One Night with a Regency Lord: Reprobate Lord, Runaway Lady / The Return of Lord Conistone

He was still standing by the window, exactly where she’d left him. If she hadn’t just heard that furious altercation, she might have imagined she’d been away for only a few minutes and that the intervening time was simply a bad dream. But Gareth’s face told another story. She could see immediately that he was in a thunderous mood. He turned as he heard her footsteps, his eyes now blue flint and his mouth close-gripped. She started to speak, but was cut off abruptly.

‘Why did you leave like that?’ he flung at her. ‘What is that man to you?’

She steadied her racing heart and replied in an even voice, ‘He’s nothing to me. I ran away because I feared being discovered.’

‘Why should it matter that he saw you?’

‘I told you, I feared being seen—by anyone.’

‘Anyone? Do you take me for a fool? He came looking for a woman and I think that woman was you. You turned white when you saw his carriage in the yard. You fled. Can you really expect me to believe that it was because some stranger had suddenly arrived?’

‘Believe what you wish, I don’t know who he was seeking. I escaped from the inn because I didn’t want to be found here. I’m an unmarried woman and have been living under the same roof as you for the last week.’

‘You would have me accept that a girl who thinks nothing of throwing her lot in with a man she doesn’t know is worried that others will see her with him?’

‘I never threw my lot in with you. You forced me to accompany you.’

‘It doesn’t seem to have pained your sense of propriety too greatly.’

‘You can mock all you wish. You may not have a reputation to defend, but I do. I have a living to earn and I can’t afford to attract any gossip.’

She hoped that this was an inspired invention, but instead Gareth immediately pounced on her words and shredded them to pieces.

‘If you don’t know this man, then how could it affect your reputation one way or another?’

‘I didn’t say I didn’t know him,’ she conceded.

‘At last,’ he muttered grimly, ‘we’re getting near the truth or as near as we’re ever likely to with you.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Her anger sliced through the airless room.

‘Simply that you appear to have a rather slippery relationship with honesty.’

‘If we are to call each other liars, then you hardly fare better. What about the lies you told my fellow passengers on the stagecoach? That was blatant.’

‘And this isn’t?’

‘I was telling the truth when I said that I didn’t want to be discovered. But I am acquainted with this man. He’s an intimate of my young mistress’s brother and visits the house regularly. Although I was only a servant there and beneath his notice, I was worried he might recognise me.’

Gareth was silent, seeming to turn this over in his mind. She was unsure he believed her and, to deflect him further, renewed her attack.

‘I’ve told you how I know him, though I can’t understand why it’s any business of yours. Now perhaps you’ll tell me how you’re acquainted with him.’

He stared sightlessly through the window, once more in that overheated, overfurnished salon. The babble of rich men intent on their pleasure filled his ears, then the sudden silence, the incredulous stares, the shuffling of feet and finally the cool withdrawal of the well-bred from the social disaster in their midst.

Unrelenting, Amelie waited for his response, never taking her eyes from his face. Aware at last of her scrutiny, he raised his gaze to her, his expression bleak.

‘My acquaintance with him is very slight.’

His discomfort was palpable and she decided to press home her advantage.

‘You were quarrelling,’ she insisted. ‘You must know the man well enough to quarrel.’

‘He angered me. He invaded my room without permission and then wouldn’t leave.’

‘And that was enough for you to throw him down the stairs?’

‘A slight exaggeration? He’s a particularly obnoxious man and I didn’t care for his tone.’

‘If all that annoyed you was his attitude, you seem to have argued for a long time. Why didn’t you get rid of him earlier?’

‘You may not have noticed,’ he replied scathingly, ‘but I’ve sustained an injury. You fled on the instant and I was left alone to deal with him. In the end I got tired of his importuning and decided to risk the ankle. It hurt like hell, but I’m glad I assisted him on his way.’

He seemed to have regained something of his poise and his face no longer bore the icy expression that she’d come to dread. She was almost encouraged to tell him her true situation—almost, but not quite. To do so might jeopardise her plans entirely. If Gareth were the man she believed him to be, he would be impelled to pursue Glyde when he knew the full extent of his infamy. That would cause a scandal she would never live down. And if he were not that man, if he were untrustworthy, then she could be in real peril, in danger of kidnap or blackmail once he knew her true identity.

