The Runaway Heiress

Ambrose rose too to grasp Aldeborough’s shoulder urgently before he could reach the door.

‘You can not go like this, Hugh. It is the middle of the night, for God’s sake. Are you driving your curricle? You will most likely end up in a ditch.’

‘Do you think so?’ For a moment Aldeborough froze, the expression on his face anything but pleasant. Memory of a curricle, overturned and broken, its driver sprawled lifeless beside it, lashed at him, the pain intense. And then, by sheer force of will as Ambrose winced at his own thoughtless and insensitive remark, the Marquis relaxed. ‘No. I have the coach with me. And there is a full moon. I shall be at Aldeborough Priory in less than an hour.’ He smiled cynically. ‘Your concern for my safety does you credit, my dear Ambrose.’

‘Hugh, you know I did not mean … I would never suggest …’

Aldeborough shook his head and managed a brief smile as he turned away.

He paused by the door to view the assembled company and bowed with a graceful mocking flourish. ‘I wish you goodnight, gentlemen,’ and then, with a sudden frown, ‘I am heartily sorry for your niece, my lord Torrington. She deserves better.’

Without a further backward glance, and no thought at all to the unfortunate dark-haired girl who had incurred Torrington’s wrath, he left Torrington Hall. Indeed, by the time he made his farewell, she had vanished from the room.

Frances Hanwell blinked, brought sharply back to her present surroundings by the sound of Aldeborough’s harsh voice.

‘But if you are Torrington’s niece, his heiress, why in heaven’s name were you playing the role of kitchen drudge?’ In a flare of emotion, exacerbated by his throbbing head, the Marquis promptly abandoned the polite words of social usage and spoke from the heart to interrupt his own and Frances’s bitter recollections. ‘And why in hell’s name did you need to hide yourself in my coach and take flight from your home?’

‘I do not wish to discuss the matter, my lord, except to say that I believed that I had no option in the circumstances.’

‘What circumstances?’

She merely shook her head.

‘You are not making this easy! What is your name?’

‘Frances Rosalind Hanwell, sir.’

He took a turn about the room and returned to confront her, so far forgetting himself as to run his fingers through his hair. ‘I should have taken you back, Miss Hanwell. Returned you to your uncle.’

‘I would not have gone. I will never go back. I would have thrown myself from the coach first.’ The dramatic words were delivered with such calm certainty that for a moment he was robbed of a reply and simply stared at her in icy disapproval. In spite of her outward composure she had picked up the quill pen again, clasping it in a nervously rigid grip so that he saw there was ink on her fingers. She was taller than his recollection. And why had he not remembered her eyes? They were a deep violet and at present even darker in the depths of anger and despair.

‘Have you no idea, Miss Hanwell, of the potential scandal you have caused? The obligation you have put me under? The harm you may have done to your own name?’ The edge to his voice was unmistakable, but she did not flinch.

‘Why, no. You are under no obligation, my lord. I merely used your coach—a heaven-sent opportunity—as a means to an end. No one will know that I am here.’

‘I wager that your butler does! Akrill, isn’t it? Don’t tell me that you did not ask him to help you to leave the house undetected. I would not believe you.’

She bit her lip, her face even paler as she recognised the truth in the heavy irony.

‘Servants gossip, Miss Hanwell. Everyone at Torrington Hall last night will know that you left with me and spent the night unchapearoned under my roof. What has that done for your reputation? Destroyed it, in all probability. And what sort of garbled nonsense Masters and Hay will spread around town I do not care to contemplate.’

‘I did not think. It was just—’ she sighed and dropped her gaze from the brutal accusation in his fierce stare ‘—it was simply imperative that I leave.’

‘You have made me guilty of, at best, an elopement,’ he continued in the same hard tone. ‘At worst, an abduction! How could you do something so risky? Apart from that, you do not know me. You do not know what I might be capable of. I could have murdered you. Or ravished you and left you destitute in a ditch. You were totally irresponsible!’

‘If I leave the Priory now, no one need ever know.’ Anger spurted inside her to match his. ‘I do not deserve your condemnation.’

‘Yes, you do. And you cannot leave. Where would you go?’

‘Why should you care? I am not your responsibility!’

‘It may surprise you to know, Miss Hanwell, that I have no wish to be seen as a seducer of innocent virgins!’ The muscles in his jaw clenched as he tried to hold his emotions in check.

