The Runaway Heiress

‘Some might try to imply that it was—to hide the truth from the world—but his death was to Hugh’s advantage, a fact which must be obvious to all. It breaks my heart to think of it.’

Frances privately doubted that she had a heart to break.

Lady Aldeborough continued, long pent-up bitterness pouring out. ‘And Penelope, his fiancée. So beautiful and elegant. So well connected—so suitable. She would have made an excellent Marchioness. As if she had been born to it.’

‘I can see that she must have been greatly distressed.’

‘Penelope has remarkable self-control. And of course she still hoped to become my daughter-in-law in the fullness of time. But now it has all changed. I do not know how I shall have the courage to break the news to her. But, of course, Hugh would never think of that. He has always been selfish and frippery. His taking a commission in the Army to fight in the Peninsula was the death of his father.’

As Lady Aldeborough appeared to be intent on holding her son to blame for everything, Frances felt moved to defend her absent husband.

‘I have not found him to be selfish.’

‘To be the object of an abduction or an elopement—or whatever the truth might be, for I do not think the episode has been explained at all clearly to my satisfaction—I can think of nothing more degrading.’ Her eyebrows rose. ‘That smacks of selfishness to me.’

‘That was not his fault, in all fairness. My husband’ —Lady Aldeborough winced at Frances’s deliberate choice of words— ‘has treated me with all care and consideration. He saw to my every comfort on our journey here. I accept that our marriage is not what you had hoped for, but Aldeborough has shown me every civility and courtesy. I cannot condone your criticism of him.’

‘Be that as it may, there is much of my son that you do not know. But you have married him and will soon learn. I hope you do not live to regret it. Now, tell me. Have you a dowry? Have you brought any money into the union? At least that would be something good.’

Frances took a deep breath to try to explain her inheritance in the most favourable light when the door opened on the return of Aldeborough and Matthew. She grasped the opportunity to allow the question to remain unanswered and turned towards her husband with some relief.

They were obviously in the middle of some joke and Frances was arrested by the expression on Aldeborough’s face. She had never seen him so approachable. His eyes alight with laughter and his quick grin at some comment were heartstoppingly and devastatingly attractive. She had much more to learn about her husband than she had realised. And the unknown Richard.

The smile stayed in Aldeborough’s eyes as he approached across the room. ‘I see you have survived,’ he commented ironically, showing recognition of her predicament. ‘I knew you would.’

‘Of course.’ Frances raised her chin and looked directly into his eyes. ‘Your mother and I have enjoyed a … an exchange of views. I already feel that we understand each other very well.’

Aldeborough’s raised eyebrows did not go unmarked.

He came to her that night.

Immediately upon a quiet knock, he entered the Blue Damask bedroom, where Frances had been temporarily accommodated until the suite next to the master bedroom could be cleaned and decorated to her taste. The door clicked shut behind him. He halted momentarily, his whole body tense, his senses on the alert, and then with a rueful shrug and a slight smile he advanced across the fine Aubusson carpet.

‘Don’t do it, Molly. I trust you are not contemplating escape yet again. It is a long way to the ground and I cannot vouch for your safety. Paving stones, I believe, can be very unforgiving.’

Frances stepped back from the open window where she had been leaning to cool her heated cheeks. The blood returned to her face in a rose wash, her throat dry and her heartbeat quickening. As ever, he dominated the room with his height, broad shoulders and excellent co-ordination. And, as always, he was impeccably dressed notwithstanding the late hour. He made her feel ruffled and hopelessly unsophisticated.

‘No, but you could not blame me if I was! And I would be grateful if you did not call me Molly!’

He reached behind her to close the window and redraw the blinds, allowing her the space to regain her composure.

‘Your maid did not come to help you undress? You should have rung for her.’ He indicated the embroidered bell pull by the hearth.

‘I sent her away.’ Frances hesitated. ‘I did not want her tonight. I have never had a maid, you see.’

She caught her reflection in the gilt-edged mirror of the dressing table. She looked exhausted. Beneath her eyes were smudges of violet, her pale skin almost transparent. And Aldeborough’s unexpected presence made her edgy and nervous. She rubbed her hands over her face as if they could erase her anxiety. They failed miserably.

‘I told you that it was a mistake for you to marry me.’ Her voice expressed her weariness in spite of all her efforts to control it. ‘Your mother hates me. And she will find great pleasure in telling all your family and friends that I am a fortune hunter with no countenance, style or talents to attract.’

He crossed the room deliberately to take her by the shoulders and turn her face towards the light from a branch of candles. He then startled her by lifting his hand to gently smooth the lines of tension between her eyebrows with his thumb. He frowned down at her as if his thoughts were anything but pleasant.

‘I am sorry. It has been a very trying day for you. Perhaps in retrospect I should have seen my mother alone first, but I don’t think it would have made much difference. I was proud of you. You were able to conduct yourself with assurance and composure in difficult circumstances. It cannot have been easy for you.’

