The Runaway Heiress (23 page)

He searched in his pocket
and removed a small object. 'This belonged to your mother. I brought it to give
to you. It is yours by right. If you will permit me.'

He stepped forward to pin,
with carefully impersonal fingers, a little brooch to the bodice of her gown.
It was a simple ring brooch fashioned of amethysts and seed pearls.

'There.' He stepped back.
'It becomes you. I wish I could have given it on a happier occasion.'

He turned on his heel without another word and
left the garden to the heedless bees and Frances, who covered her face with her
hands in a storm of emotion. She would been surprised if she had been aware of
the satisfaction in her cousin's eyes.

Following a short period
of reflection, which did nothing to calm her state of mind, Frances returned to
the house. Uppermost in her thoughts was Charles: how dare he offer her
marriage, how dare he pretend to an attachment that quite clearly had never
existed until the prospect of a fortune had been snatched from before his eyes?
As if she would believe his protestations of love and admiration. But her indignation
soon vanished as her thoughts progressed to more serious issues. Was Torrington
truly behind the ambush on the road from York? Of course Charles had denied it.
What would she expect? But she thought that he had been less than comfortable
with her accusation. And what terrible seeds of doubt Charles had sown.
Deliberately, of course, but none the less successfully with such an
unwarranted insight into her hopes and fears. After all, she knew that
Aldeborough did not love her. He had never pretended otherwise. Letitia Winters
was no secret. And her mother-in-law certainly had dreamed and planned for an
alliance with Penelope Vowchurch. But had Aldeborough known about the bridge?
Could he have stopped her? No, of course not. She could not believe such ill of
him, would not believe it, but Charles had done his worst and the faint wisp of
doubt remained to curl in her brain. It was no secret that he had married her
out of honour and duty, destroying forever the possibility of a loving
relationship. All her new-found confidence and delight in Aldeborough's presence
had been undermined, leaving her uncertain and ill at ease.

Knowing that Charles had manipulated her and angry at
his success, she decided that she needed some sensible company to give her
thoughts a calming direction. She crossed the entrance hall with the intention
of finding Lady Cotherstone, who usually spent her mornings in the small
winter parlour, when she heard voices from the library. The door was partially
open. It seemed that Hedges had finished his business with Aldeborough and was
gone. The voices she heard were those of her husband and Aunt May, so she
changed direction, intending to join them. On some impulse she hesitated
outside the door to hear Aunt May in mid-conversation.

'So
she is an heiress?'

'So
it seems. It explains a number of things that I did not understand.'
Aldeborough's voice was thoughtful and she heard the rustle of papers as he
cleared away the aftermath of Hedges's visit.

'Some
interesting clauses there,' Aunt May continued.

'Mischief making, I would
say, although I can appreciate the original purpose behind them.'

'I think you may be right.
I think it will pay me to take more care than has been my wont. There is a
danger here that I do not like.'

'You should never have
done it as you did, Hugh. To assist her to run away and then marry her without
Torrington's permission or even knowledge.'

'I know. I do not need you
to remind me.' Frances heard a note of resignation. 'It was despicable and I
deserve to be horsewhipped. But it is done and we have to live with
consequences.'

Before she could hear any
more damaging comments, Frances pushed the door further open and made an
entrance.

Lady Cotherstone sat by
the fireplace, Wellington at her feet, a glass of claret in her hand. Her
wrinkled face lit in welcome.

'Frances! Come here, my dear,
and let me kiss you. I understand that you have received some excellent news.'

'Yes. I
still find it difficult to take in.' Frances obeyed distractedly, allowing the
old lady to pat her hand and kiss her cheek with the casual affection that her
own family had never shown her.
                                                

'So you are an heiress. And
you, my dear boy—' she raised her eyebrows at Aldeborough '—could be accused of
being a fortune hunter. If, of course, you needed the money. As I am sure you
don't.'

'Only if I have to pay for
your upkeep much longer, Aunt May. Look at the way you're making inroads into
my claret, not to mention the port my father laid down.'

He turned to Frances with
an easy smile, completely unaware of her present distress. 'I hope the news
made you happy.'

She looked at him,
unsmiling, considering her response. Could she tell him of her anxieties? She
could not find the words—but neither could she remain silent. 'I overheard your
conversation. I didn't intend to,' she explained stiffly. 'I am sorry that our
marriage has put your life in danger.'

'My life?' His reply was
careful, his expression bland. 'What did I say that made you think that?'

'About taking care—about
danger. My uncle obviously blames you for removing the possibility of a fortune
from his grasp. It explains the highwaymen, does it not?'