‘I am so sorry.’ Frances turned her face away. ‘I did not mean to make you so angry.’

Aldeborough poured a glass of brandy and tossed it off. His anger faded as quickly as it had risen. She needed his help and probably suffered from enough ill humour at Torrington Hall. The stark bruise and Torrington’s obvious lack of restraint told its own story.

‘Do not distress yourself.’ He took a deep controlling breath and released it slowly in a sigh. ‘Let us attempt to be practical.’ And then, ‘I remember the dress,’ he remarked inconsequentially.

‘I can understand that you would,’ came a tart rejoinder. ‘It is hideous and once belonged to my aunt—many years ago, as you can probably tell.’ Her gaze was direct, daring him to make any further comment on the unattractive puce creation with its laced bodice and full skirts. ‘And I believe it looks even worse on me than it did on her!’

‘Quite. Never having had the honour of meeting Viscountess Torrington in that particular creation, I feel that I am unable to comment on the possibility.’ He retraced his steps across the library to his desk and held out his hand towards her in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Please sit down, Miss Hanwell. As you must realise, it is imperative that we broach the matter in hand and discuss your future.’ She ignored his gesture and instead fixed him with a hostile glare; he leaned across the desk and took her hands to remove the pen from her. Her hands, he noted, apart from being ink splattered, were small and slender but rough and callused, her nails chipped and broken. Around her wrists—so delicate—were cuts and abrasions where she had fallen on the glass. He released them thoughtfully and flung himself into the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

‘What were you writing?’

‘A list of my options.’

He picked up the sheet of paper and perused it. It was depressingly blank. ‘I see that you have not got very far.’

‘If that is a criticism, I am afraid my thoughts were all negative rather than positive possibilities. But I will not return to Torrington Hall.’

‘We have to consider your reputation, Miss Hanwell.’ He looked down at the pen, a frown still marring his handsome features. ‘You do not seem to understand that the scandal resulting from last night’s events could be disastrous.’ He abandoned the pen with an impatient gesture and leaned back to prop his chin on his clasped hands. ‘I believe I can accept your reluctance to return to your uncle’s house,’ he continued, ‘but have you no other relatives to turn to?’

‘No.’ She raised her chin in an unaccommodating manner. ‘My parents are dead. Viscount Torrington is my legal guardian.’

‘Then we must take the only recourse to protect your reputation.’ His face was stern and a little pale. ‘It is very simple.’

‘And that is, my lord? I am afraid the simplicity has escaped me.’

‘You must accept my hand in marriage, Miss Hanwell.’

‘No!’ Her reaction was immediate, if only more than a whisper.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Most young ladies of his acquaintance would have gone to any lengths to engage the interest of the Marquis of Aldeborough. But not, it seemed, Miss Hanwell.

‘It is not necessary for you to sacrifice yourself, my lord,’ she qualified her previously bald refusal. Paler than ever, there was only the faintest tremor in her voice. ‘I am sure there must be other alternatives. After all, nothing untoward occurred last night, my lord.’ She blotted out the memory of his drunken kisses. ‘You were overcome by the effects of too much of my uncle’s brandy.’

‘Be that as it may, Miss Hanwell,’ he replied with some asperity, ‘I am afraid that my reputation is not such that polite society would give me the benefit of the doubt. And besides, as you have admitted, you have no other relatives who would give you shelter.’

She turned her head away. She would not let him see the tears that threatened to collect beneath her eyelids. ‘I could be a governess, I suppose,’ she managed with hardly a catch in her voice.

‘Are you qualified to do that?’ he asked gently, uncomfortably conscious of her unenviable position.

‘I doubt it. I am simply trying to be practical.’

‘But unrealistic, I fear. Can you play the pianoforte? Speak French or Italian? Paint in water colours? All the other talents young ladies are supposed to be proficient in? My sister frequently complains of the unnecessary trivia that appears to be essential for a well brought-up young lady.’

She could not respond to the hint of humour in his observation. Her situation was too desperate. She might, against her wishes, be forced by circumstances to return to Torrington Hall. It was too terrible to contemplate. ‘No, I cannot. Or embroider. Or dance. Or … or anything really. My own education has been … somewhat lacking in such details.’ The tears threatened to spill down her cheeks in spite of her resolution to deal with her predicament calmly and rationally. ‘There is no need to be quite so discouraging, my lord.’