The Runaway Heiress (7 page)

'Of course.' Frances's
heart sank. She was not fooled by Lady Aldeborough's sudden change of
demeanour. Her civility was knife-edged and threatened to be deadly. It promised
to be a difficult interview.

'Will you be quite
comfortable, my lady?' Aldeborough allowed her the opportunity to play the
coward, but she would not.

'Certainly, my lord.'

'Very well, Matthew. Lead
me to the horse. And no, you cannot ride him, before you ask. I will return
very soon.' He gave Frances a brief smile of encouragement before following his
brother through the door.

Frances was left alone
with her mother-in-law. She could not allow herself to show any weakness or to
be intimidated. Lady Aldeborough had the air of one who had spent a lifetime
in achieving her own ends. And she would not be prepared to accept defeat on
this occasion.

'Miss Hanwell. Oh, do
forgive me—I still cannot believe that you have actually entered into this
alliance with my son.' Her sugary tones set Frances's teeth on edge. 'Do come
and sit here. I will ring for some tea. Perhaps you would like to tell me a
little about yourself. ' The Dowager smiled, but achieved it only through sheer
effort of will. Frances responded with as much equanimity as she could muster.
She had nothing to lose. She knew at once that she would never win the good
will, much less the affection, of this dominant lady and she wished fervently
that Aldeborough had not forsaken her to such an ordeal.

The
arrival of the tea tray gave Frances a much-needed breathing space. When
everything had been disposed to her liking, Lady Aldeborough handed Frances a
fine bone-china tea cup.

'Now.
Let us have a feminine gossip.'

Frances
cringed inwardly, predicting accurately the direction it would take.

'Who
are your family? Do I know them?'

'My
uncle is Viscount Torrington—and he is also my guardian.'

'So,
are your parents then dead?'

'Yes.'

'How
unfortunate. I do not think I have ever seen you in London. Or at any
country-house parties. Perhaps you have never been introduced into society?'

'I
have always lived in the country on my uncle's estate.'

A
pause developed as the Dowager considered the information. 'Perhaps you have
other living relatives?' The catechism continued.

'The
present Earl of Wigmore is my mother's nephew, my cousin.'

'Really?'
Elegant eyebrows rose in apparent disbelief. 'I am somewhat acquainted with the
family, of course, but I was not aware of your existence.'

'We
have not kept close contact.' Frances was determined not to give any more cause
for speculation.

'I
see.' Lady Aldeborough placed her cup down with careful precision before
fixing Frances with austere censure. Let us be clear about this, my dear. I am
very disappointed in the turn of events. So shoddy, you understand. And as for
what the world will make of the rumours of an abduction—'

'There
was no abduction. I did nothing against my will'

'Whatever
the truth of it, it is quite shocking. As Marquis of Aldeborough, my son should
have enjoyed a wedding at which all the members of the
ton
were present. An event of the Season, no
less. Instead of which...' Her mother-in-law shrugged with elegant disdain.

There was no suitable
response for Frances to make. She waited in silence for the next onslaught,
raising her teacup to her lips.

'It makes me wish once
again that Richard was still alive.'

'Richard?'

'My son. My
first-born
son.' The Dowager indicated with a
melancholy sigh and a wave of her hand an impressive three-quarter-length
portrait in pride of place above the mantelpiece. 'It is very like. It was
completed a mere few months before his death.'

'I...I'm sorry. I did not
know.'

'How should you? He was
everything a mother could wish for. Duty and loyalty to the family came first
with him. Not at all like Hugh. He should never have died.'

Frances studied the
portrait with interest as her companion applied a fine lace handkerchief to her
lashes. The young man before her was very like her husband. Indeed, the
Laffords all had the same straight nose and dark brows and forthright gaze.
Richard was dark too, like his brother, but the portrait highlighted a subtle
difference between the two. The hint of mischief in Richard's hooded eyes and
roguish smile were unmistakable. He sat at his ease in a rural setting with the
Priory clearly depicted in the background, a shotgun tucked through his arm and
a gun dog at his side. The artist was good, successfully catching the vivid
personality and love of life—Frances had the impression that he could have
stepped out of the frame at any moment. Even though she had never known him, it
was difficult to believe that he was dead. What a terrible tragedy! No wonder his
mother mourned him with such passionate intensity.

