The Runaway Heiress

by Anne O'Brien

  Frances flushed, silently cursing her fair skin that made her discomfiture very evident.

  ‘Juliet! I must apologise for my mannerless sister, Frances. She is not known for her sensitivity. Come and sit and have coffee.’ He pushed aside some of the debris of cups and plates on the breakfast table to make a space for her. ‘Don’t worry. Mama does not leave her room until after eleven o’clock.’ Frances was mortified to feel her flush deepen further.

  ‘I did not mean to embarrass you,’ Juliet apologised with a gleam in her eye. She pulled up a chair to sit beside Frances and cast the ill-used bonnet on to the table. ‘It all seems so romantic to me.’

  ‘It was not at all romantic, I do assure you.’

  ‘My sister reads improper romantic novels when Mama is not looking,’ Matthew explained.

  ‘Do be quiet, Matthew! To be carried off by a romantic hero into the night—it is far more exciting than anything I have read recently. Although I have to say that I cannot see Hugh in the role of hero, but that is probably because he is my brother. He is very handsome, I suppose. And he rides a horse well. But I think I prefer fairer heroes with golden locks and blue eyes.’

  Frances laughed at this ingenuous view of her rescuer and found it easy to respond in kind. ‘Then I must try to live up to your expectations of a romantic heroine. Perhaps I should have a cup of coffee before I faint!’

  When Frances was seated with coffee and bread and butter, Matthew explained the plan of action for her first morning in London.

  ‘I have been given instructions from Aldeborough. He sends his apologies and says that he has a business appointment this morning from which he cannot renege, but he will be honoured to drive you round Hyde Park this afternoon at two o’clock. This morning I am to escort you on a shopping expedition.’ Frances hid a smile as she recognised the grace with which Matthew had accepted his instructions. She was sure that he would prefer to spend his time elsewhere, but he accepted the delegation with good humour.

  Juliet showed no such reluctance and clapped her hands in pleasurable anticipation. ‘How delightful. I must come with you, of course.’

  ‘This is not an excuse for you to run up bills,’ Matthew warned her in an echo of his brother’s strictures. ‘Frances needs town clothes. We are to rig her out in prime style.’

  ‘I’m so glad I came home when I did.’ Juliet was not to be deterred.

  ‘But I cannot impose on your time. You must have other plans,’ Frances stammered.

  ‘I have been given orders from on high. I dare not disobey!’ Matthew exclaimed solemnly, but with a cheerful resignation.

  Frances was secretly delighted to be taken in hand and offered no more resistance.

  ‘When you have finished we will go. Where do you suggest first, Julie?’

  ‘Madame Francine, without question. She has such wonderful creations. You are much darker than I am, Frances. And married, of course. What fun! Just think of the colours you will be able to wear!’

  Frances’s enjoyment of the morning was beyond her wildest dreams. She had never had fine clothes, and certainly not fashionable ones. At best she had had to accept Lady Torrington’s cast-offs, which might be fashionable but not to Frances’s taste or figure. Now, introduced as the Marchioness of Aldeborough, nothing was to be too much trouble. Madame Francine welcomed her personally, saw to her every comfort, offered her refreshment and expressed, in her suspect French accent, her desire to present the bride as the most stylishly dressed lady of the Season. And with such dark colouring, why, she would be a pleasure to dress.

  ‘What do I do about money?’ Frances queried discreetly and with some embarrassment of Juliet, who was in ecstasy over a magnificent but impractical opera cloak of rose satin with ruched edges. Matthew had opted, with some relief, to stay with their carriage, so delegating all responsibility to Juliet, who proved to have a very practical streak when it came to the necessities of life.

  ‘Ignore it, of course,’ she advised. ‘Have all the bills sent to Aldeborough.’

  ‘I cannot do that!’

  ‘Why not? I could. Enjoy it. A rich husband is a great advantage to a lady. I shall certainly have to marry a gentleman who has sufficient money to keep me in the height of fashion.’

  ‘That is not very romantic!’

  ‘Perhaps not, but it is practical. Now, let us see what you will need for the beginning of the Season.’

