by Anne O'Brien
‘But if you are Torrington’s niece, his heiress, why in heaven’s name were you playing the role of kitchen drudge?’ In a flare of emotion, exacerbated by his throbbing head, the Marquis promptly abandoned the polite words of social usage and spoke from the heart to interrupt his own and Frances’s bitter recollections. ‘And why in hell’s name did you need to hide yourself in my coach and take flight from your home?’
‘I do not wish to discuss the matter, my lord, except to say that I believed that I had no option in the circumstances.’
‘What circumstances?’
She merely shook her head.
‘You are not making this easy! What is your name?’
‘Frances Rosalind Hanwell, sir.’
He took a turn about the room and returned to confront her, so far forgetting himself as to run his fingers through his hair. ‘I should have taken you back, Miss Hanwell. Returned you to your uncle.’
‘I would not have gone. I will never go back. I would have thrown myself from the coach first.’ The dramatic words were delivered with such calm certainty that for a moment he was robbed of a reply and simply stared at her in icy disapproval. In spite of her outward composure she had picked up the quill pen again, clasping it in a nervously rigid grip so that he saw there was ink on her fingers. She was taller than his recollection. And why had he not remembered her eyes? They were a deep violet and at present even darker in the depths of anger and despair.
‘Have you no idea, Miss Hanwell, of the potential scandal you have caused? The obligation you have put me under? The harm you may have done to your own name?’ The edge to his voice was unmistakable, but she did not flinch.
‘Why, no. You are under no obligation, my lord. I merely used your coach—a heaven-sent opportunity—as a means to an end. No one will know that I am here.’
‘I wager that your butler does! Akrill, isn’t it? Don’t tell me that you did not ask him to help you to leave the house undetected. I would not believe you.’
She bit her lip, her face even paler as she recognised the truth in the heavy irony.
‘Servants gossip, Miss Hanwell. Everyone at Torrington Hall last night will know that you left with me and spent the night unchapearoned under my roof. What has that done for your reputation? Destroyed it, in all probability. And what sort of garbled nonsense Masters and Hay will spread around town I do not care to contemplate.’
‘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 terribl
e 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?’
Aldeborough sighed heavily in exasperation, surveying her from under frowning black brows, allowing a silence charged with tension to develop between them. In truth, she was not the wife he would have chosen, brought up under Torrington’s dubious influence, incarcerated in the depths of the country with no fashionable acquaintance or knowledge of how to go on in society. And yet, why not? Her birth was good enough in spite of her upbringing. Certainly she lacked the finer points of a lady’s education, by her own admission, but did that really matter? She appeared to be quick and intelligent and had knowledge of the running of a gentleman’s establishment, albeit threadbare and lacking both style and elegance. Aldeborough watched with reluctant admiration the tilt of her head, the sparkle in her eye as she awaited his decision, and fancied that she would soon acquire the confidence demanded by her position as Marchioness of Aldeborough. She had spirit and courage in abundance, as he had witnessed to his cost, along with a well-developed streak of determination. And, he had to admit, an elusive charm beneath the shabby exterior. The Polite World would gossip, of course, on hearing that a mere Miss Hanwell, a provincial unknown, was to wed the highly eligible Marquis of Aldeborough, but since when had he cared about gossip?
Besides, as his mother took every opportunity to remind him, perhaps it was time that he took a wife. As he knew only too well, life was cheap—he owed it to his family to secure the succession. If Richard had lived … He deliberately turned away from that line of thought. It did no good to dwell on it.
But far more importantly, he could not in honour abandon this innocent girl to the consequences of her ill-judged flight. He frowned at her, his expression severe. It was all very well for her to shrug off the social repercussions, but a young girl could be damaged beyond remedy by the cruel and malicious tongues of the ton. It was in his power to save her from social disaster, and duty dictated that he should. It was really as simple as that. Her vulnerability as she sat silently in his library, refusing his offer of marriage, contemplating the prospect of a bleak future alone, touched his heart and his conscience. He had made his decision and he would do all in his power to carry it out. But he feared that to convince the lady in question of the necessity of this marriage would prove a difficult task.
‘I do not accept your argument.’ He finally broke the silence, his voice clipped, his tone encouraging no further discussion. ‘You have not thought of the implications and in my experience they could be, shall we say, distressing for you. But I have a meeting with my agent that I must go to—I have already kept him waiting. We will continue this conversation later, Miss Hanwell. Meanwhile, my servants will look after your every need. You have only to ask.’ He lifted a hand to touch her cheek where the dark bruise bloomed against her pale skin, aware of a sudden urge to soothe, to comfort, to smooth away the pain. He drew back as she flinched and wished that she had not.