'Was...was it an
accident?' Frances asked to break the painful silence.

'Some might try to imply
that it was—to hide the truth from the world—but his death was to Hugh's
advantage, a fact which must be obvious to all. It breaks my heart to think of
it'

Frances
privately doubted that she had a heart to break.

Lady
Aldeborough continued, long pent-up bitterness pouring out. 'And Penelope, his
fiancée. So beautiful and elegant. So well connected—so
suitable.
She would have made an excellent
Marchioness. As if she had been born to it.'

'I
can see that she must have been greatly distressed.'

'Penelope
has remarkable self-control. And of course she still hoped to become my
daughter-in-law in the fullness of time. But now it has all changed. I do not
know how I shall have the courage to break the news to her. But, of course,
Hugh would never think of that. He has always been selfish and frippery. His
taking a commission in the Army to fight in the Peninsula was the death of his
father.'

As
Lady Aldeborough appeared to be intent on holding her son to blame for
everything, Frances felt moved to defend her absent husband.

'I
have not found him to be selfish.'

'To
be the object of an abduction or an elopement—or whatever the truth might be,
for I do not think the episode has been explained at all clearly to my
satisfaction—I can think of nothing more degrading.' Her eyebrows rose. 'That
smacks of selfishness to me.'

'That
was not his fault, in all fairness. My husband' — Lady Aldeborough winced at
Frances's deliberate choice of words— 'has treated me with all care and
consideration. He saw to my every comfort on our journey here. I accept that
our marriage is not what you had hoped for, but Aldeborough has shown me every
civility and courtesy. I cannot condone your criticism of him.'

'Be
that as it may, there is much of my son that you do not know. But you have
married him and will soon learn. I hope you do not live to regret it. Now, tell
me. Have you a dowry? Have you brought any money into the union? At least that
would be something good.'

Frances
took a deep breath to try to explain her inheritance in the most favourable
light when the door opened on the return of Aldeborough and Matthew. She
grasped the opportunity to allow the question to remain unanswered and turned
towards her husband with some relief.

They
were obviously in the middle of some joke and Frances was arrested by the
expression on Aldeborough's face. She had never seen him so approachable. His
eyes alight with laughter and his quick grin at some comment were
heartstoppingly and devastatingly attractive. She had much more to learn about
her husband than she had realised. And the unknown Richard.

The
smile stayed in Aldeborough's eyes as he approached across the room. 'I see you
have survived,' he commented ironically, showing recognition of her
predicament. 'I knew you would.'

'Of
course.' Frances raised her chin and looked directly into his eyes. 'Your
mother and I have enjoyed a...an exchange of views. I already feel that we
understand each other very well.'

Aldeborough's raised
eyebrows did not go unmarked.

He
came to her that night.

Immediately
upon a quiet knock, he entered the Blue Damask bedroom, where Frances had been
temporarily accommodated until the suite next to the master bedroom could be
cleaned and decorated to her taste. The door clicked shut behind him. He halted
momentarily, his whole body tense, his senses on the alert, and then with a
rueful shrug and a slight smile he advanced across the fine Aubusson carpet.

'Don't
do it, Molly. I trust you are not contemplating escape yet again. It is a long
way to the ground and I cannot vouch for your safety. Paving stones, I believe,
can be very unforgiving.'

Frances
stepped back from the open window where she had been leaning to cool her heated
cheeks. The blood returned to her face in a rose wash, her throat dry and her
heartbeat quickening. As ever, he dominated the room with his height, broad
shoulders and excellent co-ordination. And, as always, he was impeccably
dressed notwithstanding the late hour. He made her feel ruffled and hopelessly
unsophisticated.