'It is possible,' he
agreed, treading carefully, 'but there is no proof. It is certainly not your
fault. There is no blame whatsoever attached to you.'

'But if you had not
married me, you would be in no danger. And, you see, there was never any need
for you to burden yourself with me.' She fought to control her distress. 'I had
(he money to be independent and set up my own household after all.'

'I see.' Any warmth in his
face was gone. His eyes were cold. 'How unfortunate for you that you did not
know about your inheritance sooner.'

'And for you. Then you
could have married someone of your own choosing who would have been acceptable
to your family.'

You should never have done it as you did...

I know.

The words, confirming all
her fears, echoed again and again in her mind.

Tension, bitter and bleak,
stretched between them.

He saw the desolation in
her eyes, terribly aware that he had forced her into marriage against her
wishes. And that the marriage had put
her
life in danger rather than his. He could not warn her. Could not tell her about
the pistol shot at the bridge, or explain the clauses in the will, which would
once again implant fear in the very core of her existence. He felt paralysed by
lack of choice and retreated behind a stony facade.

She returned his gaze.
Suddenly all she could focus on was Charles's poisonous words. And she knew the
truth of them. That Aldeborough loved Letitia Winters and would, without doubt,
have chosen to marry Penelope. His caresses had meant nothing. His love and the
delights of his body were given elsewhere. She must never allow him to know
that he had captured her heart on the night when he had pressed his lips to the
scars on her back and shown her how to enjoy the exquisite pleasure of his
lovemaking. She had too much pride. He must never be burdened by the knowledge
of her love, which he had not sought. He must never know. She had done enough
damage.

Lady Cotherstone, looking
from one to the other, decided for her own reasons to intervene. 'What
nonsense! You are very acceptable to me, my dear, and I am the only family that
matters. In my opinion, Aldeborough could not have done any better for himself
when he married you. You appear to me to be the ideal wife.'

Frances continued to look
at him, a clear question in her eyes.

'My aunt is always
perceptive.' His reply rejected her silent query and was particularly enigmatic
to Frances's intense disappointment and frustration. The pain around her heart
increased to invade her whole body. 'I hope that you are able to live with the
situation,' he added.

'And you, too, my lord.'
Her voice was flat and without hope.

Aldeborough's gaze
suddenly sharpened as he surveyed his bride and his hands stilled on the papers
before him.

'Is something amiss, my
lord?' There was a distinct; deliberate challenge in Frances's response to the
scrutiny.

He walked around the desk
to stand before her and raised his hand to touch the pretty jewel pinned to her
bodice.

'An attractive brooch.'
There was a question in his voice. 'Have I seen it before?'

'No, my lord. It belonged
to my mother, so I believe.'

'Indeed. And how did it
come into your possession?'

'Charles gave it to me.'

'And when might that happy
event have taken place?'

'About an hour ago. In the
herb garden.' She lifted her chin and met his eyes. She would not explain
further.

'Would it make any
difference if I expressed a dislike of my wife accepting jewellery from another
man?'

'No, my lord. If it
belonged to my mother, it is rightly mine. I have nothing else of hers. Would
you wish me to refuse it?'

Lady Cotherstone sighed
and again broke the tension. 'I have decided that I would like to spend some of
the Season in town. If you have finished estate business, Hugh, I would return
with you.' It was an imperious command. 'A few weeks of entertainment and the
opportunity to visit friends is just what I need. And Wellington would enjoy a
change of scene. When shall we go?'

'My lady?' Aldeborough
asked Frances.

'Whenever you wish, my
lord.' She took refuge in formality.

'Then as soon as may be. My
immediate business here is complete.'

'Then I will go and talk to Mrs Scott and tell
her of our impending departure.' Frances turned and walked out without a
backward glance.

'Take care with her,
Hugh.' Aunt May rose from her seat and shook out her voluminous brocade skirts.

'It is my intention.'

'She loves you, you know.'

'No. I do not believe she
does.' Aldeborough went to stare out of the window, not seeing the promise of
spring in the blossoming flower beds or the rooks flirting on the breeze. 'Her
experiences at Torrington Hall were hideous beyond belief. Now she feels
comfortable and safe. And for that she is grateful, that is all. But the safety
may be becoming an issue and I don't want her to be aware of it. She once told
me inadvertently that one of the main advantages of this marriage for her is
that she is no longer afraid. I would not have that peace of mind destroyed for
anything. And I think I may have already jeopardised it unwittingly.'

'I cannot think how. And
you said I was perceptive. But I will wager my pearl necklet that girl loves
you. All you have to do is give her some way of showing it. Unless you don't
wish to, of course. Relationships can be far easier without the burden of love,
as I am sure you are aware. All I would say is—don't make the same mistake that
your parents did, living in, isolation from each other, both of them becoming
bitter and uncaring.'

