The Runaway Heiress (4 page)

'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.'

'I was trying to be
helpful. What can you do?'

'Organise a household.
Supervise a kitchen.' Frances sighed and wiped a finger over her cheek
surreptitiously. 'How dreary it sounds. Do you think I should consider becoming
a housekeeper?'

'Certainly not. You are
far too young. And who would give you a reference?'

Frances sniffed and moved
from the desk to sit disconsolately on the window seat. 'Now you understand
why my list had not materialised.'

'Miss Hanwell.'
Aldeborough came to stand before her. 'I hesitate to repeat myself or force
myself upon you—something which you apparently find unacceptable—but there really
is only one solution. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?'

She was surprised at the
gentleness in his tone, but still shook her head. 'You are very considerate,
but no.' She closed her mind to the despair that threatened to engulf her. 'I
have an inheritance that will be mine in a month when I reach my majority. That
will enable me to be independent so that my life need not be dictated by
anyone.'

'How much? Enough to set
yourself up in your own establishment?' Aldeborough's eyebrows rose and his
tone was distinctly sceptical.

'I am not exactly sure,
but it was left to me by my mother and I understand it will be sufficient. My
uncle's man of business has the details. It was never discussed with me, you
see.'

'But that still does not
answer the problem of the scandalous gossip which will result. Your reputation
will be destroyed. You will be ostracised by polite society. You
must
marry me.'

'No, my lord.' She pleated
one of the worn ribbons on her gown with fingers that trembled slightly, but
her voice was steady and determined. 'After all, what does it matter? I have
never been presented, or had a Season, and it is not my intention to live in
London society. How can gossip harm me?'

Aldeborough sighed heavily
in exasperation, surveying her from under frowning black brows, allowing a
silence charged with tension to develop between them. In truth, she was not the
wife he would have chosen, brought up under Torrington's dubious influence,
incarcerated in the depths of the country with no fashionable acquaintance or
knowledge of how to go on in society. And yet, why not? Her birth was good
enough in spite of her upbringing. Certainly she lacked the finer points of a
lady's education, by her own admission, but did that really matter? She
appeared to be quick and intelligent and had knowledge of the running of a
gentleman's establishment, albeit threadbare and lacking both style and
elegance. Aldeborough watched with reluctant admiration the tilt of her head,
the sparkle in her eye as she awaited his decision, and fancied that she would
soon acquire the confidence demanded by her position as Marchioness of Aldeborough.
She had spirit and courage in abundance, as he had witnessed to his cost, along
with a well-developed streak of determination. And, he had to admit, an elusive
charm beneath the shabby exterior. The Polite World would gossip, of course,
on hearing that a mere Miss Hanwell, a provincial unknown, was to wed the
highly eligible Marquis of Aldeborough, but since when had
he
cared about gossip?

Besides,
as his mother took every opportunity to remind him, perhaps it was time that he
took a wife. As he knew only too well, life was cheap—he owed it to his family
to secure the succession. If Richard had lived... He deliberately turned away
from that line of thought. It did no good to dwell on it.

But
far more importantly, he could not in honour abandon this innocent girl to the
consequences of her ill-judged flight. He frowned at her, his expression
severe. It was all very well for her to shrug off the social repercussions, but
a young girl could be damaged beyond remedy by the cruel and malicious tongues
of the
ton.
It was in his power to save her
from social disaster, and duty dictated that he should. It was really as simple
as that. Her vulnerability as she sat silently in his library, refusing his
offer of marriage, contemplating the prospect of a bleak future alone, touched
his heart and his conscience. He had made his decision and he would do all in
his power to carry it out. But he feared that to convince the lady in question
of the necessity of this marriage would prove a difficult task.

'I
do not accept your argument.' He finally broke the silence, his voice clipped,
his tone encouraging no further discussion. 'You have not thought of the
implications and in my experience they could be, shall we say, distressing for
you. But I have a meeting with my agent that I must go to—I have already kept
him waiting. We will continue this conversation later, Miss Hanwell. Meanwhile,
my servants will look after your every need. You have only to ask.' He lifted a
hand to touch her cheek where the dark bruise bloomed against her pale skin,
aware of a sudden urge to soothe, to comfort, to smooth away the pain. He drew
back as she flinched and wished that she had not.