  The next hour flew by in a profusion of gowns and outfits for all occasions. Frances turned this way and that before the full-length mirrors. For walking, for morning calls, for afternoon visiting, for evening, for dress balls.

  ‘But I shall never wear so many clothes.’

  ‘Certainly you will. As Aldeborough’s wife you will be expected to have dash and style. And you cannot under any circumstances wear the same evening gown too often!’ With which piece of wordly wisdom Frances had to be content.

  And then there were gloves and shoes and intimate items of underwear.

  It was all too much. Frances was dazzled by it. But she was female enough to enjoy every moment, impressed by the way the new gowns flattered her slight figure and enhanced the rich colour of her hair and eyes. Even her skin glowed. Why, she almost looked pretty. Madame Francine and Juliet were both surprisingly complimentary. She found herself wondering what Aldeborough would say when he saw how she had spent his money and secretly hoped that he would not be displeased since she had found such pleasure in it. Perhaps he would not resent their marriage too much if she looked a little more attractive than the drab and impossibly dull Miss Hanwell. She smiled in the mirror at the almost unrecognisable Marchioness of Aldeborough and liked what she saw.

  They rejoined Matthew some little time later at their carriage with the promise of delivery of some essential items later in the day. Some parcels came with them—Frances could not resist the prospect of wearing a new gown that very afternoon when Aldeborough showed her off in Hyde Park.

  ‘And now, I think, Josephine for hats.’

  Frances closed her eyes momentarily. Her cup was full.

  After an exhausting morning spending Aldeborough’s money, they headed home to partake of a light luncheon.

  ‘Mama was planning to lunch with Lady Vowchurch and Penelope,’ explained Juliet, ‘so you won’t have to suffer an inquisition today. She will have felt compelled to inform the Vowchurch ladies of the tragic events of your marriage!’

  Matthew snorted, but wisely declined to become involved in malicious female gossip.

  ‘Mama,’ Juliet continued, ‘sees Penelope as The Paragon. She is the ideal to which none of the rest of us measures up.’ She giggled.

  ‘I realised that last night. She appears to have a remarkable range of talents. I certainly could not compare. In fact, I failed miserably on all counts.’

  ‘Neither could I.’ Juliet was clearly pleased to have found a sympathetic ear. ‘Penelope was forever questioning my governess about what I had been learning and blaming the poor lady when she discovered that I had learnt nothing. Poor Miss Dennison. I fear I was the worst of pupils. And Penelope was not even family, so she had no right to criticise her.’

  ‘Tell me …’ Here Frances saw an opportunity to elicit some information without appearing overtly inquisitive. ‘Do I understand that Miss Vowchurch was to have married your brother Richard?’ she asked tentatively.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Juliet proved more than willing to indulge in family gossip and fill in the gaps. ‘And when he died it was Mama’s plan that she should marry Hugh. Penelope did not seem at all reluctant. And Hugh never actually said he would not marry her. So we all expected it to happen, until you arrived.’

  ‘Shut up, Julie. You gossip too much!’

  ‘No I don’t. And Frances ought to know what she has got herself into.’

  Frances decided to pursue the subject. ‘Lady Aldeborough told me that your brother Richard was killed, but that it might not have been an accident.’

  ‘Of course, you wou
ld not know—’

  Matthew interrupted and frowned in Juliet’s direction to discourage her. For the first time a reserved expression appeared on his face and even Juliet looked a little downcast. ‘Richard was thrown out of a curricle and broke his neck. Mama doted on Richard so it hit her hard and she has not got over it. But there is no doubt about it being an accident.’

  Juliet opened her mouth to add to the story, but after another quelling stare from her brother she changed her mind.

  So with that Frances had to be content.

  Luncheon passed pleasantly enough, but Aldeborough failed to put in an appearance.

  ‘He has probably forgotten all about you and gone to buy a horse,’ commented Juliet with no respect for the Marquis. ‘Or,’ with maidenly disgust, ‘he is at Gentlemen Jackson’s Boxing Parlour!’

  ‘Take no notice of her, Frances. It’s more likely estate finance. Since he stepped into Richard’s shoes he’s been bedevilled by it. But Hugh’s absence is my gain—I’ll be honoured to drive you round the park this afternoon.’

