alexandra said softly. “I should perhaps just leave. Will you organize the coach to take me?”

  “Of course.” He reached out a hand to her, but she stiffened as he touched her arm and he let his hand fall to his side. What had he done? He hadn’t meant her to think that he hated her! He had wanted her to know that, whatever happened, she was safe at the manor and that he would not expose her to danger. Why had it all gone so wrong?

  “I will go upstairs,” Alexandra said. “I need rest.”

  “Alexandra. I’m not angry with you.”

  She looked up and held his gaze for a moment and he had to look away, as seeing her sorrow was too much for him to take. He turned away and heard her steps go up to her room.

  What did I do that for? He thought. He couldn’t really think straight…all he knew was that he didn’t want to contemplate what he’d done. He walked back into the drawing-room and fetched his coat from where he’d left it draped on the chaise earlier, and then walked briskly down the hallway to the entrance-foyer.

  “If anybody needs to see me, I’ll be out,” he said to the butler.

  He had no idea where he might go. If he were in the countryside, he’d go for a ride. But in the town, there was nowhere to go to stretch his legs, besides the park. He put his hands in his pockets and walked through the streets, feeling his anger and bitterness gather within him.

  “Mind yourself, governor,” the driver of a Hackney shouted as he hurried past. Matthew, who had been almost in the road at the time, turned around angrily, but the driver had already passed.

  “A pox on it,” he muttered, stepping into the street again to avoid a man selling the Gazette on the corner. He quickened his pace, heading towards the park.

  “Damn all of this,” he swore. He went and sat down on the first bench he saw. The park was not particularly crowded at this time, and the first row of benches was unoccupied, looking out at the green grass and small-leaved bushes. Matthew looked out over the lawns. He felt awful. He could not stop thinking about the look on Alexandra’s face when he told her.

  He still had no idea what to do and whether or not he’d done the right thing.

  All he knew was that it had made him feel terrible and he wished he had not had to do it. And he knew he did not want to go back home where he would have to see her and know how awful he had been.

  Chapter 37

  Alexandra looked down the hallway. She had packed and had just arrived at Blakeley House. With the coach, it had taken just an hour. She looked around the house and felt sick. She didn’t want to be here.

  I cannot bear being here when we spent so many hours in this place.

  She turned away. Just looking down the hallway and spotted the places where she had stood with the Duke, where they’d talked and laughed and had those moments when his eyes had touched hers. She couldn’t bear being here.

  “I have to go.”

  She looked back down to the drawing-room. The butler was there but he was still being as aloof as ever. Most of the staff were still there, except for Brenna, who was with Arabella in the main house.

  Arabella had been confused, too. She had cried, and that had made things ever so much harder for Alexandra, who had found herself having to comfort the younger woman, when she herself was so badly in need of someone talking sweetly to her and helping her to understand what happened.

  She blinked back sudden tears. She was not going to stay here. If the Duke expected her to meekly subside into sewing socks and spending her days in the schoolroom, he was wrong.

  She was going away.

  “I will get to York.”

  She swallowed hard. It was frightening and terribly dangerous to do anything in London, but this was the countryside! She could get the stagecoach safely, without any undue risk.

  Besides the fact that you have been spotted here before. You know your father’s men know where you are.

  She wasn’t going to believe that. That had been weeks ago! Nobody was going to find her here.

  She went up to her bedroom and grabbed her suitcase. It hadn’t even been unpacked yet. She had only been here for a few days – enough to remember it and to conclude that she was not going to do this. She lifted it, tense with resolve, and went down the hallway.

  She tensed as the butler reached the door of the drawing-room, but he was only tidying up the fireplace and he didn’t notice her. She hurried on.

  “Why, Miss! I was just going to ask if you’d like a bite to eat. You must be so hungry after cleaning out those books.”

  Alexandra felt her eyes widen in surprise. The maid in question, Bonnie, had never been kind to her and she had thought she despised her. But here she was, offering her a bite to eat.

  “No. Thank you, Bonnie. But no, I am just popping out to the garden quickly,” she said, hoping the woman hadn’t noticed her suitcase.

  “Oh.” Bonnie shrugged. “Well, all of us will be eating in the kitchen, if you want to come too.”

  Alexandra nodded.

