Anne O'Brien - The Runaway Heiress

Silence fell between them.

He felt no inclination to break it.

‘Go to sleep, Frances Rosalind,’ he murmured. Virgins were the very devil, he mused. Not that he had much knowledge of them. Letitia Winter’s practised embraces were far more predictable and never disappointing. For a moment he enjoyed the image of Letitia’s ample breasts and shapely hips, and remembered the touch of her clever fingers as she roused him to heights of mutual pleasure. And then he closed his mind to it. He stroked his wife’s hair until she relaxed against him and her breathing deepened. She was warm and soft and pliable in his arms. He felt a surprising feeling of contentment steal through his limbs. Eventually he followed her into sleep.

She awoke as the first light of dawn crept into the room to find him gone. Her body felt sore as she turned over in bed and sat up, her muscles complaining. The imprint of his body and head were still clear beside her, but she had no memory of his leaving. Her gown and petticoats had been neatly folded on to a chair with her stockings on top and her shoes beneath, but his clothes were gone. She was not sorry. Shyness overcame her as she remembered the demands of his body on her own. And shame that she had been so frozen into unresponsive rigidity. But she also remembered his kindness and the gentle tenderness that she had not expected. She raised her hand to her mouth. She fancied that she could still taste his kisses and sense the imprint of his lips on her throat as if they had left actual marks on her fair skin. She swung her legs out of bed, hoping that she might regain her composure with her clothing before she had to confront him again.

Frances need not have worried.

When she was ushered into the breakfast parlour by Watkins, the elderly butler, there was no Aldeborough for her to face, nor, to her intense relief, had Lady Aldeborough put in an appearance. Instead she was greeted by a friendly smile from Matthew and a direct and assessing gaze from a young lady whom she had not yet met but whom she immediately recognised. The lady had clearly just arrived, dressed in the sprigged muslin and blue sash of the débutante and dangling a straw bonnet by its ribbons in a cavalier fashion. She was sufficiently like Matthew to brand her as his sister, but her hair was much fairer with auburn tints. She was blessed with a youthful prettiness, a lively expression and a decided sparkle in her eyes. Frances found it an interesting experience to be under the shrewd scrutiny of a lady younger than herself. So this was Aldeborough’s sister, who did not appreciate the benefits of education but was undoubtedly enjoying her first Season.

‘Frances!’ Matthew, with the familiarity of their previous acquaintance, sprang to his feet, abandoning a plate of eggs and creamed kidneys. His smile of welcome engulfed her and immediately helped her to control the nerves fluttering in her stomach. ‘This is Juliet, my little sister. Last night she was chaperoned to a masquerade by Aunt Elizabeth, so you did not have the opportunity to meet.’

Frances met the considering gaze levelly.

‘I heard the news on the family grapevine so I had to come home early to see you for myself.’ Juliet was clearly a forthright young lady. ‘Is it true? Did Hugh really elope with you and marry you out of hand without your guardian’s permission?’

Frances flushed, silently cursing her fair skin that made her discomfiture very evident.

‘Juliet! I must apologise for my mannerless sister, Frances. She is not known for her sensitivity. Come and sit and have coffee.’ He pushed aside some of the debris of cups and plates on the breakfast table to make a space for her. ‘Don’t worry. Mama does not leave her room until after eleven o’clock.’ Frances was mortified to feel her flush deepen further.

‘I did not mean to embarrass you,’ Juliet apologised with a gleam in her eye. She pulled up a chair to sit beside Frances and cast the ill-used bonnet on to the table. ‘It all seems so romantic to me.’

‘It was not at all romantic, I do assure you.’

‘My sister reads improper romantic novels when Mama is not looking,’ Matthew explained.

‘Do be quiet, Matthew! To be carried off by a romantic hero into the night—it is far more exciting than anything I have read recently. Although I have to say that I can not see Hugh in the role of hero, but that is probably because he is my brother. He is very handsome, I suppose. And he rides a horse well. But I think I prefer fairer heroes with golden locks and blue eyes.’

Frances laughed at this ingenuous view of her rescuer and found it easy to respond in kind. ‘Then I must try to live up to your expectations of a romantic heroine. Perhaps I should have a cup of coffee before I faint!’

When Frances was seated with coffee and bread and butter, Matthew explained the plan of action for her first morning in London.

‘I have been given instructions from Aldeborough. He sends his apologies and says that he has a business appointment this morning from which he cannot renege, but he will be honoured to drive you round Hyde Park this afternoon at two o’clock. This morning I am to escort you on a shopping expedition.’ Frances hid a smile as she recognised the grace with which Matthew had accepted his instructions. She was sure that he would prefer to spend his time elsewhere, but he accepted the delegation with good humour.

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