The Runaway Chaperone: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Alice Kirks

Matthew smiled. “This way, it doesn’t go everywhere.”

  “I suppose,” Arabella allowed. “But it’s less than half the fun.”

  “And I don’t get grit in my hair.”

  They both laughed.

  When he was alone again, he found himself recalling how close he and Arabella had always been. Since Alexandra had arrived, they had returned to their easy, playful interaction – before her arrival, they had spoken much less. He had always kept himself busy and was often out of the house, and Arabella had been sullen and closed whenever he’d attempted to talk – on the rare occasions when he’d done.

  “She has been good for the family,” he reminded himself.

  She had been especially good for Arabella. But he still needed to keep his distance. He would host the party, and Alexandra would be included, but he would try to limit his own contact with her, and he certainly would not speak directly to her. He had to try and make himself move past his attraction to her.

  Whatever it did to him to do so.

  He stood and went out into the hallway. He was walking past the drawing-room when he heard Arabella and Alexandra talking.

  “It’s so exciting! You must wear one of my dresses! Frank will be there…I can’t wait!”

  “That’s lovely, Arabella,” Alexandra murmured. “And I’m sure this dress will do perfectly well.” She gestured to the dress she wore. Matthew stepped back, trying to avoid her seeing him.

  He stiffened and walked on up the hallway to the stairs. He should not be behaving like this! Alexandra was the chaperone, nothing more.

  He needed to remind himself of that.

  He also, he recalled, should go and find his manservant and find out if his velvet suit was ready for wearing. He was hosting a party tomorrow, after all.

  Chapter 10

  Alexandra looked out of the window of the drawing-room. She felt at peace. It had been a day since the incident in the village, and she had relaxed somewhat when nothing happened at once. If the man had really been who she thought, surely, he would have rushed off straight away to inform her father! Every day she was left in peace made her feel threat less likely.

  She looked down at the lawns, where warm sunshine sparkled on the grass, and let herself think about the party.

  “This gown is more than adequate for me.”

  She had learned from the last party that it would only make her feel awkward to borrow a dress. No, she would wear the starched cream dress, with its high collar and unfashionable sleeves, and keep herself out of people’s conversations.

  “Alexandra…” Arabella called. “Can you help me? I’ve got the thread all snarled, and it’s breaking.”

  Alexandra went to Arabella, taking the embroidery from her silk-smooth hands.

  “Let me see…oh! It’s not so bad. Pass me that needle, could you?”

  As they worked together, winding the silk loose and stretching the fabric, Alexandra thought about how nice it was for her to have something like a sister.

  At home, it had always been just her – Mama had died when Alexandra was just two, and she had never known her. She shuddered, thinking about how awful it had been with no companions except her cold, distant father. Here, with Arabella’s sleek hair resting on her shoulder, her body snuggled against her, she knew what it might have been like to have a little sister.

  “There! We did that so well!” Arabella beamed. She looked up at Alexandra, who wrapped her arms around her in a hug.

  “Yes, we did,” she said. “Now, come on. Should we go and dress for dinner?”

  “Hurray!” Arabella said, and took her hand. They walked up to Arabella’s bedroom.

  “Are you sure you won’t borrow my dresses?” Arabella asked, when they reached the door. Alexandra nodded.

  “I think it would be best if I wear this. I don’t want people getting confused. I am your chaperone, after all. Imagine if they didn’t know! You could get up to all sorts.”

  Arabella grinned. “Oh, Alexandra! You’re not just a chaperone. You’re like part of my family.”

  Alexandra felt overcome. She looked away, hiding her tears. She’d only been here two weeks! And yet, Arabella was already accepting her.

  “I am honored, Lady Arabella,” she said simply. “Now, I should go and get ready.”

  “Me too! I’m wearing my muslin gown – the one Matthew had made for me last year. It’s white with little squares…so pretty! I think Frank likes it.”

  Alexandra nodded. “I’m sure it is. And you are a very pretty girl, no matter what you wear. Remember that.”

  “Oh! Thank you, Alexandra!” Arabella beamed. She was still smiling as she turned and went into her bedroom.

  Alexandra sat down in her room. The furniture was sparse – a bed, a nightstand, the chair. But up here, on the third floor, she felt completely safe. Even if her father came to fetch her, she trusted that nobody would be able to find her up here.

  “And maybe the staff would help me.”