  “Thank you,” she said. She hurried on, hastily opening the front door and then slamming it behind her. She hadn’t taken into account the large staff at Blakeley House – it was so hard to do anything without somebody spotting one! She hurried down the pathway and to the front gate, looking around her.

  “Whew. Now I’m safe.”

  Safe, she thought, drawing her cloak close, might be a bit far from true. The path was up ahead, the shadows were dark around it. The day was cloudy and promising rain.

  “This is stupid,” she told herself.

  She was in more danger here than she had ever been anywhere. She shivered. The path would take about an hour of walking, and, though it was morning, it would be dark in a few hours. She recalled seeing the man in the village, the one her father had sent. It felt like it had been an age ago, but the fear of seeing him there was still in her heart.

  She didn’t know what to do.

  “Alexandra…you made a decision. Now you might as well carry on with it.”

  Chiding herself for her reluctance, she headed down the path and off towards the village.

  It was cold, and she stopped, shivering, to draw on some gloves. Her fingers were already cold, and she blew on them, trying to make them uncramp. The actual drawing on of gloves was hard because her fingers were so frozen, and she had to stop for a minute or two to do it. When she bent to pick up her case, she heard a twig cracking.

  Stiffening, startled, she looked around. She didn’t see anybody and so she made herself take a step or two forward.

  “Who’s there?” she called out.

  There was no answer, and no twigs cracked underfoot, so she decided to ignore it and carry on.

  It was just a bird, digging for worms. Or some other small animal.

  She walked on down the path.

  This time, when she heard a crack, she stopped dead. Her heart was pounding, and she forgot to breathe a moment, sheer terror rooting her in place. In her mind she saw the face of Mr. Owen, her father’s servant, who had spotted her all those weeks ago. In the village, he’d seen her at the seamstress’ shop. How likely was it that he’d stayed here all these weeks, waiting for her?

  He’d always been unkind, since she was a child – she recalled him glaring at her or refusing to answer her questions more than once. She shuddered. There had always been something odd about Mr. Owen – she couldn’t say exactly what, but he was very cold. He had, in her opinion, the eyes of a killer: cold, gray and dead, as if they felt nothing and saw nothing of the pain of others.

  She drew her cloak tightly around her.

  “You’re just scaring yourself, Alexandra,” she told herself firm
ly. “Like a small child telling tales of witches and then being afraid to go outside at night. You’re perfectly safe. Whoever that is, they’re quite harmless.”

  She made herself continue down the path. She was not going to be afraid. She was going to carry on as usual. She had an hour to walk and the woods were cold. She had no time to waste.

  She heard footsteps. This time, they were close. Somebody crunching across the leafy ground, just out of sight. She stopped, her legs stiffening, heart pounding.

  She made herself turn around, trying to see whoever it was who walked there. She could see nobody. The clearing was empty.

  The footsteps had stopped. Was someone following her?

  She walked a few paces back. Nobody moved and she stopped, turning around again and going back the way she had come. It wasn’t Owen. It couldn’t be.

  “Of course. He wouldn’t stay all this time, would he?” she asked aloud.

  He would definitely have returned to her father’s home and told him whatever he’d seen. Why would he have waited for so long with no sighting of her?

  She heard footsteps as she started up again. Surely, they were following her. Feeling terrified, she walked on. The footsteps were getting closer. She took a deep breath, knowing she was being stupid. She must be being stupid…this was a public footpath! It could be a farmer or a laborer or anybody. Why would it be Mr. Owen?

  “Who’s there?” she called out. She turned to face the direction the footsteps were coming from. Whoever was there she would confront them and then set aside her fears.

  “Hello, Miss.”

  Alexandra screamed. It was Owen. And he was grinning at her.

  “No!” she said. Seeing him made her lose whatever remained of her self-control. She couldn’t face him. She couldn’t. He was smiling at her with those cold, dead eyes and she couldn’t face him.

  She ran.

  She heard him run after her. Dropping her suitcase, not caring if she lost all her possessions, she ran. She could hear him behind her, his footsteps on the leaves, his pace almost as fast as her own. Her feet felt like lead. She didn’t think she could outrun him.

  “No,” she panted. “No, no.”

  This was more terrifying than the viscount, more terrifying than being lost in the London streets. This was something truly frightening and she couldn’t face it. Owen would not have gone back to her father, because Owen didn’t just want the reward her father offered. He wanted her. She could see it in his eyes. He had always lusted for her and she recognized the look now as she glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of him again.

