The Runaway Heiress (30 page)

The sound of the front door slamming brought the
conversation to a halt for the second time that morning. Frances felt that she
would explode with inner tension if she had to stand and wait, so she picked up
her skirts and ran from the room to the head of the stairs where she leaned
over the banister to survey the hall below. There, handing his gloves and hat
to Watkins, was Matthew.

'Matthew!' She ran down the stairs, heart full of
dread, beating rapidly within her muslin bodice.

'Where's Hugh? Was it a duel? Is he hurt? Dead?'
She grasped his sleeve and shook it urgently. 'Please don't keep me in
suspense.'

Matthew gently released his sleeve from her
clutching fingers and took her hands.

'It is over, Frances. Don't take on so! He is not
dead or hurt to any real degree. There now—there is no need to cry.'

'Thank God!' The blood drained from her heart,
leaving her sick with relief, but she brushed the trace of tears from her
cheeks with her hand. 'Oh, Matthew! You have no idea... Where is he? Is he
still at the stables?'

'Well...no. I came back alone after delivering
Ambrose to his lodgings. Hugh will be here shortly...I expect.'

Frances raised her
head, her glance sharp, picking up element of uncertainty in Matthew's voice.
'But where is he?

A further hesitation. 'He has gone to see Miss
Vowchurch. He said that it was imperative that he see her immediately.' Matthew
frowned.

'To see Penelope?'

'Yes.' He was startled by the stricken look on her
face. 'I do not think there is anything here to worry you, dear Frances.' But
the frown belied his reassurance.

'Did...did he say why?'

'No...just that he had to see her.'

'Penelope!' she whispered. It was like a nightmare,
worst fears realised, following so rapidly after that first torrent of relief
and joy. 'But Penelope is here.'

'Oh, well. I expect he'll come on here when he
fails to find her in Grosvenor Square.' He watched Frances closely, distress that
imprinted her pale features. 'I don't expect it means anything.'

Her fears swirled
through her brain. So Aldeborough did return Penelope's regard after all. How
much he must love her to go straight to her from the duel. How much he must
need to tell her of his safety. And she loves him. Frances cringed inwardly as
the final realisation that Hugh would never love her took hold of her emotions.
She could not pretend any longer that his attentions at night were anything
more than those demanded by a casual affection and duty. The cravings of her
heart would never be answered.

'Are you quite well,
Frances?' Matthew touched her hand in concern.

It brought her back
to the present. It was time for action, not for mindless despair, and she
forced her weary brain into making some rapid decisions. She could not simply
wait here, could not face Aldeborough, knowing how much he wanted Penelope,
could not watch their emotional reunion after the threat of death and
separation. But she could do something to halt the threats from Viscount
Torrington. She could, and must, do something immediately. And it would give
her the solitude she needed to allow her heart to recover...if it ever could.
She grasped Matthew's arm again, making him wince in surprise.

'Matthew,' she demanded
forcefully. 'Will you help me?'

'Of course. Anything
in my power.'

'I want the
travelling coach. And Benson. It is imperative that I leave now, this minute.'

'What? Where are you
going?'

'The Priory.'

'All the way to
Yorkshire? Damnation, Frances, you cannot do that!'

'Yes, I can. And it
is vital that I do.'

'No. Wait until Hugh
gets back. Talk to him about it, that's the best thing. There is no need for
you to run away. I'm sure Hugh would never—'

'I am not running
away! You do not understand and I have no time to explain. I must go now. Will
you order Benson to harness the horses?'

'I must not let you
go alone.' He rubbed his hand over his face, eyeing her uncertainly. 'Are you
sure about this?'

'More sure than
anything in the world.'

'Then I had better
go with you. Aldeborough would never forgive me if anything happened to you.'

'There is no need, I
assure you.'

'You have no
choice.' Frances almost smiled, despite her anguish, at Matthew's masterful
tone, so similar to that of his brother. 'If you go, I go with you.'

'Very well, I do not have the time to argue. As
soon as possible. I will pack a bandbox. And I would be grateful if you did not
tell anyone.' With which she turned to run up the stairs, leaving Matthew,
somewhat bemused, to wonder what more the day could hold and what his brother
would say to him when he found out.

An hour later
Aldeborough let himself in at his own front door. His visit to the Vowchurch
establishment had failed in its objective, but yielded the information that
Miss Vowchurch would be awaiting him in Cavendish Square.

But first he must
see Frances and put her mind at rest. The need to see her was overwhelming,
merely to touch her soft
cheek with his fingertips and see her
sapphire eyes smile into his.

