Lord Runthorne's Dilemma: A Regency Romance

by Steele, Sarah-Jane

  “Indeed, you care for her almost as though she was your own,” he said.

  Next to him Elizabeth choked. “I think we should be going.”

  “Oh, I am in no hurry.” He grinned at her discomfiture. “I understand that you have given Alice a home. That was good of you,” he said, turning back to Mrs Turner. Elizabeth pulled on his sleeve but he ignored her. He folded her fingers into the crook of his arm. She bowed her head in surrender, but not before he caught the resignation in her eyes.

  Mrs Turner smiled at his compliment but shook her head. “Goodness has nothing to do with it,” she demurred. “The poor lass lost her mother.”

  He nodded and half turned to Elizabeth. She looked angry. Angry and hurt. He suddenly had the horrible suspicion that he had misjudged the situation.

  “How did she lose her mother?”

  Mrs Turner’s motherly bosom rose as she sighed. “She died in childbirth, poor woman and her man rejected Alice. Would have nothing to do with her, saying she’d taken the one good thing in his life.”

  “That was harsh.”

  “Oh, I’m not saying that he wouldn’t have come round at some point but he broke his neck one night. Roaring drunk, he was.” Mrs Turner sniffed, obviously upset.

  Runthorne nodded, not quite sure what to say.

  “He was Mrs Turner’s brother-in-law,” Elizabeth said, softly and he realised that her anger was for the pain he was causing Mrs Turner. “She was also her sister-in-law’s midwife. She brought Alice into the world.”

  “I am sorry,” he said.

  Mrs Turner shook her head as though to dispel her gloom. “Ah, well, it was a long time ago, but some of the other children know her pa didn’t want her and tease Alice something dreadful. I do worry when she’s late home.”

  “Then I apologise again for delaying her,” he said.

  “Come, my lord,” Elizabeth said and Runthorne finally allowed her to steer him away, although he could not quite stop himself glancing behind him.

  ***

  Elizabeth looked at Lord Runthorne from beneath her lashes. They walked in silence, he considerately matching his steps to hers but otherwise not appearing to be conscious of her presence.

  “Are you satisfied,” Elizabeth said, when she finally grew tired of being ignored.

  He shot her a startled look. “Satisfied?”

  “Yes. At finding I am not Alice’s mother.” She searched his face to see if her barb had hit its mark. When he did not answer she spoke again. “So now that I no longer need rescuing, you can apologise to Miss Lacey and resign yourself to marrying her. You will have to anyway. Lady Delphine will see to that.”

  Elizabeth quailed at his furious expression. “What are you playing at Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth lifted her chin determined she would not be browbeaten by him. “Do you realise how insulting was your instant belief that I was Alice’s mother, that I was some lightskirt,” she said, rather than answer his question.

  Lord Runthorne raised a brow. “Strange, I thought that my acceptance of Alice was an indication of my love for you.”

  “Love? What do you know of that?” Elizabeth dropped his arm and strode ahead. She had to put distance between them before she said something unforgivable.

  He, however, did not seem inclined to let her go. In two long strides he closed the distance and swung her around to face him. Elizabeth was overwhelmingly aware of his masculinity. Face to face, alone in a dusty country lane. She tilted her head so she could see him better.

  “You stubborn, foolish woman. I love you. But I will not have you play with me, Elizabeth.” His voice was harsh and Elizabeth recoiled. His hand tightened almost, but not quite, hurting.

  He was so close Elizabeth could have reached up a mere inch and kissed him. She gritted her teeth, rousing her temper. She would not do something so stupid. Not now. Not when he had hurt her so deeply.

  “It is not I who play games, my lord,” she said, putting all her hurt and anger in her voice. “You tell me you love me only days after becoming betrothed to another, then you manufacture a quarrel with her so she will jilt you, leaving you free to do what exactly, my lord?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Do you expect me to happily accept a proposal from you, just to find myself abandoned? Is this some kind of evil game to punish me for jilting you so long ago?”

  His lips quirked. “I have not proposed yet,” he said.

