The Marquess's Christmas Runaway

by Josie Bonham

  “Some hot coffee, if you please.”

  After two cups of coffee Max felt more human and managed to force down some ham and eggs. He strode down to the stables, taking care to keep to the main paths to avoid drifts of snow. The footmen were waiting for him. He divided them into four teams and added a groom to each one. Each team was sent to cover an area adjacent to the home farm. He collected his two wolfhounds and went to find Hadley.

  The dogs ran around in circles and he let them have their heads until one of them fell into a drift. By the time he had helped to free the dog his head was spinning. He called them to heel and set off again. The obvious place to shelter the cattle was in the large barns that belonged to the estate. He reached the field they were in, near to the home farm, and sure enough Hadley was there. Hadley touched his cap and Max gave him a nod which he quickly regretted.

  “Good of you to come, my lord. We’ve run out of space near the farm. If you’re agreeable, the best place for any cattle we can find is in the hay barn.”

  “That would be best. I’ll go and check it over.”

  Max summoned the dogs and made for the barn. He stopped short when he reached the door. The snow in front of it was shallower than elsewhere, as if it had been pulled open before it finished snowing. He whistled to the dogs. They ran towards him and milled around sniffing at the door. Was somebody in there? He wrenched the door open and sent the dogs in first. They scampered to the foot of the ladder leading to the hay loft and barked.

  “Quiet.” He leaned his head back with a groan and studied the top level of the barn. It looked like some of the hay had been disturbed.

  The dogs stopped barking but stayed by the ladder whining.

  “Come down now unless you want me to send for the magistrate,” Max shouted, rubbing at his throbbing temples.

  He jumped back as a valise landed at his feet.

  A pair of boots appeared at the top of the ladder followed by a black clad rear. Max gaped as its owner hitched up her skirts and revealed a glimpse of shapely calves above well worn boots.

  “Who the hell are you?” His voice rose.

  The woman lost her footing and tumbled into his arms. The dogs barked enthusiastically and the girl, for she looked no more than that, gave a cry. Max dumped her on the ground in a flurry of skirts. He caught a glimpse of brown wool under the black. A memory came back to him of a tavern wench in brown.

  “What are you up to, girl? You could have frozen to death in here. Pleck throw you out, did he?” Max grimaced. He would have to rescue her but if she talked about his advances of the evening before it would be a further stain on his reputation.

  She tried to run. Max caught her by the shoulders and studied her. A pair of frightened grey eyes looked out of a heart shaped face. She was never a tavern wench. Max felt heat flood his cheeks as he remembered the stolen kiss and the guineas he had thrown at her. Lord, he must have been foxed. Foxed and angry but it was no excuse for insulting any woman like that. He felt her tremble. Was it the cold or fear?

  “If I let go of you will you promise not to run away? I’ve got the devil of a headache this morning.”

  She stared at him for a moment and then nodded. He whistled at the dogs and they moved on either side of her. He released her shoulders.

  “You have nothing to fear from me today. I’m sober now.” He managed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Who exactly are you?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  She was definitely not a tavern wench with that voice. “Then you leave me no choice. I’ll have you taken up before the magistrate.”

  “Oh, please don’t do that.” She stood her ground but there was desperation in her eyes.

  Her whole body started shaking and he put out a hand to steady her. She flinched and twisted away from him. The dogs started to growl. He called them to him. Nausea swept over him for a moment. He hadn’t drunk so much since his youth.

  “I can see you’re running away from something.” He laughed. “We have that much in common. I mean you no harm and if you tell me who you are and why you’re here I’ll do my best to help you.”

  He waited and watched a myriad of emotions flit across her face. Eventually she sighed and raised her eyes to his.

  “I’ll tell you my circumstances but I don’t want to tell you my name.”

  “Hmm. You look sensible enough. We’ll start with the explanation and then I’ll decide about the magistrate. First I need to get you somewhere warm.”