  No. She had to get away. No. That was disgusting and terrifying and she could not let that happen.

  She could not!

  She ran.

  She could feel her lungs burning, her legs aching. She hadn’t had much experience in running, and she was starting to run out of breath. The path sloped upward, going towards the village, merging with the road that ran from Blakeley House to the village now.

  “I’ll get you!” Mr. Owen shouted as he ran, and she knew he was too close now. She was slowing down, her breath rasping, sides aching. It would be so good to stop.

  “No!” she screamed. She stumbled, and then she was up on the road again, and she could see a distant coach. If she could just get to the coach…

  “Let me go!” She kicked out and screamed, her fist coming up as Owen grabbed her. She saw his face and all resistance went out of her. He had her by the shoulders, and he shook her. She could feel the iron strength in his arms, and she knew that, if she fought, she would only get harmed worse.

  “You thought you’d run away. You thought you could get away from me. No…Owen knows about hunting.” He grinned. His big, squarish face was close to hers, those gray, dead eyes amused for once. She felt herself choke on horror.

  “Please,” she whispered. They were near the road. If she could delay him for long enough for that carriage to come past, maybe she could get away…

  “Oh! Pleading to me, eh?” Owen grinned; eyes narrowing. “You lot think you’re too good to look at the likes of me. Plead to me, eh…plead to me.”

  “Please,” Alexandra whispered. “Please. Let me go. You have no reason to bear a grudge toward me,” she added, thinking desperately. She was only a child! She disliked her father as much as any of his employees must. It was beyond unfairness to hold her accountable for his cold disdain!

  Owen shook her.

  “I hate all of you!” he hissed. “All of you who think you’re better than old Owen. All you pretty lasses who won’t look at me. All you fine sorts who turn up your noses at a humble laborer.”

  “Mr. Owen…please,” she whispered. “I was a child. I never did anything to you.”

  “You are a child of…of all that!” he said, gesturing at the far-distant shape of Blakeley house. He spat on the ground, his hands still holding her shoulders in their powerful grip. Alexandra looked up, wondering if he was distracted enough.

  “What is all of that?” she asked. “All of what?”

  “All of that!” he said, dragging her into the street and gesturing up at the house. “That…that privilege and indulgence and finery and…”

  Alexandra twisted in his grip, going left, twisting his arm so that, for a second, he was off-balance, and his hand opened. Wrenching left, she broke free of his grasp and started to run. She had almost no head-start, and she was sure he would catch her again.

  “Help!” she screamed, as the coach plunged and thundered towards them. “Help!”

  Chapter 38

  Matthew stared. He had been in the coach, riding to Blakeley House, desperate to speak to Alexandra. He had spent the last two days sorrowful and regretting what he’d done. He couldn’t believe he’d been foolish enough to send her away.

  He had decided. He was going to Blakeley House, and he was going to tell her how he felt. What they would do, he hadn’t decided. But he’d spent weeks in silence, and now it was time to say something.

  Now, he barely believed what he saw.

  “Alexandra?” he shouted. “Alexandra!” and then when the coach plunged on. “Stop the coach! Right now! At once.”

  It was her. She was on the side of the road, and someone was pursuing her! She was running to the coach, but the man was fast, too, and catching up with her.

  “Stop, damn you!” he shouted.

  The coach stopped.

  They had not been going fast, so the coachman took seconds to bring the team to a halt; enough time for Matthew to spring upright and throw open the door.

  “Alexandra!” he shouted.

  In utter astonishment, he saw that the man who had been pursuing hernow had hold of her shoulders and was hastily dragging her off the road. She screamed.

  Matthew ran.

  “What is going on here?” he shouted. “Let her go! Right now!” He grabbed the man’s shoulder and, to his utter astonishment, hit him hard in the face. He had never done that before. He felt his knuckles sting and saw blood run down the man’s face.

  The man reeled back. Alexandra, who had been held by him, stumbled and fell in the street, shouting with alarm. The man who Matthew had hit came upright.

  “Damn you! You poncy, toffee-nosed…” the man started to shout. He was incoherent, fists swinging, and Matthew hit him again, out of a need to keep the man at arm’s length.