The Runaway Heiress (12 page)

In the week following
Torrington's unsettling visit, Frances was seated in the gold withdrawing room.
She had abandoned Juliet, who for the past hour had failed to choose between a
dozen hats for their afternoon promenade, and was passing the time perusing the
pages of fashion plates in a new edition of
Le Beau
Monde.
An evening creation in palest blue satin with a spangled gauze
overskirt and deep ruching around the hem had just caught her attention when
Watkins announced that, if her ladyship was at home to visitors, Mr Hanwell was
awaiting her in the morning room. Her immediate response was to refuse. There
was no one here to give her moral support—it would be so easy to have Watkins
say that she was otherwise engaged. But that was cowardly and foolish, she told
herself. Charles was her cousin and indeed had never shown her anything but
kindness, even if it was of a superficial nature that would not bring him into
conflict with his father. There was nothing here to disturb her.

Charles entered the room,
ushered in by Watkins, and she rose to greet him. He was just as she
remembered. Pleasing to look at, well groomed and dressed with propriety
without being in the height of fashion, his fair hair fashionably cut, his
hazel eyes warm and full of humour and with a smile of welcome on his face as
he advanced towards her. He took her outstretched hand in his to draw her
closer and took the liberty of close relationship to lean down to kiss her
cheek. Frances found herself smiling with pleasure at seeing a familiar face
in her new world.

'Frances. How well you
look. Town life obviously suits you—why, you have grown quite beautiful in the
weeks since I last saw you. Are you enjoying being in the first stare of fashion?
And a title to give you consequence!'

Frances's unease quickly
dissipated and she blushed at her own foolishness at being afraid to receive
Charles. He was not like his father. She laughed with him—receiving compliments,
she had discovered, was most acceptable.

Thank you, Charles. As you
see, I am quite well. And I find that London is most entertaining—I had no
idea.' Struck by a sudden thought, she asked, 'Did my uncle ask you to call?'

'No, indeed. Why should
he? I hardly need instructions to visit my own pretty cousin. I am in town for
a few days and what better way to spend some of my time. Would you be insulted
if I said that I never realised how attractive you are?'

He kissed the hand which
he still had in his possession.

'You flatter me, Charles.
I am certain it has a lot to do with these new clothes.' She brushed a hand
over her primrose muslin with pleasurable appreciation, enjoying the open
admiration in Charles's face. 'Please sit down. Can I offer you a cup of tea?'

'Thank you, but no. I must
not stay long.' He hesitated, as if making a difficult decision over his next
words, then fixed her with a serious and concerned gaze.

'I don't find this easy to
say—but I believe my father may have upset you on his last visit.' His eyes
were full of sympathy. 'It was something he said when he returned home that
made me think... It did not seem to me that he dealt with you with the respect
and care that you merited. I thought I should come to apologise for him. He
only has your best interests at heart, you know. We simply want you to be happy
and not to have been forced into something that would give you distress.'

Frances was taken aback by
such candour. 'Indeed, Charles, there is no need—'

'But there is,' he
interrupted. 'Are you happy?' he asked brusquely.

'Well, I...' She pulled
her hand from his clasp in some confusion. How should she answer?

'Forgive me if I seem too
forward. But does Aldeborough treat you well? I know that he has a
reputation—and his name has been linked with any number of ladies in the past.
You do not deserve to be slighted or neglected by an inattentive husband.'

Frances
stepped back from her cousin. She might appreciate his concern for her well
being, but she would not discuss her husband with him. 'You must not say such
things to me,' she responded, a cool note apparent in her voice. 'He is very
kind and I can have no criticism of his behaviour towards me.'

'There,
I have disturbed you, which is something I wished most to avoid.' Charles
smiled ruefully, quickly attempting to heal the small rift that had appeared.
'I simply hoped that he does not neglect you. It can be very lonely in town if
you do not have a wide acquaintance.'

'Indeed,
I am not lonely.'

'Of
course not. But I saw Aldeborough at Newmarket this week and noticed that you
were not with him.'

'No.
But he has his own life to lead. And I mine. There is no need for your
concern.'

'And
I am sure that you are finding much to entertain you. It would not be expected
that you would live in each other's pockets. And I doubt you would approve of
all of his interests.' He smiled to remove any hint of criticism. 'He lost a
considerable amount of money at Newmarket—but I suppose that when you are in
possession of such a vast fortune, losing so much is of little consequence.'

