Lord Runthorne's Dilemma: A Regency Romance

Lord Runthorne’s Dilemma

Copy
right © Sarah-Jane Steele 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

The right of Sarah-Jane Steele to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Copyright © Christopher Twydell

With thanks, as always, to my long suffering family

Jo Nayler for deciding on the title

Christopher Twydell for his cover art

C
HAPTER ONE

“The Most Honourable James, Marquess of Runthorne.” Baines, resplendent in his formal livery, swung open the carriage door.

There was a pause.

“Lord Runthorne,” Baines said. “My lord?” Then he lowered his voice “Sir James, my lord.”

“
What? Oh, yes.” Runthorne put aside The Board of Agriculture’s fascinating treatise and stepped down the carriage steps. He grimaced. “You might think I would have grown used to that damned title after two years, wouldn't you?”

“
That I cannot say, my lord.”

“
No, I suppose not.”

Runthorne straightened his cravat.
“Very well, I am ready.”

Baines
closed the carriage door but Runthorne sensed he was worried. He was not surprised. Baines, along with all his personal servants who had known him as ‘Sir James’, had been worried about him for some time now. Seven years, two months and thirteen days to be precise.

It did not matter. Nothing did.

Runthorne gazed up at the house. It was a fine building, built of mellow stone and elegantly proportioned with windows that glinted in the bright sunshine. It reminded him a little of his childhood home in Northumberland.

There was the heady scent of sun warmed roses in the air and somewhere a flock of doves crooned to each other
. Altogether it seemed a pleasant and hospitable place.

“
Remind me, Baines, why did I agree to come here?”

His
groom coughed. “I believe it was at Mrs Lacey’s insistence, my lord.”

Runthorne shook his head. “Devil take it, man. Do not, if you value your life, call her ‘Mrs Lacey’. Her father was the Duke of Hormsley. And even though she married a commoner, she is and will remain ‘Lady Delphine’.”

“My apologies, my lord. Lady Delphine is, I believe, a friend of the lady of the house.”

Runthorne nodded. Lady Delphine professed herself
everybody's friend. But only while it suited her.

“
And whatever Lady Delphine wants, Lady Delphine shall have,” he said, instead.

“
Quite so, my lord.”

Runthorne
glanced up and narrowed his eyes against the bright sun. “Take the carriage to the stables. Walk the horses to cool them and then see that they are settled. Would you discover if my curricle has arrived?”

“
Very good, my lord, I will attend to my duties as always.”

“
And I am justly chastised. My apologies, Baines. Am I prevaricating, do you think?”

“
That I cannot say, my lord.”

“
And yet, once you would have done so.” Runthorne sighed. “Never mind, Baines. You do your duty and I shall do mine.”

Runthor
ne took one last look at the wide, blue sky then mounted the wide sweep of stairs leading up to the open double doors.

“
Good afternoon, my lord.” The butler who bowed him into the house looked like a younger, slimmer version of his own steward. Not for the first time Runthorne wondered whether all upper servants were as interrelated as the aristocracy.

“
Lord Runthorne.” It was not, quite, a question but there was an element of doubt in the man’s voice.

“
Indeed.” Runthorne stripped his gloves from his hands, calloused from many hours managing the horses on his estate. He forgave the butler’s hesitation. It was understandable given that his busy, outdoor life had given him a deep tan that no idle gentleman would tolerate. Well, he had always been active in managing his land when he had been mere ‘Sir James’. He saw no reason to change now he was the Marquess of Runthorne.

He
passed his gloves to a footman. “Thank you,” he said.

“
My lord,” the footman bowed as though he had received a great prize. Runthorne still could not get used to the way people grovelled before him, just because he had inherited a title, but he had given up objecting to the behaviour.

Instead he
looked around. The interior of the house was cool in contrast to the heat outside, and was furnished with taste. Matched chairs flanked the large fireplace. A large floral arrangement stood on the flagged hearth, the elegant display mimicking flames. A smaller arrangement graced one of the side tables and the scent of roses perfumed the air.

Gilt framed mirrors alternated with painted seascapes, the polished glass reflecting the sunshine streaming through the windows, filling the hall with light.
The only shadows pooled to the side of the majestic staircase to his left.

“
I am Berenger, my lord,” the butler said and Runthorne turned his attention back to the man. “If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to inform me. Captain and Mrs Maybourne will be greeting their guests in the Yellow drawing room before dinner which will be served at six o’clock.”

Runthorne
raised a brow. “So early?”

“
The Captain keeps shipboard hours, my lord.” Berenger said. “You are the last of the party to arrive. Lady Delphine, Mr and Miss Lacey arrived just after noon and Captain Fitzalan has just gone up to his rooms. Your man arrived a little over an hour ago.

“
If you would care to follow Grant, he will conduct you to your suite so you can refresh yourself, my lord.” Berenger bowed himself away.

Runthorne smiled and
followed Grant to the stairs. A crash stopped him.

Standing in a doorway, half hidden by the shadow of the stairs was a young woman.
A shattered vase lay at her feet. Shards of glass mingled with broken blooms and a slowly expanding pool of water.

She wore a simple, slightly outmoded
gown but, to Runthorne’s experienced eye, it was of good quality. He suspected it would normally be extremely modest, but now water made her skirts cling indecently to her long legs.

“
What are you doing here?”

Runthorne
frowned. There was a quality to her voice, a certain timbre that conjured up forbidden memories. The woman stepped forward, avoiding the mess on the floor, and looked him straight in the eyes.