  He picked up her bag and took her arm. She looked too exhausted to protest and started walking with him. They were barely outside the barn when she stumbled and he had to catch her before she fell.

  “I’m sorry. My legs don’t belong to me.” She clung to his arm and stared at her feet, looking anxious.

  He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She needed warmth and she needed it quickly. He secured her with one hand on her rather delectable derriere and picked up her bag with the other.

  “Put me down.” He felt her fists hitting his back.

  “Quieten down, woman. I have to get you to the house before you freeze to death.”

  She stopped beating him and he sent the dogs on ahead. With luck someone would come to meet him. His head felt it every time he stumbled but he trudged onwards. She was so cold against his shoulder he feared for her safety. He pushed on with every muscle aching and his breath coming in painful gasps. There was no sound from the girl now and she was completely still. The side gate of the Hall’s gardens came into view and he staggered towards it. Fortunately, it was open and wide enough to get them both through without too much manoeuvring.

  Max whistled at the dogs, gambolling about in snow drifts up ahead, to go back to the stables. He missed his footing on the slippery path and fell backwards. It took all his strength to twist sideways in mid-air and lift her up so that she wasn’t squashed underneath him. He landed on his back in a snowdrift with the girl sprawled across his chest. His sudden frisson of excitement was doused by difficulty drawing breath.

  She managed to roll off him. “Are you alright?”

  Her voice sounded shaky. Max nodded too winded to talk. The dogs came running, followed by two grooms. He sat up with an effort and forced in a few deep breaths.

  “Right. You two carry this lady to the house for me. I’ll follow with the bag.”

  The girl tried to protest.

  “If you’re not cold, I am. The sooner we reach the house the better.” Max nodded to the two grooms.

  ***

  Georgie’s heart hammered as the two men made a seat for her with their arms. Such a public arrival was the last thing she wanted. At the same time, she was so cold she ached. They trudged through the snow and a huge building with honey coloured stone walls and tall chimneys came into view. Shapes under the thick white blanket in front of the house suggested extensive formal gardens, bounded by walls of the same stone breaking out of the snow in places. Who exactly was she being rescued by? The grooms went to take a side entrance but the man told them to go to the main one. This entailed a climb up an imposing flight of grey stone steps, protected by a curving balustrade at either side. Oh no, this must be Hargreaves Hall. The door was opened by a wooden-faced butler before they reached it.

  Her rescuer dumped her valise in the hall and caught hold of her as the grooms put her down. “Steady on now.” He held her up. “Barton, fetch the housekeeper.”

  Georgie felt the room swinging around her. She had no choice but to hang on to the man she suspected was the Marquess of Hargreaves himself. Despite the pain in her legs, as feeling started to return, she was intensely aware of him. He was tall and there was a vibrancy about him she had not come across before, but then she hadn’t met many members of the aristocracy.

  The butler returned with a rounded, red-cheeked woman who bristled when she saw her. Georgie was only too aware what the woman was thinking. She staggered and the man held her tighter. He had undone his greatcoat and her head w
as resting against his shirt. He wasn’t wearing a cravat. She buried her face into his chest. The smell of fresh masculine sweat mixed with a tang of oranges and lavender which met her was strangely appealing.

  It wasn’t enough to distract her for long. What was going to happen to her now? She shivered and tears trickled down her cheeks. As if sensing her distress he picked her up and carried her into a sitting room. He laid her down on a sofa and turned to the housekeeper, who had followed them in.

  “She’s been out all night in this freezing weather, Mrs Powell. Can you make up a bedroom and fetch a maid for her and some footmen to fill a hot bath. Oh, and make sure there’s a good fire as well.”

  Georgie sat up and raised her head. She risked a look at the woman. Outrage was written in every last inch of her. She didn’t feel strong enough to do battle and she closed her eyes for a moment. She opened them to see the Marquess, if that was who he was, disappear leaving her alone with the housekeeper. The woman looked her up and down.