‘Does he know that you have a sister staying here?’ she ventured tentatively.

‘He knows,’ came the short reply.

‘You didn’t tell him my name?’

‘No,’ he said in a distant voice.

Her face wore such an expression of relief that his distrust once again blossomed.

‘Your fears are unfounded, my dear, your identity is safe.’ His tone was caustic. ‘I doubt that a man of Glyde’s position would consider it interesting or worthwhile to spread scandal about a maidservant, even if he knew her name.’

Euphoric at her escape, Amelie hardly noticed his tone and unwisely pushed onwards.

‘Thank you for not giving me away.’ And when he didn’t reply, she said again, ‘Thank you.’

‘Spare me the gratitude,’ he grated.

There was a pause as he looked her fully in the face, wondering how he’d allowed himself to be taken in by a girl so adept at lying. He’d begun to believe his judgement of womankind faulty, but it seemed that she shared generously in the attributes of her sisters—she was no different from any of the women who’d passed briefly through his life.

‘He thinks you’re my doxy,’ he said deliberately, then added with undisguised bitterness, ‘And who could blame him? You behaved like one—scuttling for cover instead of facing him honestly.’

The words came out of nowhere and fell like hammer blows on her ears. Scarlet with mortification, she ran from the room. How could he throw such a vile insult at her? Even if she were the simple maidservant she purported to be, she would be justified in protecting her good name. Yet by his reckoning she’d committed an unforgivable offence in running away; she was no better than Haymarket ware.

Once in her bedroom, she grabbed the faithful cloak bag and hurriedly packed the few items she still possessed. Then she ran down the stairs and out into the backyard. Will was busy washing the cobbles.

‘Will, come here,’ she called urgently to him. ‘Mr Wendover has taken a turn for the worst. He needs the medicine that the doctor prescribed in an emergency. I must get to Wroxhall immediately.’

Will rested from his labours, leaning on the broom with one hand and scratching his head with the other.

‘Mr Wendover were fine this morning. Happen he’ll come about again soon.’

‘No, Will, he won’t. He’s been feeling poorly for hours, but didn’t like to complain. Now his fever seems to have returned. We must get to Wroxall.’

‘I’d like to help, Miss Wendover,’ he said doubtfully, ‘but I’ll have to ask the missus. Mrs Skinner do like to know where I am. And she don’t like it if the horse is taken out without her permission.’

‘Mrs Skinner is out,’ Amelie lied recklessly, ‘and Mr Skinner, too. I saw them on their way to visit neighbours.’

Will shook his head slowly. The image of the Skinners visiting their neighbours was one he was having difficulty with.

‘Please help me,’ she pleaded urgently. ‘You don’t want Mr Wendover to become really ill again, do you?’

Will shook his head, but still looked unhappy.

‘It could be a matter of life or death, Will. I wouldn’t ask you otherwise.’

She felt guilty about deceiving him, but refused to think of his likely punishment for helping her. She had to get away. Unwillingly, Will put down his bucket and brush and went towards the trap, which stood backed into the corner of the rear yard. He carefully moved it into the centre and arranged the leather ties. The mare had then to be led from her stable and harnessed. For Amelie, desperate to leave the inn behind, every minute seemed an impossible age. One or the other of the Skinners could put in an appearance at any time and ruin her escape.

Will might be slow, but he was methodical. Finally the trap was ready and she jumped up on to the passenger seat.

‘Please make haste,’ she enjoined him as they turned out of the yard onto the highway.

Will, who had begun to enjoy his freedom from cobble washing and enter into the spirit of the adventure, whipped the placid bay into something approaching a trot. They were very soon out of sight of the inn and she sighed with relief. She never wanted to see Gareth Wendover again. His words flung at her so coldly and dismissively had finally cut whatever cord existed between them.