  “Oh!” Elizabeth did not believe he had said that. She rammed down hard with her heel on his foot, but her soft kid boot made no impression on his more substantial footwear.

  Lord Runthorne gazed deep into her eyes. “This is no game, Elizabeth,” he said and lowered his lips to hers.

  Elizabeth wanted to resist. For a moment she did, but then she could not help herself. She melted into his embrace.

  His lips were strong, but felt so soft against hers, as though he did not want to frighten her. Gently his lips parted hers and he tasted her. Elizabeth curled her fingers in his hair, knocking his hat aside. Their kiss deepened. His hands no longer held her arms. Instead they stroked her shoulders, sliding slowly down her back, drawing her closer.

  There was a low, mewling sound and Elizabeth realised, shocked, that it was coming from her own throat. How she managed, she could not say, but somehow she wrenched her lips away. “No,” she said. “I will not be distracted this way.” She was breathless, as though she had been running.

  “You find me distracting?” He smiled, but there was an expression in his eyes that made Elizabeth step back out of his loosened grasp. She longed for him to kiss her again, for him to look at her like that forever. She did not trust herself to remain so close.

  “What I feel is immaterial,” she said. “You may believe Miss Lacey will not marry you now, but you have not taken account of Lady Delphine. She always gets what she wants.”

  Lord Runthorne smiled at her. “So do I.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Runthorne kept smiling, although it pained him to see Elizabeth look so cynical. If she thought Lady Delphine would best him, she was in for a surprise. Lady Delphine was not omnipotent, despite what everyone seemed to think.

  Elizabeth strode ahead. Not for her the mincing steps so beloved of Society. His smile deepened as he admired the gentle sway of her hips. He followed, only taking his place by her side when she turned to frown enquiringly at him.

  He offered her his arm. She hesitated and Runthorne could not help remembering the way her eyes had strayed to his bare forearms earlier. He watched as she bit her lip. A lip that was still bruised from his kiss.

  “Is there anything else worrying you, Elizabeth?”

  “Of course not,” she said, but she did not take his arm, speeding her steps a little. He had her rattled, he knew and he did not think he should be blamed for being pleased. They strolled in silence, until the house came into view.

  “I have not yet seen your aunt’s folly,” he said when they stopped. “It is dedicated to Aphrodite, I understand. Would you show it to me, my love?”

  She started, as though she had forgotten he was there. “Lord Runthorne,” she said.

  “Please, call me James.”

  She sighed, and he saw the tension leave her. “James,” she said. Then her eyes strayed over his shoulder. “I am not sure that would be a good idea,” she said.

  He was sure that that was not what she had intended to say. He turned to see what had caught her attention. Lady Delphine was walking with undignified haste towards them, Aurelia in tow.

  “Runthorne, a moment if you will,” Lady Delphine called, her voice artificially pleasant.

  “You would not be so cruel as to abandon me, Elizabeth,” he said for her ears only.

  “Oh no, my lord,” she said, with just a hint of amusement in her sad eyes. “You assured me that you were a match for Lady Delphine, you have no need of my protection.”

  She swept him a curtsey that held more than a little irony and strode away.


  “That young woman should learn to comport herself with more decorum,” Lady Delphine said, as she reached him. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Elizabeth walk away. “Such ill-breeding.”

  “Balked of your prey, Lady Delphine?”

  Lady Delphine turned up her nose. “I am sure I do not understand you, Runthorne. I was merely commenting on the poor manners of young people today. Not like my dearest child,” she added, dragging her daughter forward.

  Aurelia, he noted with concern, was looking miserable. He could not help wondering what she had suffered. Lady Delphine’s tongue was sharp at the best of times. To be thwarted by her own daughter would have sat ill with her. Especially with the defection of her husband to add to the insult.

  “My Aurelia,” Lady Delphine continued, oblivious to his thoughts, “has the virtue of a gentle nature.”

  “Trust me, Lady Delphine, I am fully conversant with Miss Lacey’s virtues.”