  “Well Miss, you’re lucky we have so much snow or Lord Hargreaves would have had the constable out.” She sniffed. “That’s what a wanton like you deserves. I saw you throwing yourself onto His Lordship’s chest. We had better get you warmed up but just you mind your step my girl. This is a respectable house.”

  Georgie tried to ignore the disapproval in her harsh voice. Her rescuer was the Marquess of Hargreaves then. She might be cold but that didn’t stop a hot blush flooding her cheeks. The man had represented safety, nothing more, when she had drawn closer to him. She said nothing and allowed the housekeeper to lead her up a staircase. She was back in charge of her legs, although they ached, but it was a relief when they reached the top. To her surprise, the housekeeper stopped at a bedchamber in the guest quarters. Her mouth dropped open as she looked around a lovely room with pink damask hangings.

  “This is too good for the likes of you, but the fire was already lit.”

  Oh dear, they must be expecting guests. Georgie decided to maintain her silence. It seemed the best defence. A young maid came in with a hot brick to heat the bed. She peeped at Georgie and smiled. The smile faded when the housekeeper turned round.

  “Martha will look after you now, Miss.” She walked out with another sniff.

  Martha grinned at her. “Is it true, Miss?”

  Georgie stared at her. “Is what true?”

  Martha jumped up and down. “Ooh. It is isn’t it? You have a lovely voice. I can’t wait to see old Ma Powell’s face when she finds out.”

  Georgie’s shook her head in bewilderment. She was too tired to enquire further. There was a knock at the door and two footmen came in carrying a tin bath. They were quickly followed by several more with cans of hot water. Martha proved to be a willing and efficient helper. Georgie climbed into the hot bath and settled down. She had no idea what Martha was talking about but she was too content to care. This was her first bath since she had moved in with the Huttons. They had offered her a home when she was left alone in the world and then treated her far worse than anyone else of her acquaintance treated their lowliest maid.

  The warmth gradually seeped into her bones. She didn’t know what the future held but, for now, she was going to enjoy her good fortune. Every day here was a day a closer to her birthday. Her eyes began to droop and she asked Martha for a towel. She didn’t want to fall asleep in the bath. Once she was dry Martha produced a pretty nightgown and robe.

  “These belong to one of the master’s sisters. His valet sent them for you.”

  Georgie’s hands flew to her face. Was the Marquess trying to turn her into his mistress? He would hardly give her his sister’s things in that case. Would he?

  “Martha, I need my clothes, I must speak with the Marquess.”

  Martha giggled. “That would upset Mrs Powell. He’s gone to bed and he said you need to rest too. Would you like something to eat now?”

  Georgie glanced at the bed. It did look comfortable, food and then sleep sounded wonderful. “Yes please.”

  Martha pulled a small armchair up to the fire. “You sit here and get warm, Miss. I’ll bring you a tray.”

  Georgie curled up in the chair and watched the flames dance in the fireplace. A fire in her bedroom was something else she hadn’t had for a long time She demolished everything on the tray Martha brought up, including two cups of hot chocolate. She was being treated as an honoured guest. She sighed. Perhaps she could avoid facing the Marquess again until tomorrow. By then there would be just three days to go until she reached her majority. He said he meant her no harm but what did he mean by harm? There was no point worrying. She pulled back the covers on the bed and climbed in without even removing the robe. She still wasn’t as warm as she could be but the flannel wrapped hot brick inside helped.

  Chapter Four

  Max turned on his back and stretched. He lifted his head and the room stayed steady. He sat up and lowered his legs to the floor. Everything was still. His pocket watch said five o’clock. Had he really slept for seven hours? That would explain why he felt so much better. Jepson tiptoed into the room as if he had been waiting in the dressing room listening for the sound of movement. Knowing Jepson, he probably had.

  “Have Eliza and Nat made it through with their brood?”