‘No further discussion is necessary, I assure you, sir. I would not wish to keep you from your agent.’ She tried for a smile without much success, hoping that her pleasure from his touch did not show itself on her face.
‘You are very obstinate, Miss Hanwell. How can you make any plans when you have nothing but the clothes you stand up in?’
She could find no answer to this depressingly accurate statement, and merely shook her head.
‘I must go.’ Aldeborough possessed himself of her hand and raised it to his unsmiling lips. He left the library in a sombre mood. He did not expect gratitude from her, of course—after all, he had to admit, apparently, that he had some role in the disaster—but he did expect some co-operation. His sense of honour demanded that he put right the desperate situation that he had so unwittingly helped to create.
Chapter Three
‘Lady Torrington has called, ma’am. I have explained to her that his lordship is unavailable, but she has insisted on seeing you. I have shown her into the drawing room.’ Rivers, Aldeborough’s butler, bowed, his face expressing fatherly concern. ‘Do you wish to see her, ma’am?’
Frances felt her blood run cold in her veins and a familiar sense of panic fluttered in her stomach. Since Aldeborough’s departure to keep his appointment with Kington she had enjoyed a number of solitary hours in which to contemplate her present situation. It had made depressing contemplation. Mrs Scott had provided her with a light luncheon, which she had no appetite to eat, and she was now taking advantage of his lordship’s extensive library. Her education might have been limited, but she had been free to make use of her uncle’s otherwise unused collection of books and normally Aldeborough’s possessions would have been a delight. But not even a magnificently illustrated tome on plants and garden design, which should in other circumstances have enthralled her, had the power to deflect her mind from the present disaster.
‘Will you see Lady Torrington, miss?’ Rivers repeated as Frances hesitated.
‘Yes. Of course,’ she stammered. On one thing she was adamant. As she had informed Aldeborough, she would not go back to Torrington Hall. So the sooner she confronted her aunt, the better.
‘And shall I bring tea, ma’am?’ Rivers enquired. ‘You might find it a useful distraction.’ His smile held a depth of understanding.
‘Yes, please.’ She smiled shyly. ‘You are very kind.’
Frances found Viscountess Torrington seated before the fire in the drawing room. Encouraged by Rivers’s tacit support, she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and advanced into the room. Its furnishings paid more attention to fashion than the library, with matching chairs and a sofa in straw-and-cream striped silk brocade, but it had the chilly atmosphere of a room not much used. It seemed to Frances an appropriate place for this unlooked-for confrontation with her formidable aunt.
‘Aunt Cordelia.’ She forced her lips into a smile. ‘I did not expect to see you here.’
Her ladyship, she noticed immediately, had dressed carefully for this visit, no doubt intent on making an impression on Aldeborough. Her stout frame was draped in a green velvet three-quarter-length coat with silk braid trimming. A matching turban with its single ostrich plume, black kid halfboots and kid gloves completed an outfit more suitable for London society than country visiting. Her curled and tinted hair, glinting red in the sunlight, would have taken her unfortunate and long-suffering maid not a little time and effort to achieve the desired result, but nothing could disguise the lines of discontent and frustrated ambition round her cold blue eyes and narrow lips. If she was disappointed not to meet Aldeborough, she gave no sign as Frances entered the room.
‘I dare say, but something has to be done to sort out this unfortunate situation. And I did not think it wise to leave so delicate a matter to Torrington. The outcome, if it became widely known, could be disastrous for all of us—’ She broke off abruptly. Her words might be conciliatory towards Frances, but her voice was harsh and peremptory, her gaze on her niece full of contempt.
‘What is it you intend to do, Aunt?’ Frances cautiously sat on the edge of a chair facing her.
‘I have come to take you home. We can hush up the matter and continue as if nothing happened. Whatever might have happened here last night.’
‘Nothing happened,’ Frances answered calmly enough, but remembered Aldeborough’s warning.
‘I am afraid the world will not believe that. Aldeborough’s reputation is too well known. There must be some plain speaking between us here, Frances. He might be rich, handsome and a prize in the matrimonial stakes—I cannot deny it—but it is also well known that no woman is safe from him, no matter what her class. And as for his brother’s untimely death—the least said about that the better. But that is not our concern. Your reputation will be in shreds if we do not take immediate action, and that can only reflect badly on the whole family. What possessed you to run away and to throw yourself into Aldeborough’s path? Of all men you could not have made a worse choice, you little fool. It is imperative that you come home with me now.’
