The Marquess's Christmas Runaway

by Josie Bonham

  Max shook his head. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

  “What and have people saying you’re skulking around because you lost out? Besides all the ladies will be having tea and cakes in Mama’s drawing room by now.”

  “You’re right. The truth is, I’m bored with a bachelor lifestyle but I don’t know for the life of me what to do about it.”

  Simon grinned at him. “It’s our looming thirtieth birthdays. I’m in an even worse fix. Mama is trying to get me to join her in London for the season. She has a long list of potential wives. Why not share the pain with me?”

  “What, Almacks, balls, drives around Hyde Park with all of the Ton watching my every move. No thank you.” Max shuddered and allowed himself to be led to the breakfast room.

  Sure enough, the room was empty. Max relaxed and followed Simon to the buffet table. Simon’s uncle, the Earl of Welford followed them in with a lady on his arm. Max stiffened, it was Selina Lovell, his widowed aunt by marriage. All his interest in roast beef disappeared.

  Selina dropped the Earl’s arm and sidled up to him. “Ah, Max. I’ve been trying to catch a word with you for days.”

  Simon raised his eyebrows at him and Max’s lips twitched. “I’m surprised we have anything to talk about, Aunt.”

  “Oh, but we do, Max, as you very well know. Cuthbert is your heir and it’s about time you recognised him as such.” She smiled up at Welford. “It would suit me very well if you invited Cuthbert and me to stay at Hargreaves for the Christmas festivities.”

  Max stood stock still but he couldn’t stop his nostrils flaring. “Oh, but it wouldn’t suit me at all, Aunt.” His voice was a silky drawl.

  Welford took Selina’s arm but she shrugged him off and moved closer to Max. “Face it, Max, you will never recover from Lavinia’s betrayal and find a wife. Be sensible and accept that Cuthbert will be the Marquess of Hargreaves one day.”

  He ought to walk away but Selina was the outside of enough. “I am less than five years older than Cuthbert and far more clean living, so that is by no means certain.”

  “What?” Selina’s voice rose. “Clean living, you. We all know you were after a liaison with Lydia Winters until Marmaduke Villiers snatched her from under your nose with the offer of a ring on her finger.”

  Max lifted his chin. “You go too far, madam.” He turned and stalked out of the room.

  A sprinkling of people out in the hallway melted away as he strode past them. Deuce take it, how many people had been listening to that exchange?

  Simon followed and pulled him into the library with a hand on his arm. “Good, there’s no one in here.” He shut the door firmly behind them. “I’m sorry, Max. Uncle asked me if he could invite a friend to keep him company. I left my secretary to take the details and send the invitation. Didn’t realise it was Lady Lovell until she arrived or I would have warned you.”

  Max sighed. “It’s not your fault. Selina has been spoiling for a fight this age.”

  “Still, I’m sorry you were subjected to that. Uncle has known her since they were children. He always says that she would have got over her disappointment at not being the Marchioness of Hargreaves if your uncle hadn’t died young.”

  “I doubt it. The woman is pure evil. I’m sorry Simon but I’m going home. I shall lose my temper completely with many more of her barbs. That sky looks like snow to me. I’ll use the weather as my excuse and people can say what they like. Give my regards to your Mama.”

  ***

  Max ordered his curricle to be brought around and ran up the stairs. He changed into a pair of buckskin breeches and a thick jacket as fast as he could. All the rest of his things went into his travelling bags in a jumbled heap. Jepson would complain, even more than he had about being left behind, when he saw them. What did it matter? All he wanted to do was show this place a clean pair of heels, regardless of the fact that Simon was one of his oldest friends. He couldn’t be in company with Selina for two minutes without his hackles rising but she had really surpassed herself today.

  With his bags packed, he shrugged into his greatcoat and drew on a pair of driving gloves. It was a cold afternoon and the road conditions might slow them down but even so he should be home in an hour or so. Lord he was in a coil but the time to worry about that was when he was safely home. He knew the house nearly as well as his own and ran down a set of servants’ stairs to avoid bumping into any of the other guests. He wasn’t in the mood to exchange idle chit chat. Simon’s efficient grooms led his curricle to the side door at the same moment that he walked through it. He threw them a crown and climbed in.