  “No, my lord, but the roads are clearing. I think we will see the Overtons tomorrow.”

  “Good. I’ll get dressed now but nothing too formal. I’ll have supper in the library I think.”

  He might as well enjoy a few hours peace. Jepson coughed.

  “What is it Jepson?”

  “Mrs Powell was wishful to know what to do with the young person you found, when she wakes up.” He waited with his head slightly tilted, eyebrows raised.

  Why was Jepson looking so curious? Max groaned as it all flooded back. His life was full of complications and it all came back to Selina Lovell. She was obsessed with her son’s position as his heir. If her machinations hadn’t driven him away from the house party early, he wouldn’t have come across the girl. On the other hand, if he had stuck to his original plan, he might have struggled to get home at all this morning with the snow. The girl herself might not have survived. What was she running away from? He looked up at Jepson.

  “Let her rest today, she must be exhausted. Tell Mrs Powell to have food sent up to her whenever she wakes up.”

  Jepson hovered, moving his weight from right to left and back again. What was the matter with the man?

  “Was there anything else Jepson?”

  “Er, we were wondering who exactly the young lady was, my lord.”

  Jepson couldn’t meet his eyes. Good Lord. Did he think he would have some of his sister’s clothes sent to his mistress in his own house? Max jumped up and Jepson took a step back.

  “She refused to say who she was. So, I’m afraid I can’t enlighten you.”

  Jepson finally met his gaze and Max read disbelief in his eyes. He opened his mouth to give him a pithy set down and then closed it again. Jepson was nothing if not loyal. He couldn’t stop his jaw tightening but tried to keep his tone level.

  “Out with it, Jepson. What do you know that I don’t?”

  Jepson coughed and stuttered. Max clenched his fists and waited.

  “The thing is, my lord, one of Hadley’s men saw her as she was carried up to the house.” Jepson stopped and looked at the floor.

  “You find me all ears. I take it there is some significance to that statement.”

  “The fellow said she arrived on the Canterbury stage my lord and….”

  Max’s patience finally snapped. He stalked across to the window and stared out into the gloom before heading back towards Jepson.

  “Whilst that is an interesting piece of information, it doesn’t help me provide you with her name.”

  “He also said he saw you kissing her in the Golden Cross.” Jepson squared his shoulders. “I got this off the head footman and I thought you ought to know what was being said, my lord.” Jepson kept his eyes
lowered and fidgeted with the buttons on his waistcoat.

  Max stared at him. “You did right. Is there more?”

  Jepson hesitated. “There is talk that you were seen leaving the Golden Cross just before the stage arrived so Headley’s man must have been mistaken.”

  Max groaned. “Or that he saw me kissing someone else.”

  “I’m afraid so but the maids are convinced he saw a different man. They have taken it into their heads that the girl is your betrothed, come to meet you after a lover’s quarrel. The stage was late and you decided she had changed her mind and you went home.”

  “What do the rest of you think?”

  “Mrs Powell thinks the girl is no better than she ought to be my lord.”

  “Hmm, and what about you?”

  “I don’t think she’s a woman of easy virtue but I don’t think for a minute you are betrothed to her my lord.”

  “No, I’m not, Jepson,” Max stroked his chin and laughed, “although in my current circumstances that might not be such a bad idea.” He ignored Jepson’s look of enquiry.

  “I was wishing I hadn’t found her a minute ago, but I’m not sure she would have survived. The stage makes sense; she’s running away from something. She’s well-spoken and I’m sure she is nothing more than a lady in trouble. I’d be grateful if you would try and quash talk of anything else.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Jepson nodded and disappeared into the dressing room.

  ***

  Max pushed away the remains of his solitary meal.

  The butler entered the library. “Would you like port now, my lord?”

  “Not tonight, Barton. I’ll have a pot of tea.”

  “Very good, my lord. I’ll send a footman to clear the table.”