'No further discussion is
necessary, I assure you, sir. I would not wish to keep you from your agent.'
She tried for a smile without much success, hoping that her pleasure from his
touch did not show itself on her face.

'You are very obstinate,
Miss Hanwell. How can you make any plans when you have nothing but the clothes
you stand up in?'

She could find no answer
to this depressingly accurate statement, and merely shook her head.

'I must go.' Aldeborough
possessed himself of her hand and raised it to his unsmiling lips. He left the
library in a sombre mood. He did not expect gratitude from her, of course—after
all, he had to admit, apparently, that he had some role in the disaster—but he
did expect some cooperation. His sense of honour demanded that he put right
the desperate situation that he had so unwittingly helped to create.

Chapter Three

'Lady Torrington has
called, ma'am. I have explained to her that his lordship is unavailable, but
she has insisted on seeing you. I have shown her into the drawing room.'
Rivers, Aldeborough's butler, bowed, his face expressing fatherly concern. 'Do
you wish to see her, ma'am?'

Frances felt her blood run
cold in her veins and a familiar sense of panic fluttered in her stomach. Since
Aldeborough's departure to keep his appointment with Kington she had enjoyed a
number of solitary hours in which to contemplate her present situation. It had
made depressing contemplation. Mrs Scott had provided her with a light
luncheon, which she had no appetite to eat, and she was now taking advantage of
his lordship's extensive library. Her education might have been limited, but
she had been free to make use of her uncle's otherwise unused collection of
books and normally Aldeborough's possessions would have been a delight. But
not even, a magnificently illustrated tome on plants and garden design, which
should in other circumstances have enthralled her, had the power to deflect her
mind from the present disaster.

'Will you see Lady
Torrington, miss?' Rivers repeated and Frances hesitated.

'Yes. Of course,' she
stammered. On one thing she was adamant. As she had informed Aldeborough, she
would not go back to Torrington Hall. So the sooner she confronted her aunt,
the better.

'And
shall I bring tea, ma'am?' Rivers enquired. 'You might find it a useful
distraction.' His smile held a depth of understanding.

'Yes, please.' She
smiled shyly. 'You are very kind.'

Frances
found Viscountess Torrington seated before the fire in the drawing room.
Encouraged by Rivers's tacit support, she squared her shoulders, took a deep
breath and advanced into the room. Its furnishings paid more attention to
fashion than the library, with matching chairs and a sofa in straw-and-cream
striped silk brocade, but it had the chilly atmosphere of a room not much used.
It seemed to Frances an appropriate place for this unlooked-for confrontation
with her formidable aunt.

'Aunt
Cordelia.' She forced her lips into a smile. 'I did not expect to see you
here.'

Her
ladyship, she noticed immediately, had dressed carefully for this visit, no
doubt intent on making an impression on Aldeborough. Her stout frame was draped
in a green velvet three-quarter-length coat with silk braid trimming. A
matching turban with its single ostrich plume, black kid half- boots and kid
gloves completed an outfit more suitable for London society than country
visiting. Her curled and tinted hair, glinting red in the sunlight, would have
taken her unfortunate and long-suffering maid not a little time and effort to
achieve the desired result, but nothing could disguise the lines of discontent
and frustrated ambition round her cold blue eyes and narrow lips. If she was
disappointed not to meet Aldeborough, she gave no sign as Frances entered the
room.

'I
dare say, but something has to be done to sort out this unfortunate situation.
And I did not think it wise to leave so delicate a matter to Torrington. The
outcome, if it became widely known, could be disastrous for all of us—' She
broke off abruptly. Her words might be conciliatory towards Frances, but her
voice was harsh and peremptory, her gaze on her niece full of contempt.

'What is it you intend to
do, Aunt?' Frances cautiously sat on the edge of a chair facing her.

'I have come to take you
home. We can hush up the matter and continue as if nothing happened. Whatever
might have happened here last night.'

'Nothing
happened
,' Frances answered calmly enough, but
remembered Aldeborough's warning.

'I am afraid the world
will not believe that. Aldeborough's reputation is too well known. There must
be some plain speaking between us here, Frances. He might be rich, handsome
and a prize in the matrimonial stakes—I cannot deny it—but it is also well
known that no woman is safe from him, no matter what her class. And as for his
brother's untimely death—the least said about that the better. But that is not
our concern. Your reputation will be in shreds if we do not take immediate
action, and that can only reflect badly on the whole family. What possessed you
to run away and to throw yourself into Aldeborough's path? Of all men you could
not have made a worse choice, you little fool. It is imperative that you come
home with me now.'