'Where will I find
her ladyship, Watkins?'

'She is not at home,
my lord.'

'What? Are you sure?
But I thought... When did she leave?'

'Her ladyship left
about half an hour ago. In the travelling coach.'

A cold finger of
fear began to trace its path down his spine. Before he could find words to
enquire further, the door opened behind him and Matthew entered at speed,
dressed in caped greatcoat and top boots as if for travel and with distinctly
harassed air.

'Hugh! Thank God you have arrived. I tried to stop
her, but she gave me the slip. I'm sure she meant to all the time. I'm damned
sorry.'

'What has she done?' His left-handed grasp on his
brother's arm was not gentle. 'Tell me!'

'Gone!'

'But where? For God's sake, Matthew, tell me what
you know!' His first thought, which froze his blood, was that she had left him,
fled from their marriage. He ran his hand through his hair, regardless of
appearances, with fingers that were not quite steady. What in heaven's name had
he done to force her into such rapid flight? But then sanity reasserted itself.
He might not know why she had gone, but surely there was only one place she
would go.

'The Priory,' Matthew confirmed, regaining his wits
as he caught his breath. 'She said it was urgent and was...upset. Perhaps I
should warn you, Hugh...I told her you had gone to see Miss Vowchurch.'

'What did you say exactly?'

The Marquis had become very still. He saw the
question in Matthew's eyes. The uncertainty.

'Matthew! Surely you did not believe...but it seems
that you did!' He struck his brother's arm lightly with his gloves. 'Did you
really believe that I could be engaged in a liaison with Penelope Vowchurch?'
Aldeborough groaned, but managed a wry smile at his brother's downcast
demeanour. 'And now Frances probably believes it too!' He grasped Matthew's
shoulder. 'I have to stop her, but first there is some unfinished business here
which cannot wait. At least Benson will have the sense to put up at the White
Hart at Hitchin. I'll find her there. You can come with me, for your sins.'

'To the Priory? But...you don't want me with you,
do you? Besides, I had planned to—'

'You can drive my chestnuts in the curricle. My arm
is too sore!'

'I will go and get them ready!'

'Aldeborough! At last!'

'Hugh, where has Frances gone?' asked Juliet. 'Matthew
knows, but refuses to say.'

'She has probably left you, Aldeborough.' The
Dowager's tone spoke of smug complacency. 'I knew no good would come of that
marriage, but you were never willing to take my advice. How you could have
allowed yourself to enter into an alliance with—'

'I think we need an explanation, dear boy,' Lady
Cotherstone broke in quietly.

'I agree. But you should know that Frances has not
left me.' He bowed ironically towards the Dowager. 'I know where I shall find
her and I know, in some part, why she has gone. As for the rest of the
explanation, I do not believe that I am the best person here to give it. It
surprises me that you are visiting so early, Miss Vowchurch.'

She sat, the picture of grief-stricken loveliness.
'I came because... because...' Her breath caught a little. 'I cannot say.'

'As you are aware, I have just fought a duel.'
Aldeborough's smile was icy, his grey eyes arctic. 'You will be delighted to
know, Miss Vowchurch, that Charles is safe, in good health, if a little
battered. Although I doubt he will be fit to show his face in polite society
for some little time.'

'There, Penelope, it is just as we told you.'
Juliet reached across to clasp her hand in comfort. 'There was no need to be so
distressed.'

'I do not think Miss Vowchurch deserves your
sympathy, Juliet. In fact, she deserves our condemnation, is that not so?'

'I do not know what you are implying.' Penelope
suddenly rose to her feet, her pretty hands fluttering in agitation before she
deliberately clasped them, to hide her nerves.

'I am afraid that Charles has been more than
a little outspoken. I went to see you before coming here, but it looks like
our discussion must be had in public. He did not wish, to take all the blame
for the violence against my wife on himself, you see. I believe, surprising as
it might seem, there was an understanding between you.'

'It is a lie. I have no connection with Charles
Hanwell.'

She remained composed, but found it impossible to
raise her eyes.

'I am afraid, Miss Vowchurch, that Charles made
certain allegations.' The Marquis watched her intently. 'They were spoken in
public and will become items of speculation.'

'No.' A faint trace of panic was now discernible in
that one word.