  There was a light dusting of snow in places but the roads weren’t as bad as he feared until he reached the Canterbury road. He pressed on and the Golden Cross came into view within threequarters of an hour of setting off. His horses seemed to be straining a bit. He should have taken more care of them, instead of letting his anger spill over into his driving. It might be best to stop here and rest them. His grooms would wonder what was up with him if he arrived with them in a distressed condition, exactly the sort of speculation he hated.

  He could dine here too. Having missed his roast beef earlier he was sharp set and it would save him having to deal with his taciturn new housekeeper. Lord, if it had been anyone else but Cook who had recommended her he would have let her go by now.

  Max turned into the inn’s yard and a groom rushed forward to take his curricle from him.

  He jumped down and handed the reins to the groom. “I’ll need them in an hour or so but rub them down well and rug them up, will you?”

  Max strode into the taproom, where the landlord was serving ale to a couple of customers

  “Not busy this evening then, Pleck?”

  Pleck looked up and smiled. “Good evening, my lord. Too much snow in the air for country folk to want to stay out. What can I do for you?”

  “Can you rustle me up an evening meal?” He grinned. “You’re right about the weather, the sky looks full of snow to me. Something cold will do.”

  Pleck scratched his head. “There’s cold beef, cheese and fresh baked bread but that seems hardly fitting for you, my lord. I’ll ask the cook to stay a bit longer if you like.”

  “Cook? Is Mrs Pleck unwell?”

  “It’s her mother what’s ill. Gone to look after her.” Pleck grimaced. “It’s hard without her but what can you do?”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Max watched a flurry of snow drift past the window. “Cold beef and cheese will be perfectly acceptable. I don’t want anyone getting stuck in snow on my account, including myself. I came home early because I didn’t like the look of the weather.”

  Pleck looked relieved. “I’ll have the maid set it all up for you in the coffee room. It’s empty and there’s a roaring fire.

  “Excellent. I’ll have a bottle of your best claret too.”

  “I’ll bring that myself, my lord. There’s a good brandy that will warm you up while you’re waiting.”

  Max nodded and strode off to the coffee room. A few drinks might take the edge off his anger. Pleck followed him with the brandy. Max stripped off his driving gloves and greatcoat. He poured a generous measure of brandy and walked across to the fire with it, where he tossed it back. That was better. Warmth inside and out. Lord he was in a coil. Could he cope with taking up Simon’s offer of sharing his matchmaking Mama for a season in London? It might be less excruciating than letting his sisters loose. He wandered back to the brandy decanter and poured another measure. He had to find a wife somehow before he was goaded into strangling Selina, but in the full glare of the Ton?

  He shook his head and tossed back his second brandy. Yes, he could do it if he had too. He was a Lovell for heaven’s sake. The trouble was, after the scandal of him jilting Lavinia, the sort of parents likely to produce a daughter he might be happy with would look at him askance. The last thing he wanted was a bride dragooned into marriage by ambitious parents with an eye on his title. He couldn’t afford another s
candal. Didn’t want another scandal for his family’s sake.

  He smashed a hand down onto the mantelpiece and was obliged to rescue a candlestick, narrowly avoiding getting burned. And he didn’t want to get tricked into marriage by some chit who didn’t care a jot for him as a man either. He wanted a good marriage like those of his parents and sisters.

  ***

  There was only one customer in the Golden Cross’s main room when Georgie went in and he was engaged in conversation with Mr Pleck. Georgie’s tight shoulders relaxed. He was still the landlord then. Neither man looked her way. She found the alcove she was looking for and carefully parted the russet coloured drapes, letting them close softly behind her. She hefted her valise onto the window seat and sat with her back against it to ease the stiffness in her spine and shoulders from long hours on the road. All she had to do was to wait for Mrs Pleck to appear. It had seemed so simple when she managed to buy a ticket for the stagecoach. Now it felt rather too uncertain for comfort. The two male voices came nearer and she heard the slap of a tankard being deposited on a table.

