The Runaway Heiress

Frances was left standing alone in a space, feeling strangely bereft and unsure of what to say or do next. Her mind was overwhelmed by the enormity of what she had just done. Could she really have agreed to marry this man against all her previous intentions and heart searching? She felt a chill tremor touch her spine at the prospect. Of course there would be advantages—she knew that. It would remove her finally and irrevocably from her uncle’s authority and without a stain on her reputation. Comfort and luxury would be hers for the asking with a guaranteed entrée into fashionable society. But Marchioness of Aldeborough? She pressed a hand to her lips to suppress a bubble of hysterical laughter that threatened to erupt at the unlikely prospect. And what on earth would his family think? It was all very well for him to deny any difficulty, with typical male arrogance, but she would have to face a mother-in-law who would doubtless see her as a common upstart who had wilfully trapped her son into a disastrous marriage.

A marriage of convenience, he had implied. Very well. He was driven by an impeccable impulse to protect her—as well as the desire for an heir. But she could not quite banish from her mind the leap of fire in her blood when he had kissed her, touched her. It might be a mere legal formality for him, but she was suddenly afraid of her own response. It would be better if she never allowed him to see the effect of his devastating smile on her heart or his elegant hands on her skin. She must never forget that it was duty and honour which drove him, whatever her own feelings might be.

She received no help as she stood, lost in her deliberations. Aldeborough merely stood and watched her quizzically, a faint smile on his lips.

‘I think I should tell you that my uncle will not give his permission for our marriage,’ she managed eventually in a surprisingly calm voice. ‘Will that present us with a problem?’

‘A special licence will solve the matter,’ the Marquis stated, chillingly dismissive. ‘We claim to have a bishop in the family so we may as well make use of him. It can all be arranged discreetly and quickly.’

‘Thank you.’ She swallowed at her presumption. ‘There is just one thing.’

‘What now, Miss Hanwell? You are very difficult to please, but I am sure it will not be an insurmountable problem.’

‘You are laughing at me, my lord. I wish you would not,’ Frances exclaimed crossly. ‘It is just that I will not marry you in this dress.’

‘Then I must do something about it, mustn’t I?’

Frances blinked at the casual acceptance of her demand.

‘I shall need to leave you for a few days to make arrangements,’ he continued. ‘I must ask you to promise that you will not try to run away again.’

‘Or?’ She could not resist the challenge to the implied threat.

‘Or I might have to lock you in your room until I return.’ Frances was left under no illusion that he would do exactly as he said.

‘It is not necessary.’ She sighed, with resignation to a stronger force. ‘I will marry you. I will not run away.’

‘Thank you.’ He tossed off the rest of the brandy in his glass. ‘I am relieved. Go to bed, Miss Hanwell. It has proved to be a long and tiring day, for both of us!’

Chapter Four

‘Aldeborough! At last!’ The voice was as smooth and cool as chilled cream. ‘I have expected you home any time this past week. How could you have missed the Vowchurches’ drum? I understand from Matthew that you have been at the Priory.’

Lady Beatrice, the Dowager Marchioness of Aldeborough, and despising every moment of her loss of influence in the Lafford household since the death of her husband, put aside a piece of embroidery and rose from her chair in her cream-and-gold sitting room. She waited with not even a hint of a smile for Aldeborough to approach, extending an elegant hand in greeting and allowing him to kiss her cheek. She was slim and dark and exquisitely dressed in a cream gown that perfectly complemented her surroundings. It was strikingly obvious from whom Aldeborough had inherited his features and colouring. She had the same cold grey eyes that at present were fixed on Frances, who had entered the room somewhat hesitantly in Aldeborough’s wake.

Aldeborough saluted his mother’s cheek with filial duty and grace, but the lack of affection between them was as clear as her neglect in returning the embrace.

‘And who is this?’

‘I have been at Aldeborough, ma’am, as you are well aware. There was some necessary estate business.’ He turned back to Frances who had apprehensively come to a halt just inside the doorway. ‘I wish to introduce you to Frances, Miss Hanwell.’ He took her hand to draw her further forward into the room. ‘Miss Hanwell, ma’am, is now my wife.’

The silence in the room was deafening. Frances continued to cling to Aldeborough’s hand. She had rarely felt so alone as she did at that moment under the razor-sharp scrutiny. She made a polite curtsy and awaited events with trepidation as her ladyship’s features froze into perplexed disbelief. The temperature dropped to glacial.

‘Forgive me, Hugh.’ Her ladyship ignored Frances. ‘Perhaps I misunderstood? This is your wife?’

‘Indeed, ma’am. We were married three days ago at Aldeborough.’

‘But I had no idea. Who is she?’ Her cold eyes raked Frances in an icy sweep from head to foot and apparently found nothing in the exercise to please her.

‘Her guardian is Viscount Torrington. I met her at Torrington Hall.’

‘Really?’ Her lips thinned. ‘I am afraid that I find this difficult to grasp, Aldeborough. How could you have conducted your marriage in such a clandestine fashion? You might have considered my position. Think of the scandal … the gossip. How will I face Lady Grosmont at her soirée this evening?’ Her face paled with anger as she considered the repercussions. ‘Surely as your mother I could expect a little consideration?’

‘There will be no scandal, ma’am.’ Aldeborough remained coldly aloof and unemotional. ‘If anyone should comment, you will assure them that Frances and I had a … a long-term understanding and we were married quietly in the country for family reasons. The death of a distant relative, if you find the need to give a reason to anyone sufficiently ill mannered to comment.’

‘I will assure them? I do not wish to lend my support in any way to this unfortunate liaison.’