'No.'
Frances frowned, uncertain of Charles's intentions.

'And
with the problems in the Lafford family in the past, it really is a case of
still waters. But as long as you are content, then I am satisfied.'

Frances
felt a sudden urge to ask about these unspecified problems of the past, but a
reluctance to encourage Charles kept her silent. And, after all, he would not
be an impartial observer.

'Your
solicitude is very touching.'

'But
of course. You are my cousin.'

For
a long moment Frances considered his words, studying his handsome face and
compassionate eyes. Memories of her existence at Torrington Hall flooded back,
forcing her to respond to the kind words with brutal honesty.

'Forgive me, Charles. I
have to admit to some surprise. I do not remember you being quite so
considerate of my feelings when I lived at Torrington Hall. You never enquired
as to my happiness then.' She could not prevent the sting of censure as she
tried to match Charles's present words with her past recollections of him.
True, he had never shown the careless indifference, cruelty even, of her aunt
and uncle, but neither had he shown her any affection, or championed her
against the neglect. And he had not stayed his father's whip. For that she
found it difficult to forgive him.

'Frances. That is untrue.
You know how difficult it is to take a stand against my father. Even the
slightest resistance or criticism pushed him to further excess. I always did
what I could. But short of removing you from the household, I could not remove
you from his jurisdiction. And, after all, he is your legal guardian. But
perhaps I deserve your poor opinion.' A smile with a touch of sadness and
regret lit his face and admiration gleamed once more in his eyes. 'I am pleased
to see that things have worked out so well for you. I am only sad that we two
could not have made a match of it as my father had planned. It was my dearest
wish.'

Charles held her eyes with
his own intense gaze for a long moment and then, as if embarrassed by this
declaration and daunted by Frances's silence, he gathered up his hat and gloves
and made to leave.

'I must go. Perhaps I have
said too much, but my concern for you is immeasurable. Will you promise me one
thing?' His face was set and serious. 'If you ever need help of any kind,
please don't hesitate to ask me. I would count it a privilege to be at your
service, my lady. And perhaps have the opportunity to put right some of the
wrongs of the past. I am sure that you understand me.'

He raised her hand again
to his lips and once more bent to salute her cheek, his eyes meeting hers with
an intimate warmth that surprised her. She found herself returning the smile,
relieved that she and her cousin should part on such good terms. Perhaps she
had misjudged him in the past. She did not pull her hand away when he smiled so
warmly at her.

Upon which the door opened
to reveal the Marquis of Aldeborough on the threshold. With slow deliberation
he took in the scene before him, eyes narrowed, expression enigmatic.

Frances looked at him in some
consternation, angry at the sudden flush that stained her cheeks, but her gaze
was steady and direct.

'Good afternoon,
Aldeborough,' she said with calm composure. 'Here is Cousin Charles, who is in
Town for a few days.'

'Of course. It appears to
be becoming a habit of mine to interrupt meetings between your family and my
wife, sir.' He executed an impeccable bow.

'I was about to take my
leave, my lord,' Charles responded as affably as possible under that flintlike
stare.

'Then do not let me detain
you.'

Charles made an apologetic
inclination of the head in Frances's direction. 'I trust that I will have the
opportunity to see you again before I return to Torrington Hall, my lady.
Perhaps at the Taverners' ball. My lord.' With a curt nod to Aldeborough, he
left the room.

Frances turned to face her
husband. 'You were not very friendly, my lord.'

'I do not feel very
friendly. What was he doing here?'

'He only came to wish me
well and hoped that I was happy.'

'I noticed.' His voice was
cold with condemnation. 'He was kissing your hand. And your cheek. There is no
knowing what liberties he would have taken if I had not come into the room at
that moment.'

Frances was almost
speechless at such an unwarranted accusation. 'Liberties?' she gasped. 'He is
my cousin!'

'Be clear on this,
Frances. I will not have you kissing other men, cousin or no.'

'Really!' A flash of anger
lit her eyes as she rejected this high-handed attitude from her husband, who
had absented himself at Newmarket for the past three days and left her to her
own devices. And who, it seemed, not only had the reputation of being an
accomplished flirt, but kept a very attractive mistress! 'How dare you dictate
how I should respond to my cousin!'

'Very easily. And, let me
remind you, you were very keen to escape from his presence some weeks ago.
There seemed to be no warmth in your relationship then. Obviously I have missed
something here.' His eyes were cold and searching.

'What are you suggesting?
Besides, you said that we should live our own lives. As you are clearly doing!'

