Anne O'Brien - The Runaway Heiress

‘I am amazed at such concern, Aunt. I have to admit that I am unused to my feelings being shown such consideration.’

Her aunt ignored her sarcasm, fixing her with a stony stare as if she might will her into obedience. ‘You will return with me to Torrington Hall. Charles has agreed to marry you at once as was planned. Nothing need change our arrangements.’

‘Poor Charles! Should I be grateful for this, Aunt?’

‘Of course. No one else will marry you after this escapade, that is certain. It will be impossible to keep it secret. All those so-called friends of your uncle, gossiping as soon as they are in their cups. It is too salacious a story to keep to themselves.’

‘But I don’t choose to marry. When I come into my inheritance I will be able to—’

‘Your inheritance, indeed!’ Lady Torrington broke in sharply. ‘Don’t deceive yourself, my dear. It is only a small annuity. Your mother’s family cast her off when she married your father. There is not much money there, I am afraid. You have no choice but to come home with me.’

Frances held tight to her decision despite her body’s reaction to her aunt’s words. She wiped her damp palms surreptitiously on her skirts. She had, after all, never disobeyed her aunt so blatantly before.

‘I am sorry to disappoint you, but no.’ Frances was adamant.

‘You foolish, stubborn girl.’ Lady Torrington surged to her feet, to intimidate Frances as she remained seated. ‘You have always been difficult and ungrateful. Are you really expecting that Aldeborough will marry you? A nobody when he can have the pick of the ton ? Don’t fool yourself. You will not trap him into marriage. You don’t know the ways of the world. He will abandon you with a ruined name and no one to support you.’

‘You appear, madam, to have remarkably detailed knowledge of my intentions.’

Neither lady had heard the door open. There stood Aldeborough, coldly arrogant, quickly assessing the situation, aware of the momentary shadow of relief that swept across Frances’s face as she turned her head towards him. He executed a graceful bow and strolled over to stand beside Frances. As she rose nervously to her feet he took her hand, tucking it under his arm, and pressed it firmly when she made a move to pull away.

‘Perhaps I should inform you that I have asked your niece to do me the honour of becoming my wife.’ A smile touched his mouth momentarily, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.

Lady Torrington’s eyes narrowed, lips thinned. ‘You must know that she is not yet of age. You do not have Torrington’s permission.’

‘With respect, I do not give that for his permission.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘After her treatment at Torrington’s hands, Miss Hanwell has expressed a preference that she should not return to Torrington Hall. It is my intention to fulfil that wish.’

‘I do not know what you intend to imply about her upbringing or what she has seen fit to tell you. I would not put too much weight on her honesty, my lord.’ The Viscountess’s eyes snapped with temper as she glanced at her niece. ‘Frances must return home to her family. You will hear from my husband, sir.’ She pulled on her gloves, clearly ruffled, but refusing to give way.

‘Indeed, my lady. I am at his service. Perhaps you will stay for tea?’

‘No, I thank you. I hope you know what you are doing, Frances. You would be wise to heed my warnings. I would be sorry if the story of your abduction of my niece was to become common knowledge, my lord.’

Aldeborough felt Frances’s hand quiver in his grasp and try to pull free, but he merely tightened his hold and smiled reassuringly down at her.

‘Abduction? I think not.’ His smile, Frances decided, held all the sincerity of a cat releasing a mouse, only to pounce a second time. ‘If it does, my lady, I might be compelled to enlighten our acquaintances about Torrington’s role in the events. It is perhaps not good ton for a guardian to subject his ward to a lifestyle unfit for a servant, much less to make her the object of unseemly abuse. I would advise you of the foolishness of attempting to threaten me—or my future bride.’

‘Then good day to you, my lord.’ Viscountess Torrington inclined her head in false civility, bosom heaving in righteous indignation, an unattractive patch of colour high on her cheekbones. ‘As for you, Frances, I hope that you do not live to regret this day. Unfortunately you were always headstrong and selfish, in spite of all the care we lavished on you!’ In a swirl of outraged velvet and ostrich plumes, Lady Torrington left, sweeping past Rivers, who had materialised to bow her out of the room.

‘So! You are headstrong and selfish, are you?’ Aldeborough smiled as Frances grimaced. ‘And what warnings were those? Or can I guess?’

‘Only your dark and dreadful reputation, sir.’

He grinned, a sudden flash of immense charm that gave Frances insight into why so many misguided members of her sex were willing to be beguiled by the Marquis of Aldeborough. She chose to ignore the fact that it made her own heart beat just a little more quickly and put it down to the effects of her aunt’s harsh destruction of her character.

‘What I do not understand,’ mused Frances, ‘is why she was so determined to take me back. At best I was treated as a poor relation, at worst as the lowest of the servants. There was never any love in my upbringing. Only duty. And why should Charles consider marrying me if my reputation is so besmirched?’ A slight frown marred the smoothness of her brow. Aldeborough was moved by a sudden inclination to smooth it away with his fingers. He resisted the temptation. Matters were difficult enough.

‘That is not something for you to worry about. It is no longer necessary.’

‘You are very kind. And, indeed, I am honoured, but you need not marry me. The mistakes of a night—my mistakes—should not be allowed to blight the rest of your life.’

‘I was thinking of the rest of your life, Miss Hanwell.’

Frances raised her eyes to search his fine-featured face, touched by the compassion in his voice, but seeing little evidence of it in his expression. No man had the right to have such splendid eyes , she thought inconsequentially. Dark grey and thickly fringed with black lashes. But they held no emotion, certainly no warmth or sympathy, merely a cold, calculating strength of will.

She shook her head. Before she could reply, Rivers entered the drawing room again on silent feet and coughed gently.

‘Sir Ambrose Dutton, my lord.’

Aldeborough turned to greet his friend, instantly recognised by Frances as one of her uncle’s guests from the previous night. Her heart sank even further, if that were possible.

She could not face such an embarrassing encounter yet with someone who had witnessed her shame.

‘Excuse me, my lord. Sir Ambrose.’ She dropped a curtsy and followed Rivers from the room with as much dignity as she could muster, the enormity of her situation finally hitting home as she became uncomfortably aware of the cynical and knowing amusement curling Sir Ambrose’s lips at the very moment he saw her unmistakably in deep and intimate conversation with his host.

‘Well, Ambrose? Was I expecting you to drop by this morning?’ Aldeborough’s expression was a hard won study in guilelessness.

Ambrose’s brows rose. So that was how he wished to play the scene. So be it. ‘Yes, you were. How’s your head, Hugh?’ He cast his riding whip and gloves on to a side table. ‘You don’t deserve to be on your feet yet after Torrington’s inferior claret.’

‘If it’s any consolation, my head is probably worse than yours.’ He grimaced and threw himself down into one of the armchairs. ‘I hope I don’t look as destroyed as you do!’