'No, but you could not
blame me if I was! And I would be grateful if you did not call me Molly!'

He reached behind her to
close the window and redraw the blinds, allowing her the space to regain her
composure.

'Your maid did not come to
help you undress? You should have rung for her.' He indicated the embroidered
bell pull by the hearth.

'I sent her away.' Frances
hesitated. 'I did not want her tonight. I have never had a maid, you see.'

She caught her reflection
in the gilt-edged mirror of the dressing table. She looked exhausted. Beneath
her eyes were smudges of violet, her pale skin almost transparent. And Aldeborough's
unexpected presence made her edgy and nervous. She rubbed her hands over her
face as if they could erase her anxiety. They failed miserably.

'I told you that it was a
mistake for you to marry me.' Her voice expressed her weariness in spite of all
her efforts to control it. 'Your mother hates me. And she will find great
pleasure in telling all your family and friends that I am a fortune hunter with
no countenance, style or talents to attract.'

He crossed the room
deliberately to take her by the shoulders and turn her face towards the light
from a branch of candles. He then startled her by lifting his hand to gently
smooth the lines of tension between her eyebrows with his thumb. He frowned
down at her as if his thoughts were anything but pleasant.

'I am sorry. It has been a
very trying day for you. Perhaps in retrospect I should have seen my mother
alone first, but I don't think it would have made much difference. I was proud
of you. You were able to conduct yourself with assurance and composure in
difficult circumstances. It cannot have been easy for you.'

Frances blinked at the
unexpected compliment. 'If you are kind and sympathetic I shall cry.'

His stern features were
lightened by an unexpectedly sweet smile. 'Thank you for the warning. I would
not wish that on you. If it is any consolation to you, my mother doesn't like
me much either.'

'No,
it is no consolation,' she responded waspishly. 'I did not expect to be
welcomed, but I did not think I would be patronised and condemned with every
deficiency in my background and education laid bare in public over the dinner
table. And if I have to listen once more to a catalogue of the skills and
talents of Miss Penelope Vowchurch I shall not be responsible for my actions.'
She proceeded to give a remarkably accurate parody of Lady Aldeborough. 'Can
you sing, Frances? No? Of course, Penelope is
very
gifted musically. It is a pleasure to hear her sing—and play the pianoforte!
Perhaps you paint instead? No? Penelope, of course... Does she have
any
failings?'

A
shuttered look had crossed Aldeborough's face, but he was forced into a
reluctant laugh. 'Don't let my mother disturb you. I don't believe that she
means half of what she says.'

'I
am delighted to hear it—but I don't believe you. You could have warned me.'

'Don't
rip up at me.' His fingers tightened their grip.

She
suddenly realised that he looked as tired as she felt, with fine lines of
strain etched around his mouth, and his words were a plea rather than a
command. For a second she felt a wave of sympathy for him—but quickly buried
it. The situation, after all, was of his making.

'Why
not?' She pulled away from his grasp, too aware of the strength of his fingers
branding her flesh, but then regretted her brusque action. 'I... Forgive me, I
am just a little overwrought. I shall be better tomorrow. I am really very
grateful for all you have done,' she explained stiffly.

'I
don't want your gratitude.' His voice was harsh.

She
turned her back on him and stalked towards the mirror where she began to
unfasten the satin ribbons with which she had inexpertly confined her hair. She
was aware of his eyes on her every movement. A silence stretched between them
until her nerves forced her to break it.

'It is difficult not to
express my gratitude when you have given me everything that I have never had
before.'

'I have given you nothing
yet.'

'My clothes. All of this.'
She indicated the tasteful silver and blue furnishings, the bed with its
opulent hangings, the comforting fire still burning in the grate. 'Wealth. A
title. Respectability. What more could I want?' Bitterness rose in her that he
should take it all for granted.

'Next you will tell me
that you would rather be back at Torrington Hall with Charles as your
prospective husband.' Aldeborough's heavy irony was not lost on her.