'With discretion!' he
flung back. 'Kissing Charles in the withdrawing room is not discreet.'

'Are you really suggesting
that
I
would do anything improper?'

'You
might not, but I have little confidence in
the rest of your family.'

'I really do not think
that is fair when you—'

Frances bit back the words
before she could say more, fortunately she felt, as they were interrupted by
the arrival of Juliet, who chose to be oblivious to the heated atmosphere in
the room.

'Hello, Hugh. We've missed
you. How was Newmarket?' He glared at her cheerful presence, but she ignored
him. 'Was that your cousin I saw leaving just now, Frances?'

'Yes.'

'What a pity I did not
join you earlier. I didn't realise that he was so attractive. You could have introduced
me to him.'

Aldeborough looked from
one to the other, his face suddenly expressionless, words beyond him.

'There really is no
accounting for taste,' he snarled at last and with a gesture of disgust flung
out of the room.

'What's happened to put
him in such a bad humour?' Juliet stared after him in some surprise. 'His horse
won at Newmarket so I thought he would be in a good mood. I don't suppose you
asked him if he would accompany us to the Taverners' ball tonight?'

Frances sighed. A chill
settled round her heart.

Chapter Seven

The
Taverners' Ball was the event of the Season. Although early and London still
shy of the
haute ton
, the crush in the
flower-decked, silk-hung rooms of Viscount Taverner's magnificent town house
testified to society's desire to put itself on show. And, of course, the
Marquis of Aldeborough and the new Marchioness would be present.

For
Frances, fashionably turned out in her favourite jonquil silk with cream and
gold ribbons, decorated with knots of silk primroses, it was an occasion that
combined pleasure, fear, satisfaction and jealousy in a subtle but complicated
weave. Afterwards she was to remember it as a series of brilliant jewel-like
cameos, one imposed on another, swamping her mind and senses with images that
she would never forget—and one that troubled her heart and her dreams and
allowed her no peace.

To
her delight and intense relief, Frances found herself accepted and drawn into
the Wigmore fold. Aldeborough took the opportunity of the Ball to introduce her
to the Earl of Wigmore, a young, fair-haired man with an open smiling
countenance. The Earl called on the help of his Countess who was, as he
explained, a veritable expert on the ramifications of the family tree. Frances
was soon identified as the daughter of Aunt Cecilia about whom No One Ever
Spoke, not after she had been so misguided as to run off to marry such an
unsuitable young man and his grandfather had put his foot down. The Earl, of
course, had been far too young to remember the events in detail or to be
involved in such undoubtedly unfair banishment from the family's embrace. The
old Earl had been a stickler for family pride and advantageous marriages. And
for Cecilia to flout his authority and deliberately set herself against his
dictates...

Well, that was all in the past now and should
be forgotten: and the Earl was sure that the Hanwells were most respectable—although
they did not mix socially with Viscount and Lady Torrington, you understand—and
he was pleased to make his unknown cousin's acquaintance, particularly since
she was now Marchioness of Aldeborough. He could not fail to miss the cynical
smile from Aldeborough as the Countess invited Frances to take tea with her
later in the week when they might discuss their bloodlines at leisure. Cynical
the Marquis might be, but Frances could not deny her satisfaction at their
casual acceptance.

The country dancing
presented Frances with a challenge that she was able to meet without drawing
too much attention to her inadequacies, at least when her nerves allowed her
heart beat to quieten and her pulse rate to slow. Matthew, beginning the
initiation, proved to be as graceful on the dance floor as he was on horseback,
as well as an easy conversationalist, as he led her into a cotillion. She had
some experience of the intricate changes and figures from her youthful days of
basic education with the daughters of the Rector of Torrington.

'All you need is a little
confidence,' Matthew encouraged her, aware of her pallor and anxious glances at
what her feet might be doing. 'That wasn't too bad, was it?' as he led her from
the floor. 'Here.' He hailed Ambrose, unusually elegant in dark coat and satin
knee breeches. 'Let Ambrose lead you through a quadrille. And remember, you are
allowed to converse with him. Your feet can manage quite well without being
watched and you don't need to count so feverishly— or aloud!'

Ambrose grinned; Frances
smiled and relaxed, enjoying the tempo of the music, the patterns of the
measures, the butterfly hues of the dancers around her. She glimpsed
Aldeborough further down the set, holding the hand of a vivacious brunette as
she twirled delightfully beneath his raised arm. Her dress was the
rose-embroidered white muslin of a debutante and she was smiling shyly up into
his face.