“
My God. Elizabeth.” The shock was almost a physical blow. Seven years, two months and thirteen days vanished in the blink of an eye. Her hair was a shade darker now. It was pulled starkly back and confined at the crown of her head, leaving her all too familiar face bare and vulnerable, and strangely appealing.

Little else had changed.

Runthorne had not been conscious of moving, but he now towered above her. Her full lips tightened.

“
I ask you again,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Runthorne felt the numbness he had been living with for too long begin to fade.
“So unwelcoming, sweet Elizabeth?” He took another step closer but, instead of retreating, Elizabeth held her ground and tilted her head, keeping eye contact.

“
Surely, I have the right to ask you the same. Although it would appear you have fallen on hard times indeed. Are you a servant here?”

H
er eyes narrowed at this deliberate insult. “I hardly think you have a right to ask me anything,” she said, “and I would thank you not be so familiar with my name.”

Runthorne
lowered his head so that his lips brushed against her soft hair. “How fickle you are, dear heart. I remember soft endearments falling from those same sweet lips that rebuff me now.”

Now s
he did take a quick step backwards and glass crunched under her foot. But the shock in her eyes was nothing compared to the blow Runthorne felt from the mere touch of her hair. He forced a chuckle, deep and low in his throat.

“
It amuses you to mock me, Sir James.”

“
Not ‘Sir James’, Elizabeth. It is the Marquess of Runthorne now.” He smiled at her expression.

“
How pleasant for you, my lord.” Despite being a head shorter than him, she still managed to look down her nose at him. “I trust this means that your financial difficulties are at an end.”

“
I admit I live in quite a different style now.”

“
Indeed? That must be most agreeable,” she said. Her fingers trembled a little as she smoothed her gown. “I, however, live here, with my aunt,” she said, after a moment.

Runthorne
placed a hand over his heart and bowed low. “And so, my dear Elizabeth, I must answer your charming question, I am a guest of that self-same aunt and her husband.”

She still chewed her lip when upset, he thought and for a fleeting moment,
Runthorne was a touch ashamed of his behaviour. Then he hardened his heart. She deserved far more than discomfort.

“
So you make your home with your aunt,” he said. “I had thought you would be too grand to live on charity.”

Her eyes flashed with what
seemed like pain. “My aunt gave me a home when my own was barred to me,” she said, her voice tight. “My brother was kind enough to inform me that he feared my youthful mistakes would taint his own daughters’ prospects.” There was just a trace of bitterness in her voice, but then she gave a careless shrug.

“
Indeed, I appreciate his candour. I have been happier here with my aunt than I consider I ever was in my old home.” She glared at him.

Runthorne remembered her brother.
“I have no doubt of that,” he said. He clasped his hands behind his back.

“
Everybody makes mistakes when they are young, Elizabeth,” he said. “At least we have not been forced to live with ours.”

She paled, but her eyes were steady.
“How fortunate we are, my lord,” she said.

“
Yes,” he said. “How sad it would be to harbour regrets.” He reached forward and brushed his fingers against her cheek. She flinched as though he had branded her, but her reaction was nothing to the affect her soft skin had on him. “Do you ever wonder what might have been, sweet Elizabeth? Would you have enjoyed being a marchioness?”

He saw her fingers curl.
She hesitated for a moment and then lifted her chin, her eyes steady. “I have no regrets and nothing you can say, no consideration, will change that.”

Runthorne
bowed a correct inch. “Then you are truly blessed, Elizabeth, for there are many things in my youth that I would wish undone.”

Elizabeth
gasped and he smiled at the sound. “I am, however, fortunate that you helped me avoid my worst error of judgement,” he added.

Her cheeks flushed then paled again
. Her eyes narrowed. “Trust me, my lord, you cannot be happier than I am.”

Before he could say anything further, she turned on her heel and strode away, crushing the red roses beneath her heel, leaving nothing but broken glass and damaged blooms in her wake.

***

“Love’s sure to find
Welcome from me.”

“
Elizabeth, that is lovely, what is it called?”

The pearl button slipped through
Elizabeth’s fingers. “It is just a silly song.” It seemed like there were a hundred buttons up the back of Mary’s new dress. “It is called
‘When Love is Kind’
, I had not realised I was singing it.” She rubbed her hands together. “Now, do keep still, my dear, or I will never be done.”

“I am
sorry.” Mary twisted. “The bodice seems too tight.”

Elizabeth
patted her young friend’s shoulder. “No, I am the one who should be sorry, my dear. I am a little tired. That is all. There, you look delightful. You will charm my aunt’s noble guests.”

The younger girl
was successfully diverted. “Just think, Elizabeth, we have a real marquess in the house.” She clasped her hands. “Do you think he will be handsome? What if he speaks to me? I am sure I will die.”

Elizabeth’s
smile twisted a little. “A marquess is a man like any other.”

“
How can you say that?” Mary danced a little. “I have quite made up my mind that he will be the most handsome man here.”

“
A handsome face does not guarantee a handsome heart, my love. Trust me on this.” Elizabeth turned away. “And he is no more than passable,” she added.

Mary’s
hands flew to her cheeks. “Do you mean you have met him? How wonderful. Tell me all.”

“
To be frank, I do not like him and had I realised he was to be invited, I should have removed myself from this house. I assure you, I shall not be socialising with him any more than absolutely necessary. I can only hope there are no more unpleasant surprises.”

“
Good heavens. Whatever is the matter, Elizabeth? What has he done to offend you?” Mary clasped her hand. “If he has insulted you, he will be nothing to me. I swear I will dislike him.”