Chapter Six

She stood beneath the white portico of her grandmother’s house. The rain had been falling in torrents ever since she’d alighted at the White Lion Inn and she was now soaked to the skin from the brief walk to Laura Place. The weeping skies seemed an echo of her present mood. After all the obstacles and alarms she had encountered since leaving London, the final leg of her journey to Bath had been deceptively simple. Once in Wroxall she’d given Will the slip, with only a few pangs of conscience. There had been less than an hour to pass before her coach had departed and she’d found it easy to hide herself away and board the stage without anyone recognising her. Now with her escape plan almost complete, she should be flushed with excitement. Instead, she felt a dawning fear. What if her grandmother were out of town? What if Brielle were so outraged by her granddaughter’s conduct that she refused to receive her?

She stared at the ebony door with its brass lion head. In her disquiet it seemed to challenge her right to be there and she had to summon all her resolution to lift the knocker. The resulting clatter reverberated through the hall beyond. Tense minutes of silence followed. She was just lifting her hand to knock again when she heard footsteps coming towards the door and in a minute the butler’s familiar person stood before her. Horrocks was looking at her strangely, seemingly trying to puzzle out just what or who had arrived on the front steps.

‘You should go round to the back entrance,’ he said reprovingly as he took in the bedraggled figure in front of him.

‘Horrocks, it’s me, Amelie,’ she cried, pushing back the hood of her cloak to reveal her face fully.

‘Miss Amelie?’ Horrocks stared in disbelief. ‘Whatever are you doing here? Her ladyship said nothing of your coming. And where is your escort? You surely cannot be alone.’

He peered up and down the empty street in a vain search. Then, recalled to his duties, he ushered her quickly into the house. She slipped gratefully past him into the warmth of the hall. The house looked little different from the last time she’d seen it as a child, perhaps a little smaller, a little less grand.

‘Her ladyship is out this evening, Miss Amelie, but I can send a messenger to fetch her home immediately. She is only a few minutes away.’

‘No, don’t do that, Horrocks,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll wait until she gets back. I don’t imagine that she keeps very late hours.’

The butler looked grateful. ‘No, indeed. But you should get out of those wet clothes straight away. I’ll send Miss Repton to you.’

She’d never heard of Miss Repton, evidently a new addition to the household whom she supposed must be her grandmother’s dresser. Horrocks led the way upstairs to the small sitting room overlooking Laura Place. This was Brielle’s favourite retreat, even though she had a far more elegant drawing room at the back of the house with views over a surprisingly large and immaculate garden.

Miss Repton turned out to be a disapproving middle-aged woman, manicured to within an inch of her life. She looked Amelie up and down with disbelief.

‘You’ll need dry clothes, miss.’ She sniffed. ‘Where is your valise?’

‘My luggage was mislaid during my journey, Miss Repton. It will be coming on later.’

She hoped her lie would satisfy this haughty woman, but the dresser continued to gaze at her with barely concealed disdain.

‘I’ll try to find something of milady’s to fit you, but it won’t be easy.’

Amelie, unused to such disrespect from a servant, answered sharply, ‘It really doesn’t matter. If you will be so kind as to take my cloak, I will dry my dress by the fire.’

Miss Repton looked scandalised and even more so when the discarded cloak revealed Fanny’s plain, and by now, severely dilapidated dress. Amelie looked her in the eyes, challenging her to make a comment. The woman remained mute and made for the door, carefully holding the sodden cloak at arm’s length.

‘I’ll ask Horrocks to send up tea, miss,’ she said tonelessly.

Relieved by the dresser’s exit, she sank into a comfortable chair and closed her eyes. The fire burned brightly and warmed her chilled body. The peace of the room gradually soothed her and by the time Horrocks brought her tea and toast, she was in a fair way to thinking that all would be well once her grandmother returned. But as the minutes ticked by and there was no sign of Brielle, tormenting thoughts once more began to possess her. Her grandmother might have led an unconventional life, but she was a stickler for proper conduct. She would be greatly disturbed by her granddaughter’s flight from home. Brielle must be won over, made to understand the nightmare that was in store for her if she were forced into marriage with Rufus Glyde. Perhaps that would not be too difficult. But how to explain where she’d been since leaving London, how to gloss over all that had happened this last week without provoking unwanted questions?