  “There you go, Sam. I wouldn’t take too long to drink this or you will be stopping the night.” Mr Pleck sounded tired.

  There was a loud laugh. “No thanks with you cooking breakfast, now you’ve sent your cook home.” The man’s voice was pleasantly low pitched, possibly a tenant farmer? “Have you heard from Mrs Pleck?”

  Georgie tensed.

  “Yes. We had a message the other day. Her mother’s in a bad way. I don’t look to have her back before Christmas.”

  The rest of the conversation became a jumble of words. What was she to do with Mrs Pleck not being there? Mr Pleck was well enough but he wouldn’t want to take her in with his wife away. He probably wouldn’t even recognise her. They hadn’t been here since the spring and Mrs Pleck had always looked after them. She stood up and pulled the curtain apart a few inches. The room appeared to tilt for a moment. She concentrated on her breathing until it steadied. She had no choice but to at least speak to Pleck.

  She wanted to see his face before she approached him to judge his mood. A door opened and the noise of two sets of footsteps disappeared into the distance. She stepped out into an empty room. A quick glance up and down the corridor showed the place to be deserted, apart from Mr Pleck disappearing into the kitchen. The door to the coffee room stood open and she was drawn towards it. The room was tidier than the main one but not the polished perfection Mrs Pleck had always presented. The remains of a meal languished on the large table in the centre.

  There was a window enclosure to match the one in the main room. Flakes of snow landed on the glass as softly as if they were lambswool and slid down. She closed the heavy, wine-coloured drapes behind her, leaving the barest gap to watch for the return of the occupant. There seemed an enormous quantity of food for one person but only one place was set. She could smell cheeses and pickles and her stomach rumbled so loudly that anyone entering the room would surely hear it.

  No one came and there was no sign of Mr Pleck. Perhaps the room’s occupant had cut short his meal worried about the snow? Hunger drove her forward and she made her way to the table. The food was plain but wholesome and she ate her fill. She was chewing on a piece of beef when footsteps sounded coming towards her. The tall figure of a dark haired, youngish man loomed in the doorway.

  “What have we here? Don’t run away my little brown nymph.”

  His deep and well-modulated voice made her shiver. She gave up any idea of trying to escape and squared her shoulders before facing him. He had a presence that made her catch her breath. Some town buck on his way home for Christmas by the look of his expensive, drab coloured greatcoat. He was looking around the room as if searching for something. His scowl made her shrink back.

  “Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

  She forced her gaze to his face and shook her head. His substantial figure blocked her path to the door and a quick glance around confirmed there was no other exit. He grabbed her wrist before she could dodge past him and she jumped at his touch. A surge of awareness ran through her. He wasn’t exactly handsome and yet he was the most attractive man she had ever met. His eyes narrowed and the smell of alcohol hit her as he pulled her close.

  “A rather drab bird for your game, are you not?” His voice sounded derisory.

  He looked her up and down in a manner which scared her. He must think her a country doxy. Her breath came in shallow pants and she opened her mouth to scream. Before she could, he clamped strong fingers on either side of her chin and turned her face towards him. Dark blue eyes with a hint of grey considered her. He gave her a lopsided grin.

  “Quite pretty though and you look clean.”

  He relaxed his grip and she tried to break free. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. She couldn’t stop herself from relaxing into his arms. He held her close against his hard body, which was probably just as well as her legs didn’t want to support her. Her lips parted as his tongue nudged at them. She could feel the tension in his already taut muscles tightening as he explored her mouth. She regained her senses with a shudder and made another attempt to pull away.

  “Ah, you want payment first.” He slapped a golden guinea down on the table.

  A rush of heat exploded in her cheeks. She pushed past him and he staggered. He put out a hand to steady himself and she dodged towards the window seat. She couldn’t afford to leave her valise. She hefted it ready to hit him but he lifted a pair of gloves from a side table and inspected them. She must have been so hungry not to notice them.