'It would suit your plans very well if I were free
to marry again, wouldn't it? And Frances stood in the way. But it would
definitely
not
be to your
advantage for me to die in a duel. Charles was not the most reliable of
accomplices, was he? His interests were not quite as specific as yours. He was
quite prepared to see both myself and my wife dead, rather than Frances alone,
if it meant that he would inherit enough money to restore the fortunes of the
Hanwell family.'

'I do not understand you.' Penelope's face drained
of all colour as she faced the truth. 'I love you—have always loved you. And
yet you have destroyed all my hopes and dreams—you have destroyed my life!'

'No.' Aldeborough's voice was cold, but perhaps not
without a touch of compassion. 'You have destroyed your own. By pinning your
hopes on something that could never be. And allowing yourself to be drawn into
a callous plot of greed and hypocrisy.'

'No!' Penelope turned on Aldeborough a face now
ravaged by tears and anger. 'It was
your
fault. You should have told me that you would not marry me. Instead you
said nothing, letting me go on hoping that time would heal your sorrow and that
you would find me an acceptable wife.'

Aldeborough's whole body stiffened as he drew in an
uneven breath. 'Yes,' he admitted quietly, accepting the accusation, 'some of
the blame is mine. I allowed Richard's death to touch me too closely.' Every
word was wrung out of him. 'If I had not felt the guilt of his accident, if I
had not closed my heart and mind to his death, I would have been more open with
you. And because of that I did you, and Frances, greater harm than I could ever
have realised. But nothing can excuse your desire to hurt Frances.'

Miss Vowchurch looked round the circle of faces,
registering anger, pity, disbelief, disgust. Without a word she turned on her
heel and, with what dignity she could muster, walked to the door. There she
halted, turning back to look at Aldeborough, stretching out one hand in
hopeless supplication. 'I would have loved you. I would have been a good wife
to you.' She left the silent room, her footsteps receding into the hall.

Aunt May rose to her feet as if intending to go
after her.

'No.' Aldeborough put out a hand to stop her. 'Let
her go. She has failed and it is over now.'

'Very well. If that is your wish.' Instead, she
walked over to her nephew's rigid figure to place a comforting hand on his arm.
'Now, all you have to do is find Frances and convince her to return. It may
not be an easy task, my boy, if she thought you went to Penelope first.'

'Do you think I do not know that?'

Chapter
Fifteen

The newly lit fire
in the private parlour of the White Hart in Hitchin, although still more smoke
than flame, was beginning to develop a comforting glow and warm the room, but
Frances was too restless to sit and appreciate its soothing presence.
Exhaustion made her light headed, but nervous energy kept her on the move,
prowling from chair to settle, window seat to fireplace. She could not
contemplate sleep and she had done no justice to the meal, the remains of which
still littered the table.

She had not wished
to halt her journey but had bowed to the dictates of common sense. Benson,
Aldeborough's coachman of many years standing and thus a man of authority in
his lordship's household, had assured her in bald terms that the horses needed
a rest, even if her ladyship didn't, and that they should put up at the White
Hart where they would be sure of good food and accommodation. Some inns were
definitely not clean or respectable. And Aldeborough would dismiss him on the
spot, Benson thought privately, if he allowed any harm to come to her ladyship.
Some rum goings-on amongst the Quality, travelling alone with only a slip of a
maid! But it was his job to look after the Marchioness, especially when her
husband was unaware of her intentions, so look after her he would!

By reason of her
title, and the fact that the Marquis was well known to them from previous
visits, Frances had been provided with a comfortable parlour and separate
bedchamber with a smaller room for her maid. But her tired mind could not rest.
It was imperative that she see her uncle. She must bring a halt to the series
of events that threatened Aldeborough. And if she must sacrifice her
inheritance, then so be it. Relief flooded through her as she remembered that
at least Aldeborough was alive after the duel which he had been forced into.
She could not contemplate the alternative. He had escaped the duel unharmed,
but in the hours of enforced idleness in the coach, when her thoughts turned
again and again to the same anxieties, she found that her relief was shortlived,
to be replaced by despair that brought tears to gather on her lashes and spill
down her cheeks. He must love Penelope Vowchurch so very much to go to her
straight from the duel. It was more important to him to tell her of his safety
and relieve her anxieties than to inform his wife. And Penelope had been so
distraught. Frances was forced to conclude that she had entirely misread that
lady's cold reserve. But she could not bear to remain in Cavendish Square to
witness their reunion and happiness together. It was far better for everyone if
she retired to the Priory and so allow Aldeborough some freedom. Her decision
gave her no pleasure but it had to be done. But first she must undo the
complications brought about by her marriage.

