The Runaway Heiress

Aldeborough inhaled sharply in exasperation. ‘So just what has Masters told you? Perhaps, brother mine, this is not the best of times to elaborate!’ The warning was unfortunately lost in Matthew’s exuberance to discover the truth of the matter.

‘That you abducted Torrington’s niece from under his nose and forced her into marriage to get your hands on her inheritance.’

Lady Aldeborough lowered herself carefully on to the chair behind her. ‘This is even worse than I thought. What have you done, Aldeborough?’ Her tone might be faint with shock, but her expression was steely.

‘So, is it true?’ Matthew insisted.

‘Of course it is true. Would you not expect me to be capable of such dishonourable behaviour? Even you, it seems, Matthew.’

Matthew frowned at the bitter cynicism imprinted on his brother’s face, echoing in his harsh tones. ‘Well, no. I don’t believe it, as it happens. Are you jesting? And if it is true—where is she?’

‘Behind you. You will note her terrified appearance and the marks of coercion and cruelty about her person. I had to treat her most unkindly to persuade her that marriage with me would be an attractive proposition.’

Matthew grinned, shrugging with some relief as Aldeborough’s expression relaxed and the tension slowly drained from his body, but he still had the grace to look more than a little embarrassed as he swung round towards the window embrasure. ‘Exactly. You deserved that. You had better come and meet her. I dare not imagine what impression you have made on her,’ Aldeborough added drily, but with a trace of humour at his brother’s discomfort.

Aldeborough came to retrieve Frances from her seat by the window, taking her by the hand and leading her back into the centre of the room. ‘This, my lady, is my graceless brother Matthew, who believes that I beat you into submission. You have my permission to snub him completely if you wish.’

‘Please don’t. I had no intention of making you uncomfortable. I am very pleased to meet you.’ His engaging smile lit his youthful features.

Frances found herself smiling back at the genuine greeting from the young man who was very close to her own age. He was slim and athletic and looked to have just grown out of the ungainly lack of co-ordination of youth. He was fairer than his brother, with blue eyes and an open, laughing countenance that Frances instantly felt drawn to. His manner suggested that he stood in awe of neither his mother nor Aldeborough, and his clothing that he was experimenting with the more extremes of fashion. His cravat was a miracle of folds and creases and his striped waistcoat caused Aldeborough to raise his eyebrows in amused disbelief.

‘And what have you been doing with yourself, apart from rigging yourself out like a dandy?’ Aldeborough queried. ‘Up to no good as usual, I expect.’

‘Definitely not. No debts and definitely no scandals. I say, Hugh. You haven’t changed your mind about buying me a commission, have you?’

‘Certainly not!’

‘But it looks as if we shall have to continue the war against Bonaparte.’

‘Very true. But we shall have to continue it without you. At least until you are a little older.’

‘But it will all be over by then. Do reconsider.’

‘I will think about it. But don’t raise your hopes.’

This was clearly a frequently held exchange of views. Nothing daunted, Matthew changed tack. ‘By the by, the new horse you bought from Strefford was delivered yesterday. It is a splendid animal. Come and see it.’

‘I think it an excellent idea for you to go off to the stables if you are going to talk horseflesh,’ interposed Lady Aldeborough, determined to regain control of the situation. She rose to her feet again and disposed her shawl in elegant folds around her shoulders. ‘It will give me the opportunity to get to know your new wife a little better. We can have a cosy chat over a dish of tea. Do you not think so, my dear?’

‘Of course.’ Frances’s heart sank. She was not fooled by Lady Aldeborough’s sudden change of demeanour. Her civility was knife-edged and threatened to be deadly. It promised to be a difficult interview.

‘Will you be quite comfortable, my lady?’ Aldeborough allowed her the opportunity to play the coward, but she would not.

‘Certainly, my lord.’

‘Very well, Matthew. Lead me to the horse. And no, you cannot ride him, before you ask. I will return very soon.’ He gave Frances a brief smile of encouragement before following his brother through the door.

Frances was left alone with her mother-in-law. She could not allow herself to show any weakness or to be intimidated. Lady Aldeborough had the air of one who had spent a lifetime in achieving her own ends. And she would not be prepared to accept defeat on this occasion.

‘Miss Hanwell. Oh, do forgive me—I still cannot believe that you have actually entered into this alliance with my son.’ Her sugary tones set Frances’s teeth on edge. ‘Do come and sit here. I will ring for some tea. Perhaps you would like to tell me a little about yourself.’ The Dowager smiled, but achieved it only through sheer effort of will. Frances responded with as much equanimity as she could muster. She had nothing to lose. She knew at once that she would never win the good will, much less the affection, of this dominant lady and she wished fervently that Aldeborough had not forsaken her to such an ordeal.

The arrival of the tea tray gave Frances a much-needed breathing space. When everything had been disposed to her liking, Lady Aldeborough handed Frances a fine bone-china tea cup.

‘Now. Let us have a feminine gossip.’

Frances cringed inwardly, predicting accurately the direction it would take.

‘Who are your family? Do I know them?’

‘My uncle is Viscount Torrington—and he is also my guardian.’

‘So, are your parents then dead?’

‘Yes.’

‘How unfortunate. I do not think I have ever seen you in London. Or at any country-house parties. Perhaps you have never been introduced into society?’

‘I have always lived in the country on my uncle’s estate.’

A pause developed as the Dowager considered the information. ‘Perhaps you have other living relatives?’ The catechism continued.

‘The present Earl of Wigmore is my mother’s nephew, my cousin.’

‘Really?’ Elegant eyebrows rose in apparent disbelief. ‘I am somewhat acquainted with the family, of course, but I was not aware of your existence.’

‘We have not kept close contact.’ Frances was determined not to give any more cause for speculation.

‘I see.’ Lady Aldeborough placed her cup down with careful precision before fixing Frances with austere censure. ‘Let us be clear about this, my dear. I am very disappointed in the turn of events. So shoddy, you understand. And as for what the world will make of the rumours of an abduction—’

‘There was no abduction. I did nothing against my will.’

‘Whatever the truth of it, it is quite shocking. As Marquis of Aldeborough, my son should have enjoyed a wedding at which all the members of the ton were present. An event of the Season, no less. Instead of which …’ Her mother-in-law shrugged with elegant disdain.

There was no suitable response for Frances to make. She waited in silence for the next onslaught, raising her teacup to her lips.

‘It makes me wish once again that Richard was still alive.’

‘Richard?’

‘My son. My first-born son.’ The Dowager indicated with a melancholy sigh and a wave of her hand an impressive three-quarter-length portrait in pride of place above the mantelpiece. ‘It is very like. It was completed a mere few months before his death.’

‘I … I’m sorry. I did not know.’

‘How should you? He was everything a mother could wish for. Duty and loyalty to the family came first with him. Not at all like Hugh. He should never have died.’

Frances studied the portrait with interest as her companion applied a fine lace handkerchief to her lashes. The young man before her was very like her husband. Indeed, the Laffords all had the same straight nose and dark brows and forthright gaze. Richard was dark too, like his brother, but the portrait highlighted a subtle difference between the two. The hint of mischief in Richard’s hooded eyes and roguish smile were unmistakable. He sat at his ease in a rural setting with the Priory clearly depicted in the background, a shotgun tucked through his arm and a gun dog at his side. The artist was good, successfully catching the vivid personality and love of life—Frances had the impression that he could have stepped out of the frame at any moment. Even though she had never known him, it was difficult to believe that he was dead. What a terrible tragedy! No wonder his mother mourned him with such passionate intensity.

‘Was … was it an accident?’ Frances asked to break the painful silence.