  “Ah, my missing gloves. Too cold without them in this snow. Oh yes snow. I had better get off.” He fumbled in his pocket and threw another guinea at her. “Here take this for the disappointment.”

  She relaxed as he turned on his heel and walked out. He was foxed and not the threat she’d first thought him. Her breathing eased. By tomorrow he would have forgotten about their encounter. A door banged in the distance. Good he had gone. She shuddered but picked up the guinea from the table and hunted for its fellow on the floor. She hated herself for doing it but she couldn’t afford to be proud. Two guineas would keep her for a while.

  She couldn’t stop here now. He was so bosky he might come back and tell everyone she was a whore. But where to go? There was no help for it. She would have to go straight to the Armstrongs, even though taking in a runaway ward would put them in an awkward position with the church if it came out. They were too kindly a couple to turn her away and after her birthday Cousin Mary would have no legal hold over her. The vicarage at Benfort was several miles away. Would she make it through this snow in the dark?

  She didn’t dare draw attention to herself by ordering a carriage and Pleck might not agree to risk one of his animals in this weather in any case. She remembered a footpath through the fields. All she had to do was follow the hedges and turn by those big hay barns just before Benfort village. It was far shorter than by the road. It would be cold but she would have to manage. She had lost weight since she’d been forced to move in with the Huttons, when Aunty Anne died, even before her three days of starvation. Her rough woollen gown hung on her. Why not put more clothes on underneath her cloak? Then her valise would be lighter too.

  There was no sign of Mr Pleck. Fingers fumbling in haste, she managed to don two more dresses and an extra pelisse and threw her thick travelling cloak over the top. She wrapped the last of the beef in a handkerchief and added a piece of bread. She stowed it in the bag and added a small flagon of what smelled like lemonade from a side table. Even with that the bag was lighter than before. She took a deep breath and made her way outside, stopping to listen for footsteps several times.

  She found the path she was looking for and breathed easier. She had been brought up largely in the countryside and the velvety darkness didn’t trouble her now she had the hedge to follow. Every time the moon peeped out through the scudding clouds the snowy fields sparkled as if sprinkled with diamonds. At any other tim
e, she would have found the scene entrancing. The hoot of owls as she plodded past a spinney was strangely comforting and the trees offered some respite from the biting wind.

  ***

  A couple of hours of trudging along, slipping and sliding through snow several inches thick in places, left her exhausted. The snow was falling so heavily now it would be easy to lose her way. She cried out with relief when she saw the outline of the barns looming in front of her. There was no question of going any farther tonight. She prised open the door of the largest barn and staggered inside. Relief swept through her when she saw the hay loft. She left her valise by the ladder and went back and shut the door, stamping her feet as she walked to regain some feeling in them. Her eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light as she found her way back to the ladder. It felt sound and she lifted her bag and climbed up, checking every rung as she went.

  The cold was going to be her biggest problem. She pulled off her damp boots and burrowed into the hay. Her feet started to warm up, tucked underneath all her skirts, and the sweet smell of the hay was soothing. Oh goodness, would there be rats? It would be safest to eat her food now. When everything was eaten, she pushed the bag well away from her. Now all she had to do was survive until the morning.

  Chapter Three

  Max opened eyes that felt full of grit. He turned over onto his back. It was barely light and his head felt like it was being hit by hammers. He groaned as the door opened and his valet edged into the room.

  “I’m sorry, my lord, but Hadley from the home farm is below. The snow is drifting several feet deep in places and he’s lost some cattle. He wants to know if he can borrow men to try and find them.”

  Max lifted his head with difficulty. “We had better oblige him. He can’t afford to lose cattle. Round up some of the younger footmen and tell them to meet me down at the stables in half an hour.”

  Jepson retreated. Max forced himself out of bed. Every step towards the window sent a pain shooting through his head. He pulled the heavy red drapes apart. Everywhere he looked was covered in a sparkling white coat. He closed his eyes against the brightness. He only had himself to blame for his current condition. He had better get out there and help. A tramp across the fields might clear his head. With Jepson’s help, he shaved and dressed. The butler was hovering in the hallway as he went down to the breakfast room.