'I am amazed at such
concern, Aunt. I have to admit that I am unused to my feelings being shown such
consideration.'

Her aunt ignored her
sarcasm, fixing her with a stony stare as if she might will her into obedience.
'You will return with me to Torrington Hall. Charles has agreed to marry you at
once as was planned. Nothing need change our arrangements.'

'Poor Charles! Should I be
grateful for this, Aunt?'

'Of course. No one else
will marry you after this escapade, that is certain. It will be impossible to
keep it secret. All those so-called friends of your uncle, gossiping as soon as
they are in their cups. It is too salacious a story to keep to themselves.'

'But I don't choose to
marry. When I come into my inheritance I will be able to—'

'Your inheritance,
indeed!' Lady Torrington broke in sharply. 'Don't deceive yourself, my dear. It
is only a small annuity. Your mother's family cast her off when she married
your father. There is not much money there, I am afraid. You have no choice but
to come home with me.'

Frances
held tight to her decision despite her body's reaction to her aunt's words.
She wiped her damp palms surreptitiously on her skirts. She had, after all,
never disobeyed her aunt so blatantly before.

'I
am sorry to disappoint you, but no.' Frances was adamant.

'You
foolish, stubborn girl.' Lady Torrington surged to her feet, to intimidate
Frances as she remained seated. 'You have always been difficult and ungrateful.
Are you really expecting that Aldeborough will marry you? A nobody when he can
have the pick of the
ton!
Don't fool
yourself. You will not trap him into marriage. You don't know the ways of the
world. He will abandon you with a ruined name and no one to support you.'

'You
appear, madam, to have remarkably detailed knowledge of my intentions.'

Neither
lady had heard the door open. There stood Aldeborough, coldly arrogant,
quickly assessing the situation, aware of the momentary shadow of relief that
swept across Frances's face as she turned her head towards him. He executed a
graceful bow and strolled over to stand beside Frances. As she rose nervously
to her feet he took her hand, tucking it under his arm, and pressed it firmly
when she made a move to pull away.

'Perhaps
I should inform you that I have asked your niece to do me the honour of
becoming my wife.' A smile touched his mouth momentarily, but his eyes remained
cold and watchful.

Lady
Torrington's eyes narrowed, lips thinned. 'You must know that she is not yet of
age. You do not have Torrington's permission.'

'With
respect, I do not give that for his permission.' He snapped his fingers. 'After
her treatment at Torrington's hands, Miss Hanwell has expressed a preference
that she should not return to Torrington Hall. It is my intention to fulfil
that wish.'

'I do not know what you
intend to imply about her upbringing or what she has seen fit to tell you. I
would not put too much weight on her honesty, my lord.' The Viscountess's eyes
snapped with temper as she glanced at her niece. 'Frances must return home to
her family. You will hear from my husband, sir.' She pulled on her gloves,
clearly ruffled, but refusing to give way.

'Indeed, my lady. I am at
his service. Perhaps you will stay for tea?'

'No, I thank you. I hope
you know what you are doing, Frances. You would be wise to heed my warnings. I
would be sorry if the story of your abduction of my niece was to become common
knowledge, my lord.'

Aldeborough felt Frances's
hand quiver in his grasp and try to pull free, but he merely tightened his hold
and smiled reassuringly down at her.

'Abduction? I think not.'
His smile, Frances decided, held all the sincerity of a cat releasing a mouse,
only to pounce a second time. 'If it does, my lady, I might be compelled to
enlighten our acquaintances about Torrington's role in the events. It is
perhaps not good
ton
for a guardian to
subject his ward to a lifestyle unfit for a servant, much less to make her the
object of unseemly abuse. I would advise you of the foolishness of attempting
to threaten me—or my future bride.'

'Then good day to you, my
lord.' Viscountess Torrington inclined her head in false civility, bosom
heaving in righteous indignation, an unattractive patch of colour high on her
cheekbones. 'As for you, Frances, I hope that you do not live to regret this
day. Unfortunately you were always headstrong and selfish, in spite of all the
care we lavished on you!' In a swirl of outraged velvet and ostrich plumes,
Lady Torrington left, sweeping past Rivers, who had materialised to bow her out
of the room.