'And Charles?' he asked,
discovering a sudden desire to seek reassurance against the jealousy that
burned with a bright flame in his gut on seeing Frances wearing the amethysts
and pearls. 'Perhaps she has more affection for him than she has for me after
all.'

'Of course she does not!
She cares nothing for Charles. But you are hardly in a good position to object
to her wearing her mother's brooch when Letitia Winters has been seen wearing a
very fine emerald necklace recently.'

Lady Cotherstone was
rewarded by a sharp intake of breath from her nephew and hid a smile of
satisfaction. To her delight, he flushed and refused to meet her wickedly
glinting eyes.

'This is all far too deep
for me!' The Marquis grimaced as he tried to escape from his aunt's deliberate
probing. 'Aunt May, I could wish you would not find so much enjoyment in
stirring up the mud at the bottom of the pond. You are an interfering old
woman, but I have to admit that you are one in a million.' He came round the
desk to kiss her cheek 'There are developments here of which you are perhaps
unaware. I would be grateful if you would leave it for now.' He looked tired, strain
around his eyes.

'Such as the accident on
the bridge?' She held up her hand as Aldeborough failed to control his surprise
at her insight. 'I will resist asking you what really happened. But I was not
born yesterday, Hugh, and I have ears. You cannot expect people not to talk. I
have seen Frances riding your chestnut hunter and I do not believe for a moment
that she simply fell in the water. And the bridge did not collapse under her,
did it? All I will say is that you need to take care of her... and yourself.
Now—' she made her way to the door '—tell when I must be ready to travel. I
have a lot of luggage to organise.'

As she reached the
doorway, Lady Cotherstone paused survey her nephew, struck by a sudden thought.

'Well, Aunt May? What now?'

'I was just thinking,
Hugh. Have you ever considered writing poetry?'

'Poetry? What bee have you
got in your bonnet now? No, I have not!'

'A pity!' She
walked out, leaving Aldeborough lost for words.

Chapter Eleven

'I
cannot understand why anyone would choose to spend a dull evening at Almack's!
And as for the inflated consequence of the Patronesses—it sets my teeth on edge
to have to be polite to them. I hope you don't expect me to undertake the role
of chaperon.' Aunt May's notion of a round of pleasure in London did not
include an evening at—as she put it—the stultifyingly rigid, dowdy assembly
rooms, where nothin mattered but consequence and formality and where all she
would be allowed to drink was tepid lemonade or tea.

'Because
we have received admission vouchers,' explained Frances, not for the first
time. 'And, as you are very w aware, if I am to complete my debut into London
society, is important that I appear at Almack's! You are just being difficult.'

'Hmm!
I dare say.'

'Besides,
we do not need you,' she added wickedly, 'Aldeborough has agreed to accompany
Juliet and myself, so y can stay at home and converse with the Dowager!'

'More
fool he!'

Their
return to London had been slow, exhausting, blighted by constant carping from
Lady Cotherstone about the state of the road, the inns, the beds and anything
else that took her fancy, but otherwise had been blessedly uneventful. Aldeborough
had escaped the worst of the complaints by choosing to ride with Matthew,
leaving the carriage to the two ladies and Wellington. Frances found herself
out of all patience with him, at the same time experiencing some relief that
she was free to pursue her own thoughts without Aldeborough's unsettling
presence.

In Cavendish Square Juliet welcomed them with
undisguised enthusiasm, pleased at the prospect of Frances's company once
again. The Dowager sniffed and hoped that Lady Cotherstone had had a
comfortable journey, but voiced the opinion that she would find town life far
too strenuous at her time of life and would soon long for the tranquillity of
the country. Hopefully before the end of the week. Aunt May's eyes twinkled as
she declared that she was not nearly too old and would enjoy renewing old
friendships. And as for Wellington! Lady Aldeborough hoped that accommodation
could be found for That Animal in the stables. Aunt May, pretending deafness,
ignored this suggestion and Wellington was soon under everyone's feet. It
promised to be a friction-filled household.

Between Frances and Aldeborough there was a coldness. The relaxed,
harmonious days when they had just begun to discover such pleasure in each
other's company had been eroded, those revealing words spoken by Aldeborough
etched diamond bright in Frances's memory. Now they kept their distance, stepped
carefully around each other, unwilling to unearth more damaging influences on
their marriage. Frances discovered a desire to wear her mother's brooch with
surprising frequency. Aldeborough chose to ignore it. Charles would have been
delighted with the results of his meddling.

