The Runaway Heiress

‘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.

‘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.

He raised his head. His eyes were devastatingly clear and possessive. ‘Don’t fight me, Frances.’

‘I am not fighting,’ she managed to gasp as he renewed his assault on her throat. ‘I did not expect—’

‘Of course. A business arrangement—that was what we agreed.’ There was no mistaking the sneer in his voice. ‘And it will be. You have my wealth and my name. And as long as you are discreet, I will not interfere with your … amusements. Neither will I impose myself on you overmuch.’ Her heart sank at this cold assessment of their future. ‘But I need an heir. And there must be no room for an annulment if your uncle decides to be uncooperative and you wish to escape from the clutches of Cousin Charles.’

‘Yes, my lord. I know my duty.’ Her reply was as cold as his, masking the misery in her heart.

‘That sounds very cold comfort. I believe it is possible to derive some pleasure from a wifely duty.’ A faint smile accompanied the mockery in the lines around his thinned lips. ‘Am I so unpalatable to you as a husband?’

‘No, my lord.’

He bent his head again to claim her lips with his own, at the same time releasing her hair from its ribbons in a perfumed cascade on to her shoulders. He wound his hand into the silken length of it to hold her in submission as he increased the pressure on her mouth. Against her will her lips opened tentatively under his. Shock swept through her as, withdrawing a little, his tongue traced the outline of her lips before invading again. He released her, but only so that his hands could deal with the fastenings of her gown.

‘It seems that I must be servant as well as lover tonight,’ he murmured against her throat.

He left a trail of feathery kisses from her jaw along the curve of her throat to her shoulder as his fingers expertly worked their way through the tiny buttons and laces. Frances was only aware of the heat spreading throughout her body from her toes to her hairline as the white sprigged muslin slipped into a pool at her feet. Her breathing was shallow and she gasped as his hard mouth returned to possess her lips once more. All she could hope for was that he would be understanding of her ignorance and lack of experience.

Aldeborough was acutely aware of her anxiety in the tension in every part of her body, in the rapid beat of her pulse beneath his lips. ‘Do you trust me?’

She stood rigidly in his embrace.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied honestly, her eyes wide with apprehension.

His answering touch was gentle, holding her captive, pressing her soft curves to the length of his body. He moved his hands to caress the sides of her ribs through her fine chemise and allowed his palms to brush the soft swell of her breasts. Then, as she heard his own breathing change, he let his hands fall and stepped back—but only to kneel at her feet with elegant grace to remove her garters. His fingers stroked the satin skin of her thigh, calf, ankle, as he smoothed her stockings down to her delicately arched feet.

At last he rose, pausing to snuff the branch of candles to allow her the anonymity of darkness.

He stood and looked at her in the flickering shadows cast by the one remaining candle. Her eyes were dark and fathomless like bottomless pools. Her skin ivory, flushed with rose, but icy, her whole body held in check as if her one desire was to flee from his touch.

‘I am afraid,’ she whispered.

‘But there is no need.’

He stooped to lift her into his arms effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing, and then laid her on the high bed. He was touched by compassion. He would do his best for her, to make it an acceptable experience. He stayed only to divest himself of his clothing before stretching his body beside her and began to kiss her. Gently at first, them more urgently, her mouth, hair, face, then along her throat to her shoulders, his lips burning on her cool skin. She had never imagined that her cool self-possessed husband could generate such fire. She shivered as he pushed aside her chemise and allowed his hands to drift down her slender body, brushing her nipples and stroking her flat stomach. Frances felt a response awaken deep within her when she become acutely aware of his arousal, strong and hard against her thigh. He continued his exploration of her body, discovering tantalising curves and hollows that fit so naturally against his palms, teasing her nipples with his tongue until they became erect. She gasped at the electric effect, the heat in her blood, and hid her face against his shoulder, conscious of his own disciplined breathing as if holding his actions on a tight rein.