The Runaway Heiress

by Anne O'Brien

  Guilt smote him afresh. What on earth was he thinking, to go to Newmarket and leave Frances alone in London when he knew that her life might be at risk? Was he out of his mind? But the last thing he wanted was to remain to be rebuffed and sniped at by a frigid and unco-operative wife. No! To hell with it. He would go to Newmarket—and to the devil, if that is what she believed. The only action he could take, for his own peace of mind, was to ensure that, in his absence, his wife did not venture out unaccompanied. That much he could do. He went in search of Watkins to leave some crisp and efficient instructions.

  On the following morning Frances was cajoled—or bullied, as she personally considered—into accompanying Aunt May on an apparently urgent appointment. Juliet was still abed after a week of parties, breakfasts and routs, claiming that she was worn to the bone, and for once could not be persuaded to join them.

  The main objective of their outing was to visit the establishment of Rundell and Bridge. ‘For,’ as Aunt May explained, ‘if my diamond necklace needs cleaning and perhaps resetting, then I will go to the best. Lord Cotherstone always swore by Rundell and Bridge for quality when buying jewels.’

  ‘But do you need it today?’ Frances would rather have stayed at home. A nagging headache and a desolate emptiness in the region of her heart made the expedition—any expedition—unattractive. ‘When did you last wear it?’

  ‘Oh, not for years. In fact, probably not since Juliet was born. But if I am to stay in London for any length of time, think of the opportunities. Besides, a woman should never be without a diamond necklace. And mine is distinctly dingy.’ Aunt May cast Frances a keen glance. ‘Come along. An outing in the fresh air will do you good. And it will stop you thinking about Aldeborough and what he might be getting up to.’ Juliet had thoughtfully brought her up to date on the interesting events at Almack’s, not failing to include Aldeborough’s perfidy in detail. ‘It is not fashionable to miss him, you know. You could try flirting with someone else to pass the time—a little flirtation is always good for the spirits.’

  Frances was horrified that her thoughts could be so easily read. Pride rose to her rescue. ‘There is nothing wrong with my spirits. And I assure you, Aunt May, I have no desire to know what Aldeborough is doing. I am certainly not missing him. What a foolish suggestion!’

  ‘Glad to hear it. Go and fetch your bonnet.’

  There was nothing more to be said. As the morning promised the possibility of showers, it was decided to order up the barouche rather than walk. This would also allow Lady Cotherstone to take Wellington with her. He could not cope with a long walk these days, and neither, she announced, could she.

  It surprised Frances that Aunt May was greeted as an old and much-valued customer, ushered into an inner sanctum with many bows and expressions of concern for her health, by Mr Bridge himself. To Frances’s amusement, Lady Cotherstone flirted like a young girl, remembering the days when her late and rarely lamented husband had bought her stones of considerable excellence from that very shop. The business was concluded to the satisfaction of all, the necklace handed over for refurbishment and Mr Bridge expressing the hope that the new Marchioness of Aldeborough would perhaps patronise his establishment in the near future. Having admired a very pretty gold bracelet, Frances expressed positive intentions to return when, she told herself, her heart was less sore.

  She saw the lady, standing beside their barouche, as they were bowed out of the shop by Mr Bridge. She wore a fur-trimmed pelisse against the cold in a rich peat brown that enhanced her golden curls. Her pale straw bonnet was silk edged, decorated with matching silk flowers, its brim framing her lovely face. Her skin was translucent in the grey morning light and her eyes were of a particularly soft blue, but on inspection Frances saw that she was not in her first youth. She had a maid to carry her gloves and reticule, standing at a discreet distance. She gave the impression that she had been awaiting them, by design rather than chance, for some little time. Frances recognised her immediately and froze in indecision as a sudden wave of anger, not unmixed with jealousy, swept through her.

  The lady, not unaware of her effect on Frances, walked gracefully forward. ‘Good morning, Lady Aldeborough. We have not been introduced, but I believe that you are aware of who I am.’ Her voice was pleasantly low and musical. Frances could imagine Aldeborough being unable to resist anything she demanded from him in those persuasive tones and she burned with envy.