Almack's was everything that Frances had been
led to believe by Aunt May, but it was undoubtedly the key to her full
acceptance into polite society and so she was determined to enjoy the occasion.
She chose to wear the jonquil gown that she had worn on her wedding day and
smiled at the memories it resurrected. She sighed with a mixture of pleasure
and ruffled pride as she remembered Aldeborough's high-handed actions, his
refusal to allow her to refuse his offer, his determination that she should be
restored to society with a spotless reputation. But perhaps Charles's bitter
attack held more truth than she wished to accept. He would not wish to be
denounced as a seducer of innocent virgins, however much he might appear to be
unconcerned with his reputation as a rake. But there was no point in allowing
her mind to circle again and again. She would hold the knowledge of her love
close in her own heart, despite the pain, and concentrate on making a suitably
demure impression on the exacting Patronesses of Almack's.

Aldeborough, unaware of his wife's troubled
mind, was formal and elegant in black satin knee breeches and swallow-tailed
coat as demanded by Brummel's stringent rules and was surprisingly amenable
when chivvied by Juliet at his willingness to squire them rather than spend an
evening with his cronies. It suited him to keep Frances under his eye. He could
not envisage any harm coming to her here in London, surrounded by his family,
but he was not prepared to take the risk. Besides, he had some delicate
unfinished business to complete, and he believed that Almack's would provide
him with the opportunity.

It gave Frances the chance to renew
acquaintances. It was all most satisfying. The Countess of Wigmore invited her
to take tea one afternoon in the coming week. Lady Vowchurch and Penelope
smiled condescendingly and Miss Vowchurch, after stating how much they had been
missed, expressed her relief that Frances and Aldeborough had escaped the
frightening attack by common footpads. And was it true that Frances had been
thrown from her horse when at the Priory? How terrifying for her! It all went
to show that life was far safer in town, as her mother always insisted.

Frances accepted the expressions of concern
with grace, brushing off any suggestion that she had been in great danger and
making light of the whole affair. But she had to admit that she was quite
touched by such solicitude and consideration for her safety.

She was surprised to see Charles in evidence.
He had expressed no intention of being in town and she had not thought that
Almack's would have held any attraction for him. He acknowledged her presence
with a curt bow, unsmiling face and as brief a greeting as family connection
could allow without comment. Gone was the easy smile, the professed concern,
to be replaced by a hard-edged stare and stony face. He clearly considered her
accusations as an insult, she thought, but her suspicions remained as strong as
ever. Charles did not ask her to dance, for which she felt considerable relief.
She saw nothing of his tall figure after the first hour and presumed that he
had taken himself off to more congenial haunts.

Aldeborough danced with Penelope, smiling down into her lovely face.
Frances averted her eyes and concentrated on some trivial conversation with her
own partner in the country dance.

During the evening, after a particularly
energetic quadrille and a less than skilful partner, it became necessary for
Juliet to repair some damage to one of her flounces. Frances agreed to accompany
her, to catch her breath and to help in the pinning of the torn material in one
of the small anterooms that provided some degree of privacy. On their return to
join a country dance set, which was just forming, Frances heard a voice that
she had no difficulty in recognising and had her instantly rooted to the spot.

'How can I possibly thank you, Letitia. It
was an imposition that you could easily have refused. I would not have blamed
you in the circumstances.'

The answering feminine laugh was low and
seductive. 'I am sure I will think of something in recompense. It is not often
that I receive such requests, as you might imagine.'

Frances turned to the open doorway of a similar
antechamber to the one she and Juliet had just made use of. She felt the blood
drain from her face and her fingers clutched her fan to the imminent danger of
the ivory carving. There, as she knew she would, she saw Letitia Winters,
seated on a silk brocade sofa, the Marquis seated beside her, the palm of her
hand pressed to his lips. As she continued to stand, silently, rigidly, Juliet
equally motionless at her side, Aldeborough raised his head and took a small
package from his pocket which he pressed into Letitia's hand where his kiss had
been.

'I certainly owe you this,' she heard him say in a
low voice, a familiar heartstopping smile lighting his face.

'I am always pleased to be of service, my lord.'
Letitia, laughing up at him, tucked the package into her reticule and tapped
his cheek playfully with her fan.

Frances discovered that she could not breathe and
then realised that it was because she was holding her breath. She made a small
involuntary movement that caught the attention of the intimate couple and they
looked up towards the open door. Frances read guilt into their frozen silence.
It was her worst nightmare. No sooner were they back in town, regardless of
what had occurred between them at the Priory, than Aldeborough had to make
contact with That Woman at his first opportunity. No wonder he had been so
willing to attend them that night. She would have stepped forward, with what
purpose in mind she was not sure, but she became aware of Juliet's hand
descending with a firm hold on her arm.