'Who is the lady dancing
with Aldeborough?' Frances asked as the movement of the dance brought them
together. Ambrose strained round the adjacent pair to look.

'Miss Ingram, one of this
year's leading debutantes,' he informed her. 'She is regarded as a diamond of
the first water.'

'Yes, she is.' Frances
managed to catch another glimpse of the feminine figure, fair ringlets and
large, deep brown eyes.

'She has had a number of
offers already,' Ambrose continued helpfully. 'Above my touch, of course, even
if I was considering getting shackled, which I am not. Her mama held out high
hopes of Hugh. So did a few others with eligible daughters after he set up a
flirtation. That is...until—' He stopped, catching Frances's interested and
faintly horrified expression with some remorse. Then the demands of the quadrille
parted them again. As it ended and he bowed over her hand, leading her from the
floor, he apologised.

'Forgive me, Frances. I
should not have said what I did. Not to you.'

Frances sighed, relieved
that her relationship with Ambrose was now sufficiently relaxed to allow her
some honesty.

'Why not, if it is the
truth?' She smiled reassuringly at him, ignoring the ache in her heart. 'We
both know I am not the bride he would have chosen. I would rather know the
truth than live in a fantasy.'

'Yes, I suppose you would.' His face was grave,
a frown between his brows. 'Hugh does not realise how lucky he is! And I
suppose I should not have said that either.' He lifted her hand to his lips
again with more than a mere polite salute, jolted by the depth of sadness in
her eyes. As Frances turned her head to hide her emotions from his sharp gaze,
she was struck by the sensation of being under scrutiny. She looked up to see
Aldeborough watching her from across the room. She held the gaze for a long
moment, unable to interpret it, and then turned back to exchange a conversation
with Juliet who had joined them, charming in maiden's blush pink, but not
before she had noted the frown in Aldeborough's eyes and the tightening of his
lips. She would not show that she cared.

Aldeborough
detached himself from Miss Ingram to lead Frances into a waltz. His set
expression and the cold quartzlike glint in his eyes did not auger well, but
Frances set herself to ignore the drop in temperature. If he felt that duty
forced him into soliciting a waltz from his wife, then she would oblige. And if
he was still ruffled over Charles's visit, there was nothing she could do about
it. She achieved a bright smile and swept a graceful curtsy.

'I
think I should warn you that I have never waltzed before,' she informed him as
his arm encircled her waist in what she could only describe as an intimate
embrace. 'The Rector of Torrington did not consider it a proper dance for his
daughters to participate in, so I have never learnt the steps.'

There
was nothing intimate in his reply or his tone.

'I
realise that. You have trodden on my feet at least three times since we began
in spite of all my efforts to lead you. Perhaps your mind is on other things.'
His expression and tone of voice gave her no encouragement.

'How
unfair! I did tell you that I had no talents, if you remember,' she remarked,
sounding, even to her own ears, waspish, but without remorse.

'I
do remember. You were very accurate.'

'And
you are in a very bad mood!' She jettisoned any attempts to be conciliatory and
glared at him. 'You are spoiling my first ball.'

'Fortunately
you are not short of partners who, it appears, are perfectly willing to be in a
good mood.'

She could think of no way to answer this and
finished her first waltz in glacial and dignified silence.

It was true that she did
not lack for partners. Unfortunately, in the circumstances, Charles was one of
them. As he put himself out to be charming, they encircled the floor with some
grace, Frances's feet becoming more obedient to her will. He smiled and
conversed like a man of sense, putting her at her ease, but all the time she
was aware of Aldeborough's critical regard.

'Forgive me, Frances. I
did not intend to give Aldeborough the wrong impression this afternoon or give
him a weapon to use against you. I was only showing a cousinly concern.'

'There is no problem, Charles. Aldeborough and
I understand each other very well.' She would not discuss her relationship with
her husband, but she found it difficult not to respond to Charles's warm smile
and expressions of concern, so different from the Marquis's chilly arrogance.
She found herself returning his smile and laughing at his light conversational
remarks. She would ignore the waves of disapproval from the man whom she was
learning had the reputation of being nothing less than a rake.