  The glance Aurelia sent him told him that she, at least, was aware of the double edge to that comment. Lady Delphine’s bosom swelled with relief.

  “Then I have no doubt we can put your foolish argument behind us and look to a happy future. You have my permission to call her by her name, again. Now, my dear foolish Aurelia has something she wishes to say to you.”

  Runthorne had fended off the pretensions of many match-making mamas before, but even he felt a slight chill at the expression in Lady Delphine’s eyes. He was about to make a swift retreat but there was something about Aurelia’s haunted expression that made him change his mind.

  “Perhaps Miss Lacey would care to walk with me for a moment,” he said, instead.

  “We shall be delighted,” Lady Delphine said.

  “Alone.”

  Lady Delphine tapped him playfully, but painfully, with her fan. “Now Runthorne, you know I cannot allow that.”

  He raised his brow. “Alone or not at all.”

  Lady Delphine opened and closed her fan with a snap. “Oh, very well, I shall stay here.”

  “You are all generosity, Lady Delphine.”

  He guided Aurelia away and they walked in silence until he was sure they were well out of earshot. The maze crouched on their left and Runthorne turned their steps away from it.

  “Well,” he said, finally, “what is it that you wish to say?”

  Aurelia’s face was set, her eyes turned to the horizon. “I wish to apologise, my lord,” she said in a stilted voice. “Please understand that I am young and can be foolish. Mr Compton,” her voice faltered but she rallied. “Mr Compton has been most kind and attentive and I fear that I have allowed his admiration to turn my head. I have said things I did not mean and beg you to forgive me.”

  She clasped her hands together. “When we are married I will of course, bow to your wishes.”

  “I see.” He watched Aurelia’s face. Her cheek was as pale as wax and she would not meet his eyes. “Well, that was a pretty speech. Now, what do you really want to say?”

  He had startled her and now she met his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  He sighed. “Foolish child, I see your mouth move, but it is your mother’s words I hear. Such humility is not worthy of you. You are a fighter.”

  He knew that he had offended her. She was glaring at him. “Good, that is more like it,” he said.

  “Now, tell me, Aurelia, what is it that you truly want? A title? I am not the only one who can give it to you. Do you want wealth? Again I am not the only gentleman who can keep you in comfort. In fact there are a number of elderly gentlemen who can give you all that and not inconvenience you too much.”

  “Stop it,” she said. “You make it sound so sordid. Is it so wrong to want to be comfortable? Mother says…” She broke off.

  “Indeed,” he said. “Your mother. Now, I will ask you again, what is it that you want?”

  Aurelia stamped her foot. “Why are you making this so hard?”

  “Because, believe it or not, my dear child, I care enough for you that I would like you to be happy.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wide in astonishment.

  He tapped her chin. “Close your mouth, my dear.” He steered them towards a low stone bench and sat her down. “I want you to answer me honestly. Do you have a tendre for Mr Compton?”

  A slow flush stained her cheeks. “I do not know what you mean,” she said, gazing at her hands.

  “Aurelia.”

  She glanced at him, startled, and then frowned down at her gloved hands. “I do not know,” she said, at last. “No, my lord, truly I do not know. He is so kind. He listens to me, I mean he really listens. Most gentlemen, you as well, my lord, do not seem to see beyond my face. I see their eyes glaze over as I speak, as though I can say nothing worthy of interest. Mr Compton’s do not.”

  Runthorne nodded, recognising the truth of her words. “My apologies for not listening, my dear.”

  “It does not matter,” she said, waving his apology away. “I suppose you are listening now.” She ducked her head, in thought. “I am comfortable with Mr Compton,” she said, slowly as though examining her feelings for the first time. “I know that I will always be safe with him. When he is sad or worried, it makes me unhappy. He makes me feel important, cared for.”

  Then she sighed, appearing more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. “But what does it matter, my lord? Mother would never countenance a marriage there. She has her heart set on you and that is what she will have.”

  “We had a very public argument, Aurelia,” Runthorne said, gently. “I do not expect anyone would believe we will reconcile.”