  Some of the maids – Brenna, Jessica, and the seamstress – liked her. She felt sure that if her father came, they wouldn’t just hand her over to him.

  Not that they know my story.

  She hadn’t, she thought as she carefully unwound her hair from its elaborate style, thought to tell anyone. She had decided that the fewer people who knew where she was, the safer she would be. She had no way of knowing when someone might let a word slip, especially if her father had spies in the village.

  “Miss?” someone called outside her door. She opened it.

  “Yes?” she frowned, seeing Brenna there. Surely, she should be helping her mistress.

  “Her ladyship insists,” she said, passing her a hairpin topped with pearls arranged to make a tiny flower, “that you take this. She said you can’t dress so plainly without doing something nice with your hair.”

  “Oh! Thank you,” Alexandra said, taking the pin. Her heart twisted at the gesture. “But only if she insists.”

  “She does, Miss, she does! She wouldn’t let me finish dressing her until I took it.”

  “Thank you,” Alexandra said, and shut the door quickly, so that nobody would see her tears.

  She looked at the little flower, holding it so that she could examine it properly. It was precious and lovely, and it represented so much. Acceptance, friendship. And all the beautiful things she had lost.

  Sniffing, she tucked it into her hair and straightened her bun. She was ready to go down.

  The dining-room was loud with people. Alexandra heard the chattering from in the hallway, and was surprised when she shrank back, standing behind Arabella nervously. She hadn’t realized how, since the event in the village, she’d been uneasy.

  “Henriette!” Arabella greeted her friend as soon as they walked in. “It’s so lovely to see you. Shall we sit here…?” She gestured to the table, where two other people had already taken their seats. Alexandra tensed, as she recognized one of them as the Duke.

  He looked up at her.

  She looked hastily down at her toes, feeling her heart thud. When she looked up, after dropping a deep curtsey, it was to find him still staring at her. His eyes rested on her body and she felt a pulse thump in her throat.

  “Alexandra!” Arabella called. “Come and sit with us.” She gestured to a seat opposite her. “You are invited, too.”

  “Thank you,” Alexandra whispered, suddenly realizing what a bad idea this was. She recognized the other person who was seated as the Duke’s friend, who she had seen leaving the manor once or twice before. He stood up and bowed and she realized that, despite what she wore, people still assumed she was related to the family.

  “This is Alexandra,” Arabella introduced her to Henriette. “You must have met her at the tea?”

  “Yes,” Lady Henriette said, and Alexandra could hear the discomfort in the younger woman’s voice. “Yes, I did.”

  Alexandra looked at the plate in front of her, feeling her blood boil. She might be the chaperone, but there
was no need for that superior glance, that cold dismissal. She wanted to get up and leave, but duty kept her at the table with Arabella.

  That, and, she thought, glancing sideways, a need not to embarrass the Duke.

  “Ah! Frank!” the Duke said, standing to shake the hand of a young man who walked in, and gesturing him to the table. “Come and sit down. Good to have you here.”

  “Alexandra,” Arabella said, looking up from the table, cheeks dyed a delicate shade of pink. “This is Frank.”

  “Good evening, my Lord,” Alexandra greeted the young man formally. She guessed he must be close to Arabella’s age, perhaps a year or two older. He had blonde hair, blue eyes and she recognized him from the previous evening. She could see the way Arabella looked away and could guess that this was a young man who was very important to her.

  “Good evening,” he said, inclining his head politely. “Excuse me for not bowing, but I’m afraid I’d best remain seated, or the butler will never finish serving dinner!”

  Alexandra laughed and Arabella did too, staring up at him admiringly.

  “Frank is most considerate.”

  Alexandra nodded, feeling joy for Arabella’s affection.

  “Yes,” she agreed,” he is.

  She leaned back and watched everyone as the dinner began. A young lady with blonde hair, called Lady Amelia, arrived, and the butler started placing dishes of soup in front of all of them. Arabella was looking up at Frank, who sat next to her, and when she daintily reached for a napkin, she blushed.

  “Sorry, Frank,” she said, though she’d barely bumped him.

  “Sorry, Lady Arabella,” he said, grinning. “It was my arm that got in your way. I shall give it a good talking-to.”

  Alexandra smiled, seeing the two of them together. They were so sweet and innocent, and she felt her heart fill with joy for them.

  “Miss?” Lord Albert addressed her. “Are you from these parts?”