'Let us return to the ballroom, dear Frances,'
Juliet murmured in a calm voice. 'We are promised for this dance and will be
missed.'

Frances turned her head to see a mixture of shock
and sympathy in her friend's eyes and felt the tightening of her fingers around
her wrist as she made to resist. 'Indeed, it would be better if we left now.'

Compulsively, even
knowing that it would increase the pain in her heart, Frances turned back to
the scene before her. Aldeborough had released Letitia's hand and risen to his
feet. He took two steps towards her, a frown between his brows his eyes
unfathomable. She could not look away. The tension arcing between them, holding
them in thrall, was so intent that Frances could almost taste it, bitter and
sharp. Juliet and Letitia were silent and motionless. She and Aldeborough might
have been alone in the room.

Again and again in her mind was replayed the scene
him, his head bent over Letitia's hand, his lips pressed to her palm in an
intimate caress, his eyes smiling down into hers. The hurt stabbed at her heart
with the terrible accuracy of a rapier. Had all his tenderness at the Priory,
all his care, been a lie? Had he been thinking of Letitia Winters all the time,
even when he caressed her and caused her body to tremble in uncontrolled
response against him, when his mouth and hands had roused such glorious
sensations that she had forgotten all else and surrendered to him? She could
not bear it. She had begun to trust him and he had broken that trust— and with
it her heart. Why had she ever thought that he was a man on whom she could
lean, a man who would accept all the love and adoration she was capable of, and
perhaps even return it? Charles had been so right. How foolish she had been. A
wave of humiliation crept over her and she felt the telltale colour stain her
cheeks.

All Aldeborough could see was the depth of hurt and
misery in her eyes, on her face, before she hid it with a down- sweep of her
lashes and a tightening of her lips. What impossible timing! He knew what
Frances must think, but here was no time or place to explain. Yet all he wished
to do was to take her into his arms, hold her close and soothe away the sorrow,
the terrible emptiness. The problem was, he realised, they had too much power
to hurt one another. He had not realised it, but would have to consider it
carefully in his dealings with her.

He moved towards her, hand outstretched. 'Frances?'

She
deliberately turned on her heel without a word. What more did he expect? She
walked back towards the dancing, spine rigid, head held high, pride pinning a
smile to her lips to hide her grief-torn heart.

Frances passed a wakeful night, only falling into a
restless sleep as the sky brightened before dawn. She awoke with a headache,
low spirits and a strong desire to hide under the bedclothes. She resisted such
a cowardly retreat and sat before her mirror at her dressing table, too aware
of her pale complexion and the violet shadows beneath her eyes. How dare
Aldeborough consort so openly with Letitia Winters, when all the
haute ton
at Almack's would be watching and
speculating, eager for gossip to enliven their shallow existence? Dancing with
her in public was one thing, but an intimate conversation in a private room,
which involved him kissing her hand and presenting her with a gift! She flung
her hairbrush crossly on to the floor and rose to pace the room. But Mrs
Winters was so beautiful, so alluring. Of course Aldeborough would prefer her
vibrant, golden-haired company to that of his countrified, undistinguished
wife—wouldn't he? Hadn't he agreed with her that she had no talents to excite
interest? She wasn't even fit to be a governess, let alone Marchioness of
Aldeborough! Frances sniffed in a deluge of unusual self-pity.

And yet, she mused, Aldeborough had not seemed to
be totally indifferent to her. She remembered the caress of his mouth on hers,
the drift of his hands over her skin. She shivered and longed to be held in his
arms again, to feel his lips ignite fire in her blood so that she forgot
everything but his touch.

I love him, she acknowledged. She shrugged
hopelessly. She couldn't deny it any longer. But she also had to accept that he
did not love her. Sometimes he wanted her. But he did not love her. What a fool
she had been to hope for more. And how could she have had so little pride. She
had surrendered to his demands, had sighed beneath him, smoothing the flat
planes of his back and shoulders, allowing him such intimacies that she blushed
at the memory. And he had betrayed her with Letitia Winters. And not only that,
he had danced with Penelope Vowchurch, and they both had appeared to enjoy it
immensely! For once Penelope's lovely face glowed with genuine happiness as she
had smiled up into Aldeborough's eyes. Fury warred with desolation within! She
had not heard him return home last night, even though she had lain awake
listening for the click of his door. It must have been very late—if at all!
Tears began to slide down her cheeks. She would not let him see that his
rejection reduced her to such straits. She brushed them away, but they were quickly
replaced by others. She would show him that she did not care where he spent his
time—or with whom he spent his nights.