Isabelle Goddard - One Night with a Regency Lord - Reprobate Lord, Runaway Lady / The Return of Lord Conistone

She rang the bell energetically and her butler appeared rather too quickly. Like the rest of the household, he had been greatly intrigued by Miss Silverdale’s dramatic and, unexpected arrival and hovering by the sitting-room door, had been hopeful of learning more.

‘Horrocks, ask the housekeeper to make up Miss Amelie’s bedchamber immediately, and get Cook to put together a tray of something nourishing, and I don’t mean just soup.’

‘Yes, milady, immediately,’ the butler murmured, suitably abashed by his mistress’s sharp tone.

Brielle was still fiery, Amelie observed, even though the years had begun to take their toll. Her grandmother, elegant in dove-grey Italian crepe, seemed smaller and frailer than when she’d last seen her.

‘Horrocks is getting old,’ Brielle said, excusing her butler’s oversights. ‘He doesn’t think so clearly now.’

‘He looked after me very well,’ Amelie declared loyally, making ready to accompany the housekeeper upstairs.

She instantly recognised the room. Eau-de-nil hangings and bedcovers created a tranquil aura of pale green shadow: her mother’s favourite colour. A portrait of Louise was displayed prominently above the dainty cherrywood writing desk. A deep tub was even now being filled with hot water by one of the housemaids. As soon as the servants had left, she quickly stripped off the despised dress and dropped it in a heap on the floor.

By the time her grandmother joined her once more, she was ensconced in one of the large easy chairs, wearing a robe of the finest chenille silk.

‘This robe is far too beautiful for me to wear, Grandmama. Miss Repton must be in anguish.’

‘Never mind about her. She has far too high an opinion of herself. Though she does have a way with my hair and makes her own complexion cream from crushed strawberries. Otherwise I would never keep the creature.’

Her grandmother put down the tray she was carrying. ‘I’ve brought your food myself so we can be quiet together. Make sure you dine well. You look as though you’ve barely eaten all day.’

It was true. A sparse breakfast had not been followed by lunch. She’d been too busy hiding from Rufus Glyde to think of eating, and then Gareth’s unexpected abuse had sent her flying from the inn to Wroxall and finally to Bath. She attacked the cold chicken with relish.

While she ate, Brielle kept her amused with anecdotes of Bath life. It was clear that she viewed English provincial society with some irony, but she had put down secure roots and now had many friends and acquaintances in the locality. The quintessential French woman had become almost English.

She let her granddaughter finish her meal in peace before saying, ‘Now what’s this nonsense I’ve been hearing?’

‘Nonsense, Grandmama?’ Amelie’s stomach clenched. The inevitable moment had arrived.

‘About a week ago I received a most unwelcome visitor. His name was Hyde or Glyde or some such. He told me some faradiddle about your being pledged to him in marriage.’

‘He was lying,’ Amelie said quietly. ‘I never agreed to marry him.’

‘Then why did he think you had?’

‘Papa decided I should marry him. I decided I would not.’

‘But why should your father wish you to marry a man you so clearly dislike?’

‘Sir Rufus Glyde is a very rich man, I believe. Papa thought to help the family by marrying me to him.’

‘The family, perhaps, but not you, it would seem. Your father is a selfish man and I won’t hide from you that I do not hold him in a great deal of affection. But I’ve always thought his love for you showed him at his best. Why would he try to enforce such a marriage, knowing how you felt?’

She had no idea how much her grandmother knew of the Silverdales’ financial difficulties and did not want to alarm her unnecessarily, so she said as nonchalantly as she could, ‘The family have a few money problems.’

Brielle looked at her straitly. ‘Your father has always lived high, that’s certain, but surely the income from the estates he holds must be sufficient to cover even his expenditure.’

‘There are other problems,’ Amelie began awkwardly. ‘Robert.’ And her voice trailed off.

‘Ah, Robert, an unfortunate boy by all accounts. Even in this backwater we’ve heard tales of his legendary gambling.’ Brielle fixed her granddaughter with a sharp eye. ‘Exactly how bad is the situation, Amelie? Tell me the truth.’

‘Sir Rufus holds the mortgage on the house in Grosvenor Square and that is all we have left.’

Brielle let out an audible gasp. ‘I knew your father and brother to be foolishly extravagant, but I had no idea that things had come to this pass.’

‘Grandmama, I cannot marry Rufus Glyde. Please help me.’

‘My darling, you shall not marry a man you hate. Your father will have to think again. And until he does, you will stay with me here in Bath.’

Amelie’s brown eyes sparkled through a mist of tears as she launched herself at her grandmother and hugged her so tightly that the older woman was almost crushed.

‘Hush, child, you’ve squeezed the breath out of me. You’re a loving and beautiful young woman. You deserve better. We may even find you a Bath beau to take the place of this Glyde person.’

Amelie’s smile faltered a little. ‘I’m not looking for any other man. I don’t wish to marry. Just let me stay here with you. I can be useful, I’m sure, even more as you get older.’

‘What nonsense is this? To waste your youth and beauty on running errands for an old woman. Certainly not! Why are you so opposed to the idea of matrimony? It is every woman’s destiny, after all.’

‘I don’t think it mine,’ she retorted. ‘In my experience men are either frivolous and foolish or they feel compelled to dominate me. I’ve no wish to be either the master or the mastered.’

‘You have been unlucky in those you’ve met. But that’s not to say that a strong man with the confidence to allow you independence does not exist, or that you won’t encounter him.’

‘Even if I were to meet such a paragon, how could I ever be sure that he would remain so?’ Amelie ventured.‘Mama …’ And she allowed the rest of her sentence to fade into the air.

Her grandmother gazed unseeingly into the fire, and it was a while before she spoke. ‘You must not allow your mother’s difficult life to determine your own choices,’ she said at last. ‘A woman’s duty is to marry. But we’ll say no more for now. I shall introduce you to Bath society while you’re with me and who knows, the right person might just appear on the threshold.’

Brielle’s thoughts were already ranging across the eligible males she knew and had begun to centre on one name that she thought might just alter Amelie’s mind. But for now she was content to change the subject.

‘You haven’t told me yet how you escaped from Grosvenor Square.’

Amelie recounted the tale of the sheets and the stagecoach, carefully omitting the entrance of Gareth Wendover into her life. Brielle enjoyed the story immensely, even more so because it was a rebuke to a son-in-law she did not trust and a suitor she had disliked on sight.

‘Grandmama, can we send for Fanny, please? I promised her I would do so as soon as I could.’

‘I’m not at all sure about that, my love. Fanny aided you in what was a foolish and dangerous escapade. I’ve been enjoying your tale, but that’s because you’re safe here with me. When I think what might have befallen you! And Fanny would have borne a grave responsibility for it.’

‘That’s unfair,’ her granddaughter cried hotly. ‘Fanny tried to persuade me not to escape, but I made her help me. And no doubt she’s suffered already for her loyalty. I cannot make her suffer doubly.’