Anne O'Brien - The Runaway Heiress

‘I did not think. It was just—’ she sighed and dropped her gaze from the brutal accusation in his fierce stare ‘—it was simply imperative that I leave.’

‘You have made me guilty of, at best, an elopement,’ he continued in the same hard tone. ‘At worst, an abduction! How could you do something so risky? Apart from that, you do not know me. You do not know what I might be capable of. I could have murdered you. Or ravished you and left you destitute in a ditch. You were totally irresponsible!’

‘If I leave the Priory now, no one need ever know.’ Anger spurted inside her to match his. ‘I do not deserve your condemnation.’

‘Yes, you do. And you cannot leave. Where would you go?’

‘Why should you care? I am not your responsibility!’

‘It may surprise you to know, Miss Hanwell, that I have no wish to be seen as a seducer of innocent virgins!’ The muscles in his jaw clenched as he tried to hold his emotions in check.

‘I am so sorry.’ Frances turned her face away. ‘I did not mean to make you so angry.’

Aldeborough poured a glass of brandy and tossed it off. His anger faded as quickly as it had risen. She needed his help and probably suffered from enough ill humour at Torrington Hall. The stark bruise and Torrington’s obvious lack of restraint told its own story.

‘Do not distress yourself.’ He took a deep controlling breath and released it slowly in a sigh. ‘Let us attempt to be practical.’ And then, ‘I remember the dress,’ he remarked inconsequentially.

‘I can understand that you would,’ came a tart rejoinder. ‘It is hideous and once belonged to my aunt—many years ago, as you can probably tell.’ Her gaze was direct, daring him to make any further comment on the unattractive puce creation with its laced bodice and full skirts. ‘And I believe it looks even worse on me than it did on her!’

‘Quite. Never having had the honour of meeting Viscountess Torrington in that particular creation, I feel that I am unable to comment on the possibility.’ He retraced his steps across the library to his desk and held out his hand towards her in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Please sit down, Miss Hanwell. As you must realise, it is imperative that we broach the matter in hand and discuss your future.’ She ignored his gesture and instead fixed him with a hostile glare; he leaned across the desk and took her hands to remove the pen from her. Her hands, he noted, apart from being ink splattered, were small and slender but rough and callused, her nails chipped and broken. Around her wrists—so delicate—were cuts and abrasions where she had fallen on the glass. He released them thoughtfully and flung himself into the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

‘What were you writing?’

‘A list of my options.’

He picked up the sheet of paper and perused it. It was depressingly blank. ‘I see that you have not got very far.’

‘If that is a criticism, I am afraid my thoughts were all negative rather than positive possibilities. But I will not return to Torrington Hall.’

‘We have to consider your reputation, Miss Hanwell.’ He looked down at the pen, a frown still marring his handsome features. ‘You do not seem to understand that the scandal resulting from last night’s events could be disastrous.’ He abandoned the pen with an impatient gesture and leaned back to prop his chin on his clasped hands. ‘I believe I can accept your reluctance to return to your uncle’s house,’ he continued, ‘but have you no other relatives to turn to?’

‘No.’ She raised her chin in an unaccommodating manner. ‘My parents are dead. Viscount Torrington is my legal guardian.’

‘Then we must take the only recourse to protect your reputation.’ His face was stern and a little pale. ‘It is very simple.’

‘And that is, my lord? I am afraid the simplicity has escaped me.’

‘You must accept my hand in marriage, Miss Hanwell.’

‘No!’ Her reaction was immediate, if only more than a whisper.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Most young ladies of his acquaintance would have gone to any lengths to engage the interest of the Marquis of Aldeborough. But not, it seemed, Miss Hanwell.

‘It is not necessary for you to sacrifice yourself, my lord,’ she qualified her previously bald refusal. Paler than ever, there was only the faintest tremor in her voice. ‘I am sure there must be other alternatives. After all, nothing untoward occurred last night, my lord.’ She blotted out the memory of his drunken kisses. ‘You were overcome by the effects of too much of my uncle’s brandy.’

‘Be that as it may, Miss Hanwell,’ he replied with some asperity, ‘I am afraid that my reputation is not such that polite society would give me the benefit of the doubt. And besides, as you have admitted, you have no other relatives who would give you shelter.’

She turned her head away. She would not let him see the tears that threatened to collect beneath her eyelids. ‘I could be a governess, I suppose,’ she managed with hardly a catch in her voice.

‘Are you qualified to do that?’ he asked gently, uncomfortably conscious of her unenviable position.

‘I doubt it. I am simply trying to be practical.’

‘But unrealistic, I fear. Can you play the pianoforte? Speak French or Italian? Paint in water colours? All the other talents young ladies are supposed to be proficient in? My sister frequently complains of the unnecessary trivia that appears to be essential for a well brought-up young lady.’

She could not respond to the hint of humour in his observation. Her situation was too desperate. She might, against her wishes, be forced by circumstances to return to Torrington Hall. It was too terrible to contemplate. ‘No, I cannot. Or embroider. Or dance. Or … or anything really. My own education has been … somewhat lacking in such details.’ The tears threatened to spill down her cheeks in spite of her resolution to deal with her predicament calmly and rationally. ‘There is no need to be quite so discouraging, my lord.’

‘I was trying to be helpful. What can you do?’

‘Organise a household. Supervise a kitchen.’ Frances sighed and wiped a finger over her cheek surreptitiously. ‘How dreary it sounds. Do you think I should consider becoming a housekeeper?’

‘Certainly not. You are far too young. And who would give you a reference?’

Frances sniffed and moved from the desk to sit disconsolately on the window seat. ‘Now you understand why my list had not materialised.’

‘Miss Hanwell.’ Aldeborough came to stand before her. ‘I hesitate to repeat myself or force myself upon you—something which you apparently find unacceptable—but there really is only one solution. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?’

She was surprised at the gentleness in his tone, but still shook her head. ‘You are very considerate, but no.’ She closed her mind to the despair that threatened to engulf her. ‘I have an inheritance that will be mine in a month when I reach my majority. That will enable me to be independent so that my life need not be dictated by anyone.’

‘How much? Enough to set yourself up in your own establishment?’ Aldeborough’s eyebrows rose and his tone was distinctly sceptical.

‘I am not exactly sure, but it was left to me by my mother and I understand it will be sufficient. My uncle’s man of business has the details. It was never discussed with me, you see.’

‘But that still does not answer the problem of the scandalous gossip which will result. Your reputation will be destroyed. You will be ostracised by polite society. You must marry me.’

‘No, my lord.’ She pleated one of the worn ribbons on her gown with fingers that trembled slightly, but her voice was steady and determined. ‘After all, what does it matter? I have never been presented, or had a Season, and it is not my intention to live in London society. How can gossip harm me?’