The evening ended for
Frances in an abyss. She furthered her acquaintance with Miss Vowchurch, but
did not enjoy the experience or realise the repercussions that would spread
like ripples from a pebble tossed carelessly into a pond. As that lady was
chaperoned by the Dowager Lady Aldeborough, resplendent in maroon satin and
nodding ostrich plumes, she had no choice but to exchange pleasantries between
dances. Penelope looked enchanting in a white organdie gown with an overslip of
spangled gauze and the cotillion which she had danced with Aldeborough made
Frances very much aware of how well they were suited. She was all grace and elegance;
she would have made an excellent Marchioness.

'How charming you look
tonight.' Penelope could afford to be gracious. 'I see that you have been
improving your dancing skills.'

'Indeed. Matthew and
Ambrose have kindly allowed me to practise on them. Their feet have suffered
but they have been most complimentary.'

'Aldeborough dances so
well. I saw him waltzing with Miss Charlesworth. How delightful they looked
together. And at the moment—ah—I see he is waltzing with Mrs Winters. Have you
been introduced? I admit to being surprised to see her here, but then she is
received everywhere, although my mama would not consider inviting her to one of
our select soirees. Aldeborough, of course, knows her very well. Perhaps he
will introduce you.'

Penelope, demure
expression intact, was invited to join a set with Lord Hay, a smile of
satisfaction on her lips and the coldness of a serpent in her eyes, leaving
Frances to assess the deliberate intent in that kind observation. Alone for a
moment, she was able to take a closer look at the lady who had acknowledged her
in Hyde Park. Mrs Winters's demeanour on the dance floor in the Marquis's arms
proclaimed her experienced in the art of flirtation. The flame of desire in the
lady's sparkling eyes could not be dismissed. Nor could the overt attraction of
her voluptuous bosom and stylish figure, superbly enhanced by her low-cut gown.
Her jewellery was tasteful, drawing attention to her long fingers and delicate
wrists. Her golden curls, artfully arranged so that they fell from a high knot
on to her pale shoulders, framed a charming face with much character. It was
such a pity, Frances thought, that her green eyes were quite so predatory. Her
own fingers curled into admirable catlike claws as she observed the lady
casting flirtatious glances at Aldeborough, laughing at his comments. At the
same time Aldeborough bent to catch something she had said, his cheek almost
brushing her hair, an intensely intimate gesture. Frances's nails buried themselves
painfully into her soft palms.

She raised her chin and
turned away to find Ambrose, who had offered to procure for her a glass of
wine, beside her. They stood in a window embrasure, Frances endeavouring to
cool her heated cheeks in relative privacy, sipping the bubbles. She looked at
him and sighed a little. They were in perfect accord and he did not pretend to
misunderstand her.

'I suppose he has broken
many hearts in the past.'

'Yes...' Ambrose smiled
wryly '...but not intentionally, I think. He would not be so cruel.'

'No.'

'Don't let him break
yours.'

She tried to stem the rush
of emotion that lodged in her throat on being shown such unexpected sympathy.

'You are very
understanding.'

She held out her hand
after only the slightest hesitation and Ambrose took it, holding it warmly between
his own.

'He doesn't mean anything
by it, you know. Don't judge him before you know him better. He is the best
friend a man could have and the last months have not been easy for him. He has
lost much and gained little. He has not found it easy to come to terms with
Richard's death and he blames himself.'

'And, if the truth be
told, I have not made the situation any better for him, have I?' There was no
self-pity in Frances's eyes, merely acceptance. It touched Ambrose's heart, so
much so that for once it prompted him to take the Marquis to task for being so
blind to the feelings of those around him. He pressed Frances's hand in
sympathy.

At which unfortunate
point, the friend under discussion materialised at Frances's elbow, looking
anything but amicable.

'It is late. If I may
interrupt your tête-a-tête, I will escort you home, my lady.'

'Of course.' She withdrew
her hand from Ambrose's light clasp and made to follow, but Aldeborough stood
back to allow her to go ahead to join the Dowager and thus give him the
opportunity of a few words with Ambrose.

He was cold and dangerous,
anger shimmering around him. It drove him to utter the first thought that came
into his head.

'If you were anyone else,
I would call you out!'

'And I would refuse. Don't
be ridiculous, man. There was no impropriety in my conversation with Frances.'
Ambrose's response was as deliberately casual as Aldeborough's was heated. He
was more than a little interested to note Aldeborough's reaction.

'I
do not expect to see you holding my wife's hand in the middle of a ballroom.'

'If
you had not been encouraging your latest flirt, Hugh,
you
could have been holding her hand. And she
would have enjoyed that much more.'