  ‘Mrs Winters. Yes, of course. You have been pointed out to me.’ Frances took a deep breath to compose herself in this unlooked-for situation. Good manners overcame personal inclination, but that did not mean that she had to be anything other than coldly civil. ‘May I introduce Lady Cotherstone, my husband’s great-aunt. Aunt May, this is Mrs Winters, an … an acquaintance of my husband.’

  ‘I know who she is.’ Aunt May held out her gnarled hand to greet the lady and smiled with relish. ‘I am very pleased to meet you.’

  Mrs Winter smiled wryly, showing a glimpse of perfect teeth. ‘I would value a conversation with you, Lady Aldeborough—and with Lady Cotherstone, of course, if it is convenient.’

  For a moment Frances was speechless. Into her mind leapt her last memory of Mrs Winter in vivid detail: Aldeborough bowing gracefully over this woman’s hand as she smiled and tossed her golden curls provocatively. And she had had the audacity to encourage him, one hand resting intimately on his arm in the privacy of a curtained alcove. And now she was requesting a conversation! Frances contemplated turning on her heel and snubbing Letitia Winters in public, no matter what the social repercussions. But not so Aunt May, who read the sparks in Frances’s eyes correctly and took control of the situation with masterly decision.

  ‘Mrs Winters. Letitia, is it not? Let us not stand upon ceremony. I suggest we get into the barouche and stop blocking the pavement and attracting attention which none of us wants. And since the sun has decided to shine on us, we could take a turn round Hyde Park.’

  The ladies bowed to such superior management and settled themselves into the barouche with fur rugs tucked round them by an attentive footman. Unless she was prepared to walk home alone, Frances had no choice in the matter. Mrs Winters, leaving her maid with strict instructions to await her at the entrance to the Park, was able to express some relief to herself. She had not been convinced that she was taking the wisest course of action, but she had watched events at Almack’s with interest and concern. Far more amusing, she acknowledged, than the social occasion itself, which was invariably dull with its rigid rules and eagle-eyed Patronesses. And as for the refreshments, Mrs Winters had felt that a few of those present could have benefited from a glass of good port before the evening was over. But she had seen Frances’s unhappiness and her cold response to Aldeborough and had been sorry for it. She suspected that her own very public conversation with him had been partially, if not wholly, responsible. A pity. She sighed as she pulled her pelisse more closely round her shoulders. She liked Aldeborough—more than a little, if the truth were told—and was sorry that their liaison had come to an end. If all gentlemen were like him … But she felt that she must do her best for his wife. A taking little thing. Very young, of course, but with some style and countenance and a forthright way with her that Mrs Winters admired. And it would be a pleasure to upset the Dowager and Penelope Vowchurch. Now Lady Cotherstone was a wily old bird. Her presence here this morning might just be what was needed, especially if The Bride was a little shy—or downright reluctant—at taking advice from Aldeborough’s mistress.

  Until they reached the ornamental gates their progress was slow and they talked stiltedly about the weather and the present fashion for fur cloaks in the unseasonably cool weather. Lady Cotherstone carried the burden of the conversation, amused by the reticence of her two companions. But once into the quieter drives of Hyde Park, sparsely populated at this time in the morning, silence fell. What a bizarre situation, thought Frances. What would Aldeborough say if he heard that she was associating in public with his mist
ress. And as for the Dowager! Her immediate anger had subsided a little and a bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her chest. She was intent on suppressing it when she caught the lady’s eye, noting the gleam and the quick smile of mischief. She could not help but respond, at the same time wishing with all her heart that Mrs Winters did not exist.

  ‘I know what you are thinking.’ Mrs Winters broke the silence. ‘What would Aldeborough say if he saw us riding together round the Park?’

  Aunt May cackled inelegantly before Frances could think of a suitable reply. ‘I could tell you, but perhaps it would not be polite in this mealy-mouthed society. Well, Mrs Winters. Is this not cosy? I had no idea my morning was going to be so interesting.’ She sat back with her hands folded around the plump and somnolent body of Wellington, ready to be entertained.