The White Hart was noisy with so much coming and
going of carriages outside her window that Frances doubted if she' would sleep
at all. There were raised voices and footsteps echoing in the corridors as
newly arrived travellers were shown to their rooms. Suddenly, her door was
flung open.

'I'm sorry.' She turned towards the door. This is a
private parlour—' The words died on her lips.

On the threshold stood Aldeborough.

'Good evening, my lord,' she managed for the
benefit of the landlord who had ushered his new guest into the room and still
hovered in the doorway. Her voice trembled with nerves, but she faced her
husband bravely.

He said nothing, merely advanced into the room. He
stripped off his gloves and greatcoat and cast them on to a chair with barely
confined fury. His eyes glinted with temper. Frances found herself taking
refuge behind a high-backed chair at the head of the table, gripping the wood
with fingers that were white to the bone. She had not expected him to follow
her. Or at least, not so rapidly.

'Do you wish for
some refreshment? Something to eat? I'm sure—'

He closed the door
firmly on the speculative gaze of the landlord and turned to face her.

'No. I do not want
anything to eat or drink. What I want, Madame Wife, is to know exactly what you
think you are doing.'

'I am going to the
Priory.'

'I realise that.
But, in God's name, why? And without a word to anyone.'

'I told Matthew.'

'So I should be
thankful for small mercies.' His tone was bitterly sarcastic, overlying the
banked anger. 'But you didn't tell me!'

'I did not want to
disturb you.'

'Disturb?'
If she had meant to ignite the flames she
had certainly succeeded. He took a few hasty paces around the room and came to
rest, head bent, hands spread on the scarred oak of the table before him,
flinching as he inadvertently exerted too much pressure on his wounded arm.

'I have just spent
one of the worst twenty-four hours in my existence. I have fought a duel with
your misbegotten cousin Charles, when against my better judgement I did
not
kill him. I arrive home to be informed by my
mother that you have left me, without a word, taking my travelling coach;
horses and Benson as well. You can imagine how much my mother enjoyed breaking
the bad news! I have had to explain to her that—never mind, I'll not go into
that. I have had to suffer Matthew driving me in my curricle for the best part
of five hours, so I am covered with dust and my shoulder hurts like the devil.'
He paused, but only to draw breath.

'There was no reason
that I can see for you to follow me...' Frances interrupted when she could.

'Of course not! It
would have been quite acceptable for me to allow my wife to drive around the
country on her own. I have been out of my mind with worry the whole journey!
And then, instead of finding you dead in a ditch, here you are, comfortably
ensconced at the White Hart! At least Benson had the sense to put up here,
otherwise I would be searching the whole country for you. No, my dear wife, of
course I am not disturbed.'

'Well, there's no
need to shout at me.'

'I am not shouting.
I am being most calm and reasonable in the circumstances. It's worse than
campaigning in the Peninsula. At least I did not have a wife to worry about
there! The minute my back is turned you are involved in some hare-brained
scheme. You deserve that I should wring your neck He took another deep breath
and glared at her. 'And don't stand there behind that chair as if I were going
to thrash you. I cannot bear it.'

'That's not fair!'

'I don't feel fair!'

The
door behind Aldeborough opened to admit Matthew, similarly covered with dust
and unaware of the rapidly gathering storm.

'I have told the
ostlers—'

'Go away, Matthew.'

'Consider me gone.' He
retreated, a searching glance at Aldeborough's face and a flicker of compassion
towards Frances. The Marquis locked the door behind him.

'Now tell me,
Frances—what was so urgent that you needed to run off to the Priory at a
moment's notice? I would be grateful if you told me the truth.' He flung himself
into one of the chairs before the fire, one booted foot rested on the fender.
For the first time Frances could see the underlying fatigue and the lines of
strain around his mouth. Her heart went out to him. She longed to put her arms around
him and stroke away the tension. But this was not the time and she kept her
distance, stoking her anger against him for her own protection.

'Very well. You won't like it, but I could think of
nothing else and I won't change my mind. No matter what you say, or do. I had
to see my uncle. And it seemed to me that 1 could not wait if I was to ensure
that your life was safe.'

His head snapped up, his eyes suddenly keen,
impaling her on a fierce stare. He realised that she looked as tired
and
strained as he felt. And there was another emotion
shading her eyes which he could not guess at. She held his stare with her own
level gaze.