  ‘Can I come?’ Juliet brightened. ‘I have a particularly fetching bonnet I would like to wear.’

  ‘Certainly not. I intend to drive the curricle so there is not enough room for three. And, before you ask, I have no intention of squeezing you in!’

  ‘You could take the barouche,’ she persisted in her most persuasive and sweetest tones. ‘Everyone who is anyone will be in Hyde Park in the afternoon.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I know. You only want to drive Aldebrough’s horses.’ Juliet flounced, her smile replaced by a petulant frown, and Matthew grinned in agreement.

  Juliet waved them farewell. Frances, in a new fur-trimmed pelisse and silk-flowered bonnet, with a frivolous little feather muff, concentrated on wielding a delicious cream silk parasol with the style and dash advised by Juliet, under strict instructions from Matthew not to frighten the horses.

  ‘I have never ridden in a curricle before.’ Frances looked around with interest as they turned into the park.

  It was a smart turn-out, if somewhat precarious to Frances’s eyes, and, as Matthew informed her, all the crack. The matched bays, driven well up to their bits, were a splendid pair with glossy coats and mouths of silk.

  ‘Will Aldeborough mind you driving his horses?’ she asked, remembering Juliet’s comment on Matthew’s motives.

  ‘No. Though I dare not take his new chestnuts. I would give my eye teeth to try them out, but it would be more than my life’s worth to take them without permission.’

  ‘And since you’re hoping to persuade him to buy you a pair of colours?’ she enquired with a hint of mischief.

  Matthew laughed and had the grace to look a trifle sheepish. ‘As you say, it behooves me to stay in his good books.’

  ‘Is he persuadable, do you think?’ she enquired with interest. The ease of relationship between the Marquis and his brother was clear to see.

  ‘The horses or the commission? Usually he’s very amenable, but I have my doubts about both.’ Matthew shrugged and grimaced, but seemed unwilling to discuss the matter further. Frances smiled sympathetically before turning her attention back to the scene around her.

  Matthew drove her sedately round Hyde Park. It was at its busiest with the members of the ton wishing to see and be seen. Gossip had obviously been busy, for Frances detected much interest in The Bride. Some of the glances were direct and overtly curious. Some were brief, followed by a whispered aside. She cringed inwardly from the content of the speculation and wished Aldeborough was with her. She felt her shoulders tensing and her fingers gripped the carved ivory handle of her parasol as if it would be torn from her grasp at any minute. What did she expect? Her marriage was obviously the on-dit of the moment. Matthew, aware of her growing silence, cast a glance in her direction, noting the set of her lips and the faint line between her brows, and proceeded to keep up a steady stream of trivial information about those who hailed them.

  ‘You don’t have to worry,’ he ventured finally, as his comments elicited little response. ‘No one will snub you, you know, no matter what the gossips say. As Marchioness of Aldeborough, you will have automatic entrée into the best circles. Unless you do something outrageous, of course, and that’s unlikely.’

  Frances smiled in gratitude. She was not convinced, but out of good manners she forced herself to relax and be entertained.

  A dashing group on horseback overtook them and cantered sedately into the distance.

  ‘Do you ride?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Aldeborough and I decided that it is one of my few talents.’

  Matthew looked at her with an interested enquiry.

  Frances laughed at his expression. ‘When I was deciding whether to become a governess or not,’ she explained enigmatically. ‘Aldeborough decided that, on reflection, it would not be a good idea.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think it would be. I remember Juliet treating Miss Dennison very shabbily. I doubt if you would enjoy it at all—marrying Hugh sounds a much better option to me.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose it is.’ Matthew’s quizzical glance made Frances change the subject rapidly. ‘But I can ride. I occasionally accompanied my uncle when he went hunting, to exercise some of his horses. Would your mother approve, do you think, if I rode in Hyde Park? It must have been the only aspect of my upbringing not under discussion last night!’

  ‘I doubt it.’ They exchanged a smile in perfect understanding.