  ‘You said that you wished to have conversation with me,’ said Frances stiffly. ‘I do not believe that we have anything to say to each other. How can I possibly help you?’

  ‘I hope that I might be able to help you, my lady. I believe that I need to speak. Forgive me if my observations seem very personal but, you see, I saw the distance between you and Aldeborough last night at Almack’s.’

  ‘You are mistaken. And what possible concern is that of yours?’ Frances’s reply was icy.

  ‘Why, none. And normally I would not presume—unless I helped to cause that dissension. My dear …’ she leaned forward to place her hand gently on Frances’s, trying to ignore the resulting flinch as Frances tried to pull away ‘… let me speak plainly. Aldeborough has no relationship with me other than friendship. And he has had none since your marriage.’

  Frances found herself engulfed by embarrassment, her cheeks flushed with sudden heat despite the chill wind. She cast an anguished look at Aunt May, who merely shrugged her shoulders with a speculative gleam in her eye.

  ‘I have a great affection for him and I wish him well,’ Mrs Winters continued. ‘But you have to believe me—I mean nothing to him. I envy you.’

  Frances decided that it was a time for honesty rather than false modesty, so she swallowed her self-consciousness. ‘How can I believe you? At Almack’s my husband singled you out. And you appeared to have a prolonged and intimate conversation. It seemed to me that you were very well acquainted in spite of your protestations of innocence.’

  ‘It was merely a matter of completion of business. Of a financial nature, you understand.’ Mrs Winters smiled rather sadly. ‘Who do you think ordered the beautiful dress that you wore for your marriage and wore again at Almack’s? He could hardly ask his mother to arrange it, could he? And I arranged the purchase and dispatch of a particular riding habit—I understand the original was damaged.’

  May muffled another crack of laughter. Frances had to smile at the prospect. ‘Aldeborough told me what to buy and I arranged it. And very beautiful you looked too. The pale satin was perfect for your colouring. He described you exactly.’

  ‘Then I have to thank you. I have never owned anything so fine.’ Frances still found it difficult to unbend, but had to acknowledge her debt. ‘And all the accessories, of course.’

  ‘And you were thinking that Aldeborough had bought the underwear!’ Aunt May patted her knee understandingly.

  ‘Aunt May, you are incorrigible.’

  ‘Can I say something?’ Mrs Winters studied her gloved hands for a moment as if considering her next statement. ‘Aldeborough does not deserve his reputation. Yes, it is self-inflicted, but chiefly to spite his mother and those who would accept her slanderous comments rather than the evidence of their own eyes and their knowledge of the man. His closeness to his brother could not—should not—be questioned. It hurt him beyond belief and he chose to defend himself by becoming the reckless heedless creature that gossip had created. We became … acquainted at a time when he had first returned to London from the Peninsula. His brother had died and he had just sold out. He was not very happy, you understand?’

  Frances nodded. She understood the damage brought about by Richard’s death and the Dowager’s bitter reaction only too well.

  ‘He cares more for you than you might believe.’

  ‘No.’ Frances’s reply was dogmatic. ‘He would have been better off without me.’

  ‘I cannot agree.’

  ‘You do not know.’ It was little more than a whisper. Frances studied her clasped hands, knuckles white, in her lap.

  ‘Very well. I must accept your knowledge of the situation, but may I be blunt? If you will take my advice, you will not allow yourself to become too intimate with Penelope Vowchurch. She has a cold ambition that bears watching and she had high hopes of marriage with Aldeborough. She also has developed a surprising liaison with Charles Hanwell, your cousin. They are not to be trusted.’

  ‘Charles? And Penelope?’

  Frances became aware that Aunt May beside her was nodding in agreement. She looked at her with raised brows.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, my dear. I know he is your cousin. But I think there is truth in Mrs Winter’s observation. And, if you are honest, you think so too.’

  Frances sighed. ‘Forgive me. You have given me much to think about this morning. I suppose I should be grateful.’