'My uncle blamed you for robbing him of my money,'
she continued in a perfectly calm voice. 'You know that. You wouldn't discuss
the highwaymen with me, but it was not robbery. It was to be cold-blooded
murder. If you were dead, my uncle would be able to regain control of me and
the inheritance. He would arrange the marriage with Charles which, he had
always anticipated.

'The plan did not succeed. Perhaps he thought it
too dangerous to try murder again. So he tried blackmail instead. Charles
kidnapped me to hold me to ransom. And you would have had to pay dearly for my
release. Whatever the method, my uncle would get his money.'

'Did Charles tell you that?'

'Yes—well, he did not deny it when I accused him of
blackmail. But that didn't work either. So what's next? What's to stop him
trying again? He forced you into a duel where you might have been shot. I
cannot live my life in constant fear that you will be killed or injured. I
could not bear it if you were dead. So I thought if I went to see my uncle and
offered him the money he so desires, then you would be safe. My inheritance is
not worth your life,' she finished simply. 'That is why I left.'

It was all suddenly very clear. Aldeborough rubbed
his hands over his face, the anger ebbing from his body, leaving him cold and
empty. She had worked it all out. And been prepared to make a magnificent
gesture. It was difficult to accept the glory of it. But the premise was wrong.

He rose to his feet, strode to the sideboard and
poured two glasses of brandy. One of them he passed to Frances, relieved that,
although she eyed him warily, she did not flinch. He tossed back the brandy and
studied the empty glass for a moment.

'Frances,' he said, his voice low and controlled,
his face expressionless, 'you humble me. Are you really saying that you would
hand over your mother's inheritance to your uncle? How can I be worth such a
sacrifice?'

'I will do it. You cannot stop me.'

'You are a lady of great resolution and I admire
you more than you can ever imagine—but I have a confession to make.'

'Oh, Hugh. I know!' She put out a hand impulsively
as if to touch his sleeve, but then drew it back to cover her lips. 'Indeed, it
does not matter.' Tears began to slip slowly down her cheeks. It came to him
that he had never seen her cry before, not once since the night that she had
put her hand in his and trusted him with her life.

'You know? But how? Did Aunt May tell you?'

She shook her head. 'Matthew. When he came back to
Cavendish Square from the duel.'

'But Matthew does not know!'

She brushed away her tears. 'He told me that you
had gone straight to her from the duel. But she was in Cavendish Square all the
time. She does love you, Hugh. Truly. She was in such distress and wanted to
know what we could do to, stop the duel. It was always meant that she should be
your bride and she wants you. If you divorce me, then you can marry her and you
can be happy. I do understand.' Tears fell more quickly and she could not stop
them.

He took a deep breath. 'Oh, God! This is a mess,
Frances.'

'I know.'

'No. You don't. Where the devil do I start to
unravel it?' He looked at her. His heart broke as she valiantly fought to
conquer her tears. 'Come here.'

'No,' she whispered and stepped back.

'Then I must come to you. I feel a need to kiss
you.'

'I had rather you didn't.'

'I thought you liked me to kiss you.'

'Yes. I do. But it will make things worse, not
better.'

'Very well. But I will not promise for ever.'
Ignoring her reluctance, he took her hand and pulled her to the chair that he
had just vacated.

'Sit there and listen. It seems I have a lot of
explaining to do.'

'You don't have to—'

He framed her face with his hands and kissed her
forcefully on the mouth to silence her. It had the desired effect. Frances
closed her eyes to try to conquer the longing that surged within her. If only
he could love her as he did Penelope. If only...

'Now listen—' his smile lit the fires in her blood
that she had tried so hard to quench '—you were right to think that Torrington
blamed me. And the highwaymen were paid to kill me and release you from the
marriage. But things changed. What you did not realise was that
you
became the target for your uncle's plans
rather than me. Perhaps he thought that you would be an easier objective.'

'Me? But why? How could my death have been of any
value?' She shuddered. 'I cannot believe that we are discussing this in cold
blood, that my uncle could actually have a hand in my death.'

Aldeborough took the other chair opposite to
Frances, leaning forward to study his clasped hands. His face was grave as he
contemplated the pain he must cause her, against all his instincts, and the
destruction of any lingering belief she might have retained in her family.
Finally he looked up and committed himself.

'Hedges did not tell you all the clauses in your
mother's will. I asked him not to. It may have been wrong of me, but my only
excuse is that I wished to spare you any further fear or anxiety. I thought I
could safeguard you and preserve your peace of mind. You once told me that it
was the one good thing that had come out of our marriage. I would not wilfully
choose to destroy it.' He smiled wryly.