'So! You are headstrong
and selfish, are you?' Aldeborough smiled as Frances grimaced. 'And what
warnings were those? Or can I guess?'

'Only your dark and
dreadful reputation, sir.'

He grinned, a sudden flash
of immense charm that gave Frances insight into why so many misguided members
of her sex were willing to be beguiled by the Marquis of Aldeborough. She
chose to ignore the fact that it made her own heart beat just a little more
quickly and put it down to the effects of her aunt's harsh destruction of her
character.

'What I do not
understand,' mused Frances, 'is why she was so determined to take me back. At
best I was treated as a poor relation, at worst as the lowest of the servants.
There was never any love in my upbringing. Only duty. And why should Charles
consider marrying me if my reputation is so besmirched?' A slight frown marred
the smoothness of her brow. Aldeborough was moved by a sudden inclination to
smooth it away with his fingers. He resisted the temptation. Matters were
difficult enough.

'That is not something for
you to worry about. It is no longer necessary.'

'You are very kind. And,
indeed, I am honoured, but you need not marry me. The mistakes of a night—my
mistakes— should not be allowed to blight the rest of your life.'

'I was thinking of the
rest of
your
life, Miss Hanwell.'

Frances raised her eyes to
search his fine-featured face, touched by the compassion in his voice, but
seeing little evidence of it in his expression.
No man had the right to have such splendid eyes
, she thought
inconsequentially. Dark grey and thickly fringed with black lashes. But they
held no emotion, certainly no warmth or sympathy, merely a cold, calculating
strength of will.

She shook her head. Before
she could reply, Rivers entered the drawing room again on silent feet and
coughed gently.

'Sir Ambrose Dutton, my
lord.'

Aldeborough turned to
greet his friend, instantly recognised by Frances as one of her uncle's guests
from the previous night. Her heart sank even further, if that were possible.

She
could not face such an embarrassing encounter yet with someone who had
witnessed her shame.

'Excuse
me, my lord. Sir Ambrose.' She dropped a curtsy and followed Rivers from the
room with as much dignity as she could muster, the enormity of her situation
finally hitting home as she became uncomfortably aware of the cynical and
knowing amusement curling Sir Ambrose's lips at the very moment he saw her unmistakably
in deep and intimate conversation with his host.

'Well,
Ambrose? Was I expecting you to drop by this morning?' Aldeborough's expression
was a hard-won study in guilelessness.

Ambrose's
brows rose. So that was how he wished to play the scene. So be it. 'Yes, you
were. How's your head, Hugh?' He cast his riding whip and gloves on to a side
table. 'You don't deserve to be on your feet yet after Torrington's inferior
claret.'

'If
it's any consolation, my head is probably worse than yours.' He grimaced and
threw himself down into one of the armchairs. 'I hope I don't look as destroyed
as you do!'

'You
do, Hugh, you do!' He paused for a moment—and then plunged. 'Forgive me for
touching on a delicate subject. But why is Miss Hanwell apparently in residence
at the Priory? It would appear that you had a more interesting night than I
had appreciated.'

'You
do not know the half of it!'

'So
are you going to tell me?' Exasperation won. 'Or do I have to wring it out of
you?'

'Why
not?' Aldeborough took a deep breath, rubbed his hands over his face as if to
erase the unwelcome images, and proceeded to enlighten Sir Ambrose on the
events of the night.

'And
so,' he finished, 'I brought her here, too drunk to think of the consequences.
Although I am not sure of the alternatives since we were halfway to the Priory
before I discovered her. I suppose I could have turned round and taken her
straight back to Torrington. Still...' There was more than a little
self-disgust in his voice as he glanced up and frowned at Ambrose. 'It was not
well done, was it?'

'No.'
Ambrose, as ever, was brutally frank. 'It is always the same—too much alcohol
and you can be completely irrational. And as for the girl, throwing herself in
your way so obviously. Was she worth it?'

'Show
some respect, damn you!' Aldeborough surprised his friend by surging to his
feet, rounding on him in a sudden whiplash of temper. 'Do you really think I
would seduce an innocent young girl?'

'Probably
not. Probably too drunk.'

Aldeborough
relaxed a little, bared his teeth in the semblance of a grin, admitting the
truth of it. 'You should know—I have asked Miss Hanwell to marry me.'