She suddenly felt very alone and a little scared. With a start she realised that all the time she’d been at the George, she’d never felt this vulnerable. Her mind drifted to Gareth and she wondered what he was doing.Was he thinking of her, too? What nonsense, of course he wasn’t. He would never have spoken so shockingly if he’d had an ounce of feeling for her. From the start he’d made it clear that she was simply entertainment for him; when she’d refused that role, he’d pursued her out of pique. Any fleeting moments of tenderness they’d shared were just that, fleeting. He was a loner, happy to use any woman who crossed his path, but just as happy to dismiss them from his mind if they angered him or ceased to be of interest.

The noise of the front door opening and closing drifted up the stairs. She heard voices below and her stomach churned. Suddenly, her grandmother was there and she was swept up in a warm, perfumed embrace.

‘Amelie, dear child, what is this that Horrocks is telling me? Let me look at you, you poor little thing.’ Brielle held her granddaughter away from her, taking in the drab dress now dried in creases, the sadly bedraggled chestnut curls and the anxious pinched face before her.

‘You’re in a sad way, my dear, but I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you’re safe. I’ve been out of my mind with worry. This evening was the first invitation I’ve accepted since I knew that you’d left your home. And this is the evening that you arrive on my doorstep! But thank God for that.’

And once more Amelie found herself pulled into the jasmine-scented embrace she remembered so well from childhood. Whether her grandmother approved or not of what she’d done, it didn’t matter. Brielle loved her and would care for her. She bit back the treacherous tears.

‘I’m so sorry to have worried you needlessly, but I can explain,’ she pleaded.

Brielle took her granddaughter’s hands in hers and squeezed them lovingly. ‘I’m sure you can, but first we must make you comfortable. I really don’t understand why you’re wearing that dreadful dress, but you should have changed it immediately. I can’t think what my woman is about. Why didn’t she find you a dressing robe at the least and order your bedchamber to be made up?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I was comfortable here and Horrocks brought me tea.’

‘Tea! What are my servants thinking of? What you need is a proper meal and to get out of those clothes. The next thing we’ll know is that you’ll be running a fever.’

She rang the bell energetically and her butler appeared rather too quickly. Like the rest of the household, he had been greatly intrigued by Miss Silverdale’s dramatic and, unexpected arrival and hovering by the sitting-room door, had been hopeful of learning more.

‘Horrocks, ask the housekeeper to make up Miss Amelie’s bedchamber immediately, and get Cook to put together a tray of something nourishing, and I don’t mean just soup.’

‘Yes, milady, immediately,’ the butler murmured, suitably abashed by his mistress’s sharp tone.

Brielle was still fiery, Amelie observed, even though the years had begun to take their toll. Her grandmother, elegant in dove-grey Italian crepe, seemed smaller and frailer than when she’d last seen her.

‘Horrocks is getting old,’ Brielle said, excusing her butler’s oversights. ‘He doesn’t think so clearly now.’

‘He looked after me very well,’ Amelie declared loyally, making ready to accompany the housekeeper upstairs.

She instantly recognised the room. Eau-de-nil hangings and bedcovers created a tranquil aura of pale green shadow: her mother’s favourite colour. A portrait of Louise was displayed prominently above the dainty cherrywood writing desk. A deep tub was even now being filled with hot water by one of the housemaids. As soon as the servants had left, she quickly stripped off the despised dress and dropped it in a heap on the floor.

By the time her grandmother joined her once more, she was ensconced in one of the large easy chairs, wearing a robe of the finest chenille silk.

‘This robe is far too beautiful for me to wear, Grandmama. Miss Repton must be in anguish.’

‘Never mind about her. She has far too high an opinion of herself. Though she does have a way with my hair and makes her own complexion cream from crushed strawberries. Otherwise I would never keep the creature.’

Her grandmother put down the tray she was carrying. ‘I’ve brought your food myself so we can be quiet together. Make sure you dine well. You look as though you’ve barely eaten all day.’

It was true. A sparse breakfast had not been followed by lunch. She’d been too busy hiding from Rufus Glyde to think of eating, and then Gareth’s unexpected abuse had sent her flying from the inn to Wroxall and finally to Bath. She attacked the cold chicken with relish.

While she ate, Brielle kept her amused with anecdotes of Bath life. It was clear that she viewed English provincial society with some irony, but she had put down secure roots and now had many friends and acquaintances in the locality. The quintessential French woman had become almost English.