  ‘Aldeborough brought home a little Spanish mare.’ Matthew picked up the conversation again. ‘She is at the Priory for the present. She’s not up to his weight—or mine, sadly—but she would be perfect for you. Then you can cut a dash with the best of them.’

  ‘I would like that. Aldeborough was with the Army in the Peninsula, I understand.’

  ‘Yes. Forgive me. I forget how little you will know about him—and I know he rarely talks about his army days. He was a Captain in one of the Hussar regiments, but had to sell out when Richard died. He didn’t want to, but it left him little alternative. I wish he would let me go.’

  ‘He wasn’t very encouraging, was he?’

  ‘No. I could accept his decision with more forbearance, but I know how much he enjoyed it. Not the carnage and the loss of friends, and the horrors of the siege of Badajoz, of course. But the strategy and the … well, you know. And he was probably destined for great things. He was mentioned in dispatches after the Battle of Salamanca.’ Matthew sighed as he manoeuvred his horses round a group of saunterers. ‘I wish he would talk about it more, but he just clams up. It is one thing to read about it in The Times, but it is quite another to hear it from someone who was in the thick of it. All I know is, he would rather have stayed with his regiment—he never wanted the title or the estate with all its duties. He must find it very dull after the excitement of campaigning. Perhaps that’s why he is so rackety at present. I don’t think I should have said that to you, should I?’

  ‘What? That my husband is rackety? Probably not.’ Frances noted his consternation with some amusement.

  ‘All I meant to say was—’

  ‘I know what you meant to say,’ she reassured him.

  ‘That’s all right, then. I would not want to upset you.’ He then let the matter drop, with obvious relief, to introduce Frances to a passing acquaintance. But it left Frances with much to think about. Here were more facets to Aldeborough than were at first apparent and she discovered a sudden desire to know him better.

  She was stirred from her reverie by Matthew.

  ‘Just our luck,’ he grinned ruefully. ‘Here is The Iceberg. For once I wish Julie was with us. She is much better at social chit-chat.’

  An ancient landaulet pulled up beside them as Matthew reined in the bays. So this was the much-admired Miss Penelope Vowchurch and, on first impressions, Frances felt her heart sink in her chest. She was a polished, handsome lady with glossy brown curls falling in ordered ringlets and clear, light blue eyes. Her skin was fair, fla
wless like the petals of a blush rose, her features regular in the classical mode. Her clothes were elegant and demure, nothing extreme, but with more than a brief nod towards fashion. Miss Vowchurch inclined her head graciously towards Frances, her social smile well in place. She was a talented water colourist, her singing voice was a delight to hear and she could speak French and Italian very prettily. She would never be ill mannered, never malicious. But there was a challenge in those clear eyes, which the smile did not warm. Frances experienced an urge to pick up the challenge rather than become a victim. She furled her parasol with determination. She had had enough set-downs from Lady Aldeborough to last a lifetime.

  Matthew made the introductions, his tone carefully neutral.

  ‘I am delighted to meet you.’ Miss Vowchurch extended a slender gloved hand. ‘Lady Aldeborough has lunched with my mama today and she has told us so much about you.’ Her voice was as well modulated and as elegant as her appearance.

  ‘Indeed? Lady Aldeborough spoke much of you at dinner last night. I feel that I know you already.’

  Miss Vowchurch’s eyebrows rose faintly. ‘I believe that you are related to the Mortimers? We know them well socially. We are forever invited to their town house. But we were never, to my recollection, introduced to you there. I am sure I would have remembered.’

  ‘I have not had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the Earl of Wigmore, my cousin, but that will be remedied now that I am fixed in town for some time. Perhaps you are acquainted with my paternal relatives with whom I have been living, Lord and Lady Torrington?’

  ‘We have been introduced.’ Miss Vowchurch turned to Matthew, neatly shutting Frances out of the discussion of common acquaintance.

  ‘I expect we shall meet at dear Phoebe’s celebration party tonight. She is such a good friend of mine. Do you go there, Matthew?’

  ‘Orders have been given. It will be a full family turn-out, I believe. And now that Frances is a member of the family, Aldeborough wishes to introduce her to as many of the relatives as possible.’