  ‘Then I have fulfilled my obligation to you and your husband. If you would let me down at the gate, my maid will be waiting for me there. I am pleased to have been of service to you, my lady.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Winters.’

  ‘Please call me Letitia. Although I doubt if our paths will cross with any frequency in the future. I find that I am sorry for that.’

  ‘So am I.’ In spite of everything, Frances found herself able to give the lady a smile of genuine warmth. ‘In other circumstances, perhaps we might have been friends.’

  ‘One more thing—’ Mrs Winters prepared to alight ‘—make him talk to you about Richard.’

  ‘I have tried, but he will not.’

  ‘Don’t give up. It is important that he does.’ She raised her hand in farewell as she alighted gracefully from the carriage and turned away.

  They were silent for much of the way back to Cavendish Square.

  ‘I think you need to talk to Hugh,’ was Aunt May’s final comment on the morning’s revelations.

  ‘Yes. I have not always been sympathetic.’

  ‘That is not at all what I meant. You have had your reasons and my nephew is not the easiest man to read. Don’t be too ready to take the blame. But you both need to be more honest with each other and not so bound up in the aftermath of past events. It will not be easy.’

  ‘No. It will not be easy—but I must agree with you.’ Frances’s tone was bleak. ‘I will talk to him. When he returns home from Newmarket … whenever that might be!’

  Chapter Twelve

  The three days that followed in Cavendish Square had a deceptively peaceful quality. On the surface the Aldeborough household enjoyed its varied and disparate existence. The Marquis remained in Newmarket and it was uncertain when he would return. Ambrose, whose visits to Cavendish Square were sufficiently frequent to make him one of the family, was still in Yorkshire, shooting rabbits on his uncle’s estate, but with imminent plans to return to town. Matthew, always attracted by the promise of horseflesh and gambling, had accompanied Aldeborough. Frances and Juliet were thrown into each other’s company and enjoyed the experience. They walked in Hyde Park. They shopped in the most stylish streets and frittered money on whatever took their fancy—for, as Juliet observed, what is the use of an inheritance if it is not to be used for pleasurable purposes? They watched a balloon ascension and attended a soirée and a small private party. Aunt May was selective in her participation, but could be relied upon to chaperon them when the Dowager refused or pleaded a headache. It came to much the same thing. That lady’s attitude towards Frances remained frosty with a politeness as keen as a drawn sword, but as her daughter-in-law was now on visiting terms with the Earl and Countess of Wigmore, and a substantial heiress, there was little
room for censorious comment. Frances found the disapproving glances tiring but no longer distressing and accepted it with cheerful resignation.

  But she missed Aldeborough deeply. She expected—and longed—to hear his footstep in the hall at any time. She missed the easy companionship that they had begun to enjoy at the Priory and had been so wilfully destroyed by his confession to Aunt May. And she missed his charming smile, which made her catch her breath, and the nerve-tingling touch of his hands and his lips on her skin. She found it difficult to sleep. She could no longer pretend that she felt nothing but gratitude towards him. She had fallen in love with him … and was overcome with grief that he did not love her. She must be content with his need for her body. It was better than nothing. But in the privacy of her bedchamber she shed the tears that she would never permit him to see.

  At breakfast on the fourth morning, with only Frances and Juliet lingering over the teacups, trying to decide on the respective merits of a visit to the lending library or a drive in the barouche, Watkins interrupted them.

  ‘A letter for you, my lady.’ He offered it on a silver salver. ‘It was delivered personally for you a moment ago.’

  ‘Thank you, Watkins.’ She smiled as she tore it open in eager anticipation. Letters and invitations were still a new experience for her.

  ‘I expect it is another invitation.’ Juliet stifled a yawn. ‘I declare that we could be out every night of the week. Perhaps it will be something different—a breakfast or a poetry reading.’

  ‘You don’t like poetry readings! No. No it isn’t.’ Frances concentrated on the single sheet in her hand, her eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘Listen to this.’ Her relationship with Juliet was now such that she had no hesitation in reading the missive aloud.