She let her granddaughter finish her meal in peace before saying, ‘Now what’s this nonsense I’ve been hearing?’

‘Nonsense, Grandmama?’ Amelie’s stomach clenched. The inevitable moment had arrived.

‘About a week ago I received a most unwelcome visitor. His name was Hyde or Glyde or some such. He told me some faradiddle about your being pledged to him in marriage.’

‘He was lying,’ Amelie said quietly. ‘I never agreed to marry him.’

‘Then why did he think you had?’

‘Papa decided I should marry him. I decided I would not.’

‘But why should your father wish you to marry a man you so clearly dislike?’

‘Sir Rufus Glyde is a very rich man, I believe. Papa thought to help the family by marrying me to him.’

‘The family, perhaps, but not you, it would seem. Your father is a selfish man and I won’t hide from you that I do not hold him in a great deal of affection. But I’ve always thought his love for you showed him at his best. Why would he try to enforce such a marriage, knowing how you felt?’

She had no idea how much her grandmother knew of the Silverdales’ financial difficulties and did not want to alarm her unnecessarily, so she said as nonchalantly as she could, ‘The family have a few money problems.’

Brielle looked at her straitly. ‘Your father has always lived high, that’s certain, but surely the income from the estates he holds must be sufficient to cover even his expenditure.’

‘There are other problems,’ Amelie began awkwardly. ‘Robert.’ And her voice trailed off.

‘Ah, Robert, an unfortunate boy by all accounts. Even in this backwater we’ve heard tales of his legendary gambling.’ Brielle fixed her granddaughter with a sharp eye. ‘Exactly how bad is the situation, Amelie? Tell me the truth.’

‘Sir Rufus holds the mortgage on the house in Grosvenor Square and that is all we have left.’

Brielle let out an audible gasp. ‘I knew your father and brother to be foolishly extravagant, but I had no idea that things had come to this pass.’

‘Grandmama, I cannot marry Rufus Glyde. Please help me.’

‘My darling, you shall not marry a man you hate. Your father will have to think again. And until he does, you will stay with me here in Bath.’

Amelie’s brown eyes sparkled through a mist of tears as she launched herself at her grandmother and hugged her so tightly that the older woman was almost crushed.

‘Hush, child, you’ve squeezed the breath out of me. You’re a loving and beautiful young woman. You deserve better. We may even find you a Bath beau to take the place of this Glyde person.’

Amelie’s smile faltered a little. ‘I’m not looking for any other man. I don’t wish to marry. Just let me stay here with you. I can be useful, I’m sure, even more as you get older.’

‘What nonsense is this? To waste your youth and beauty on running errands for an old woman. Certainly not! Why are you so opposed to the idea of matrimony? It is every woman’s destiny, after all.’

‘I don’t think it mine,’ she retorted. ‘In my experience men are either frivolous and foolish or they feel compelled to dominate me. I’ve no wish to be either the master or the mastered.’

‘You have been unlucky in those you’ve met. But that’s not to say that a strong man with the confidence to allow you independence does not exist, or that you won’t encounter him.’

‘Even if I were to meet such a paragon, how could I ever be sure that he would remain so?’ Amelie ventured.‘Mama …’ And she allowed the rest of her sentence to fade into the air.

Her grandmother gazed unseeingly into the fire, and it was a while before she spoke. ‘You must not allow your mother’s difficult life to determine your own choices,’ she said at last. ‘A woman’s duty is to marry. But we’ll say no more for now. I shall introduce you to Bath society while you’re with me and who knows, the right person might just appear on the threshold.’

Brielle’s thoughts were already ranging across the eligible males she knew and had begun to centre on one name that she thought might just alter Amelie’s mind. But for now she was content to change the subject.

‘You haven’t told me yet how you escaped from Grosvenor Square.’

Amelie recounted the tale of the sheets and the stagecoach, carefully omitting the entrance of Gareth Wendover into her life. Brielle enjoyed the story immensely, even more so because it was a rebuke to a son-in-law she did not trust and a suitor she had disliked on sight.

‘Grandmama, can we send for Fanny, please? I promised her I would do so as soon as I could.’