  “Um…” Alexandra swallowed hard. She hadn’t prepared much of a story, but she recalled hastily what she had told the butler in the London house when he’d interviewed her. “From a small parish outside London, about an hour’s ride by coach. I am the daughter of a schoolmaster.”

  “Who gave her a love for reading,” Lord Blakeley interrupted. He grinned. “Alexandra is more well-read than anyone I know. Besides Arabella herself, of course.” He smiled at his sister.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Lord Albert smiled. Contrary to what she had expected, he didn’t seem to find her lowly origins particularly censorious. In fact, he chuckled. “A schoolmaster, eh? I’m glad my father was not such! I would have hated it. I loathed school.”

  “Did you?” Lord Blakeley sounded surprised.

  “Indeed!” Albert grinned. “They don’t teach you useful things, like how to spot a good opportunity for profit!”

  They all laughed. Alexandra leaned back and relaxed, discovering that she could enjoy the evening.

  The soup that the butler had served was fragrant and delicious, and Alexandra delicately lifted a spoonful to her lips, conscious of the Duke. He looked at her intermittently, and she blushed deeply, starting to wonder if he didn’t feel something like what she herself was feeling.

  That’s unlikely. He is just polite, that is all.

  She couldn’t think that could be true; not exactly. He hadn’t been particularly kind from the start, and he had no need to defend her or support her as he did; that went outside the bounds of mere politeness.

  “I am going away to study, next month,” Frank spoke up.

  “Frank…” Arabella sounded distraught.

  “I am sorry, Lady Arabella…my father only confirmed it this morning. He has enrolled me in an academy in Switzerland. I am to leave with the last of the autumn ship-voyages.”

  “No, Frank!” Arabella said. “How long will you be there?”

  “Two years.”

  “Frank…” Arabella whispered. Alexandra cleared her throat, seeing the girl was near tears.

  “Arabella, why do not we go out to the terrace? It’ll be a while before dessert comes, and we can take the air. Come on?”

  Arabella, sniffing, nodded miserably. She was too self-conscious to cry at the dinner table, but she was close to it, and gratefully followed Alexandra out.

  Alexandra went with her and stood by the rail. They looked out into the night. Alexandra said nothing, but she could sense that Arabella was struggling with sobs.

  It’s all right to cry, she wanted to whisper. I will not condemn you for it and nobody who would is here. I understand how you feel.

  She had wanted to cry too when her father announced the betrothal. It was a shock, and she had run away.

  “Alexandra, what can I do?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know.” She could do nothing but answer honestly. She leaned on the rail and looked down into the garden, wishing she could think of some words of comfort. The garden smelled of dew and was dark with shadow and held no answers to her question. She waited and heard Arabella sniff.

  “I’m fine now,” she murmured. “Thank you, Alexandra. We can go back.”

  “We don’t have to,” Alexandra said gently. “We can wait if you’d like. We don’t need to come in until after they finish serving the pudding if you want.”

  “No,” Arabella said, straightening her back and standing up. “We can go inside.”

  “If you say so,” Alexandra said. She followed Arabella into the house.

  The guests had become a little subdued when they went out, but now they revived considerably, talking and laughing. Alexandra watched as Arabella lifted her spoon and ate her pudding –a dish of baked pudding of plums and raisins – with enjoyment. She wondered if it was right, that she had recovered so quickly.

  She should not feel the need to hide her emotions so much. It’s perfectly reasonable to be upset by that.

  She watched Arabella protectively, keeping a special eye on Henriette, who she thought was inclined to be judgmental.

  Nobody said anything hurtful, and the party continued. The Duke pushed back his chair.

  “I long for some music,” he said. “Sister? Shall we go to the drawing-room? I would dearly like to hear you play a duet.”

  “Yes, brother,” she murmured.

  Alexandra looked across at the Duke, wondering if it was wise to put the task of playing onto Arabella’s shoulders, but, it seemed, he knew his sister better than she did. Upstairs, Arabella transformed. She seemed genuinely to be enjoying herself again, sitting at the piano with Amelia, while Frank stood to turn pages.

  Maybe she will recover.

  She had no idea what it was like to be sixteen and fall for someone. She had never fallen for anyone. She looked about the room and saw the Duke.

  He was sitting on the chaise-lounge, opposite Albert, who stood by the window. He had one leg crossed over the other, one hand resting on his leg. He had been watching Arabella, but, when she looked at him, he turned.

  Alexandra blushed as his gaze rested fully on her.