Frances blinked at the unexpected compliment. ‘If you are kind and sympathetic I shall cry.’

His stern features were lightened by an unexpectedly sweet smile. ‘Thank you for the warning. I would not wish that on you. If it is any consolation to you, my mother doesn’t like me much either.’

‘No, it is no consolation,’ she responded waspishly. ‘I did not expect to be welcomed, but I did not think I would be patronised and condemned with every deficiency in my background and education laid bare in public over the dinner table. And if I have to listen once more to a catalogue of the skills and talents of Miss Penelope Vowchurch I shall not be responsible for my actions.’ She proceeded to give a remarkably accurate parody of Lady Aldeborough. ‘Can you sing, Frances? No? Of course, Penelope is very gifted musically. It is a pleasure to hear her sing—and play the pianoforte! Perhaps you paint instead? No? Penelope, of course … Does she have any failings?’

A shuttered look had crossed Aldeborough’s face, but he was forced into a reluctant laugh. ‘Don’t let my mother disturb you. I don’t believe that she means half of what she says.’

‘I am delighted to hear it—but I don’t believe you. You could have warned me.’

‘Don’t rip up at me.’ His fingers tightened their grip.

She suddenly realised that he looked as tired as she felt, with fine lines of strain etched around his mouth, and his words were a plea rather than a command. For a second she felt a wave of sympathy for him—but quickly buried it. The situation, after all, was of his making.

‘Why not?’ She pulled away from his grasp, too aware of the strength of his fingers branding her flesh, but then regretted her brusque action. ‘I … Forgive me, I am just a little overwrought. I shall be better tomorrow. I am really very grateful for all you have done,’ she explained stiffly.

‘I don’t want your gratitude.’ His voice was harsh.

She turned her back on him and stalked towards the mirror where she began to unfasten the satin ribbons with which she had inexpertly confined her hair. She was aware of his eyes on her every movement. A silence stretched between them until her nerves forced her to break it.

‘It is difficult not to express my gratitude when you have given me everything that I have never had before.’

‘I have given you nothing yet.’

‘My clothes. All of this.’ She indicated the tasteful silver and blue furnishings, the bed with its opulent hangings, the comforting fire still burning in the grate. ‘Wealth. A title. Respectability. What more could I want?’ Bitterness rose in her that he should take it all for granted.

‘Next you will tell me that you would rather be back at Torrington Hall with Charles as your prospective husband.’ Aldeborough’s heavy irony was not lost on her.

‘No.’ She sighed, lowering her hands to her lap. ‘In all honesty I cannot.’

‘I like your honesty,’ he commented gently. ‘I would like you to have this. It is a personal gift.’ From his pocket he withdrew a flat black velvet box. He handed it to her. It was much worn at the corners, and the clasp had broken loose. In the centre was a faded coat of arms stamped in gold. ‘A bride gift, if you like. My mother still has all the family heirlooms and jewellery. I will arrange for you to have the ones that suit. There are some very pretty earrings, I believe, and a pearl set that you would like. But this belonged to my grandmother. She left it to me to give to my wife. It is a trifle old fashioned and not very valuable, but it has considerable charm and I hope you will wear it until I can give you something better.’

Frances opened the box to reveal a faded silk lining. On it rested an oval silver locket on a fine silver chain. The workmanship was old and intricate with a delicacy of touch. Its surface was engraved with scrolls and flowers, the centres of which were set with small sapphires. She opened the locket. Inside she found the empty mountings for a miniature with the words engraved on the opposite side My Beloved is Mine.

‘It is beautiful,’ she said softly, tracing the delicate scroll work with a finger, unable to meet his eyes. ‘I have never been given jewellery before.’

He took the locket from her and moved to clasp it round her throat. ‘The roses seemed appropriate, Fair Rosalind.’

The brief touch of his fingers on her neck as he fastened the clasp sent a shiver through her tense body. Her eyes, wide and dark, met his fleetingly in the mirror. He nodded.

‘It suits you very well. There is a sapphire necklace the exact colour of your eyes.’ He hesitated, lost in their depths for the length of a heartbeat. ‘But I fear that my mother will refuse to part with it this side of the grave.’

The locket lay on her breast, the tiny sapphires catching the light like pinpointed stars with her heightened breathing.

She would have moved away from him, but he took hold of her wrist in a firm grasp, using his free hand to tilt her chin upwards. With one finger he traced the outline of her lips, his featherlight touch delicate and reflective. Her breath caught in her throat as she read the intention in his eyes. His arm slid around her waist, drawing her closer, and he bent his head to press his mouth to the pulse fluttering at the base of her neck, just above where the locket gleamed in the candlelight. Her immediate instinct was to raise her hands and push against his shoulders. Sudden fear engulfed her, surprising her in its intensity.