‘I had hoped for more of a welcome for my bride,’ Aldeborough commented gently, with a hint of warning in his quiet voice that his mother chose to ignore.

‘Richard, of course, would always have considered my opinion when making such an important decision in his life. He was always so thoughtful and conscious of his position as the heir. I might have hoped that you—’

‘There is no advantage in pursuing that line of thought,’ Aldeborough interrupted harshly. Frances saw a muscle in his jaw clench and his hold of her hand tightened convulsively, making her draw in her breath.

‘And what of Penelope? What will she think?’

‘What should Miss Vowchurch think? I cannot see what my marriage has to do with her.’ He was once more in command, his fingers relaxing their grip.

‘It has everything to do with her, of course. She has been expecting an offer from you. After Richard’s death it was understood—’

‘I am afraid that it was not understood by me. I have never given Miss Vowchurch any indication that I would make her an offer of marriage.’

‘It has always been understood between our families. You must know that after Richard died you took no formal steps to end the connection.’ Lady Aldeborough was implacable, refusing to let the matter rest. ‘And now you have married this … this person. Who is she?’

Frances looked on as if she were watching a scene in a play at which she was a mere observer with no role for herself. There was clearly little love lost between Aldeborough and his mother and she herself was now provoking another issue between them. A bleak wave of despair swept over her to add to the weariness. After she had spent three days alone at Aldeborough Priory, the Marquis had returned and she had been thrown into a flurry of activity. First her marriage, followed immediately by three days of exhausting travel to reach London. And now this. How foolish she had been to hope that Lady Aldeborough might accept this sordid arrangement with equanimity. Indeed, it was even worse than she had anticipated. She wished Aldeborough had given her some warning. Obviously he had seen no need to do so, which depressed her even further.

‘A penniless nobody who has trapped you into marriage.’ Her ladyship was continuing her diatribe as if Frances was not present. ‘How could you! Is there no way this marriage could be annulled? Or dissolved?’ Lady Aldeborough’s face was white with anger.

A delicate flush stained Frances’s cheeks. With the haste and inconvenience of the journey following immediately after their marriage, there had been neither opportunity nor, it would appear, inclination for intimate relations between herself and the Marquis. For which, all things considered, she was heartily relieved. But would he betray her to his mother?

‘No, Mother. It is not possible. Your suggestion is insulting in the extreme to both Frances and myself. I think you should consider what you’re saying before you speak again.’ Aldeborough turned towards Frances, his face a polite mask. ‘Forgive me, Frances. I wish I could have spared you this, but it had to be faced.’ He led her to a chair by the window looking over the square. ‘Perhaps if you would sit here for a little while …’

As he returned to shield her from further recriminations, her mind was free to travel back over the previous days. She remembered as in a dream standing in Aldeborough Church in the grey light of early morning with a special licence and a flustered vicar and with Sir Ambrose and the vicar’s wife as witnesses. No flowers. No music. Only the heavy starkness of Norman pillars and the air so cold that her breath had vaporised as she took her vows. She remembered the cold. No sooner had the vows been exchanged and her cheek dutifully kissed by Aldeborough than she had been installed in Aldeborough’s coach and the long, tedious journey had begun. Sir Ambrose had thoughtfully presented her with a tasteful posy of yellow flowers and kissed her fingers and called her Lady Aldeborough, a situation that she still found difficult to believe, but it had helped to strengthen her courage.

And Aldeborough had been as good as his word. Her lips curled in memory of the beautiful dress that he had brought back with him to keep his promise. A dress of which dreams were made. In the height of fashion with a high waist and disconcertingly low neckline and tiny puff sleeves over long undersleeves, the jonquil taffeta was far more elegant than any gown she had ever seen. The tucked bodice was a little large, but nothing that a small alteration here and there could not remedy, and the silk ruching round the hem helped to disguise the fact that it was a little long. A simple satin straw bonnet with jonquil ribbons that set off her dark hair completed the ensemble. She had abandoned her puce disaster and travel-stained cloak without a qualm.

And not only the dress, but fine kid gloves and matching kid heelless slippers. Not to mention the delightful package of shifts and petticoats and silk stockings. She blushed faintly that he should have purchased such intimate garments for her. And who had chosen the dress for her? She had found it difficult to thank him. He had merely brushed it aside as a matter of no importance. But Frances was now more than grateful for his foresight. Under Lady Aldeborough’s critical and unfriendly scrutiny, it was suddenly very important that she should be wearing a stylish blue velvet pelisse trimmed with grey fur and a pale blue silk bonnet, the brim fetchingly ornamented with one curling ostrich plume, both in the first stare of fashion.

She had thought herself fortunate in her new wardrobe but this house, now her own, threatened to take her breath away. Her first impression as they had arrived had been fleeting, but there was no doubting its style and magnificence. In Cavendish Square, one of the very best addresses, the brick and stone façade with its pedimented doorway, decorative columns and imposing flight of steps bordered with iron railings could not fail to impress. All was elegance and good taste. Aldeborough might take it for granted, but she could not.

She sighed as her attention returned to the heated words from the Marchioness and the cool rejoinders from Aldeborough.

‘What your father would have said I hesitate to think. And Richard—’

Frances would never know what Richard would have thought or done for at this timely moment, the door burst open and a young man erupted with more energy than grace into the room.

‘Matthew! Perhaps you might enter my drawing room in a more seemly fashion. Your brother and I were engaged in a private conversation.’

‘Forgive me, Mother. I heard Hugh was back.’ Matthew looked anything but sorry and shrugged off his parent’s blighting words. ‘Is it true?’ He grinned as he embraced his brother in a friendly and vigorous greeting. ‘I have just seen Masters in town and he has told me all.’