  “Mother thinks it can be hushed up. She is determined to try.”

  “I am afraid that is impossible. I am not willing to play her game.”

  Aurelia looked frightened. “You do not understand, she is already making my life miserable. What will become of me if it is known that I jilted you? I do not think I could live like Miss Hampton, snubbed by Society, always at home. Mother would never forgive me.”

  He sat down beside her. “Firstly, the situation is quite different. No official notice has been sent out, you may thank your father for that, and you are not jilting me on our wedding day. You are hardly the first lady to mistake her heart.”

  “Perhaps it would have been better if Papa had sent the notice,” Aurelia sagged in defeat.

  “Do you really believe that?” He smiled. “Does it not strike you as odd that he did not send it?”

  “Papa is not the most organised of men.”

  “I think you do your father a disservice,” he said. “I have noted that, when he wants to do something, he does it. I think your father cares for you more than you realise. Perhaps you should ask him to help you.”

  Aurelia gave a tired smile. “You do not know Papa like I do. He has never stirred himself to help me or my sister.”

  “And yet last night he came to your defence. I wonder, have you ever asked him for help?”

  Now Aurelia blinked. She seemed surprised. “No,” she said.

  “Then perhaps it is time you did,” he said. “As for Mr Compton, you might be uncertain of your feelings, but I am sure of his.”

  Runthorne stood and drew Aurelia to her feet. “He cares for you, my dear, enough to fight for you if necessary.”

  Aurelia blushed again. “Do you really think so?”

  He laughed. “I know so, you foolish child. Go. Tell your mother you did your best but that I spurned you. Then go and mend your broken heart with Mr Compton.”

  For the first time he could remember Aurelia gave him a genuine smile and her lovely face became truly beautiful. “Thank you, my lord,” she said and walked away.

  Runthorne shook his head then set off himself. It was time he had a private word with Mr Lacey.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Elizabeth wanted to be alone. She slipped into her room, her emotions in turmoil. On the one hand she knew she loved James but, on the other she was sure she should still be insulted.


  He thought you were Alice’s mother and he still has not asked you to marry him. He kisses you as though you were a lightskirt.

  And you like it.

  Elizabeth stopped that thought. She exchanged her gown for an old wool dress she used for gardening. Perhaps if she occupied her hands, her incorrigible conscience might stop bothering her. She tied the ribbon of her ugly chip straw hat. Its one virtue was that it was large enough to keep the sun completely off her face and shoulders.

  Once ready she turned to the servant stairs that led out onto the terrace. At the bottom of the stairs she opened a cupboard and took out a pair of old gardening gloves, a basket and a pair of secateurs. Fresh flowers were needed for the dining room, she decided.

  Outside she hesitated. Roses or lilac, she wondered? There was some clematis that might look pretty or maybe some honeysuckle would be suitable. She started towards the flower garden. Then she stopped. Charles and Mary were plainly visible wandering aimlessly between the flowerbeds. She loved them both dearly, but did not, with her heart still torn, feel that she could intrude. Instead she turned her feet towards the walled rose garden. Perhaps roses would be more appropriate after all, she thought.

  The gate creaked a little as she opened it. She made a mental note to ask one of the gardeners to oil it. The heady scent of sun-warmed roses greeted her, almost overwhelming in its intensity. Somewhere a lazy bee droned amongst the flowers and, in the centre of the garden, the fountain played, providing some relief from the heat.

  Walking slowly along the paved path, Elizabeth paused now and then to snip a bloom and lay it in her basket. The steady, repetitive work soothed her until she was able to examine her emotions without agitation.

  That she loved James, she did not deny. How could she? But did she trust him? Elizabeth sighed. She stroked the white rose in front of her. Yes, she trusted him. Or at least she trusted that he spoke the truth when he said he loved her.

  The gravel path crunched under her feet as she continued to another rosebush. These roses were a delicate pink, like a child’s cheek. She snipped and laid the perfect blooms with the others in her basket, her mind turning to the next issue. But if James was not free to marry her, if Lady Delphine prevailed, what did that mean for her?