Runaway Miss

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So it could just have easily been you making that bargain.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ he snapped. ‘What sort of man do you think I am?’

  ‘A gamester. A gambler. Someone who can stand by and condone—’

  ‘I condoned nothing.’ Why did she have to pick him up on that when it was something he had asked himself over and over again ever since he had discovered who she was?

  ‘You did not do anything to help, though, did you?’

  ‘What should I have done? Stayed at the table and tried to win you for myself? I did not know you or anything about you. For all I knew, you were no different from all the other Society chits, empty-headed and concerned only with status and wealth.’ He was aware as he spoke that he was trying to justify himself and digging himself further into the mire. ‘In any case, my skill would not have been enough to ensure I won and what would I have done with you, if I had?’

  ‘You would have been as bad as they were.’

  ‘Precisely. And I assumed you would refuse him if you did not like the idea.’

  ‘Like it! I loathe the man, but I had to flee my home to escape from him.’

  ‘I know that now.’ He gave a lopsided smile. ‘But it did give us an opportunity to become acquainted.’

  ‘It is not a joke, but isn’t it just like a man to think it is?’

  ‘I am sorry, I was only trying to make you see it is not as bad as it seems.’

  ‘Not bad! I cannot see how it could be any worse. You have been playing with me all along. Pretending I was Miss Draper when you knew I was not, making a fool of me.’

  ‘I did not know, not at the beginning. But you gave yourself away in so many little things and the further we went, the more convinced I became that you were not who you said you were. I sent Joe Bland to find out for sure.’

  ‘And there was me, thinking you wanted to help Rose.’

  ‘I did. I thought it would please you.’

  ‘So he came back and confirmed your suspicions. But you still said nothing.’

  ‘I wanted you to tell me yourself.’

  ‘But you couldn’t wait for that, could you?’ She was furious. All the soul searching about whether she should confide in him or not had been for nothing. She could have saved herself the heartache. And to discover he was at that gaming table was twisting the knife in her wounded pride. She felt demeaned, humiliated. ‘So now you know, what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘What would you have me do?’

  ‘Nothing. Pretend you never found out. My stepfather’s temper was always fiery and I fear he will be out of all control if he ever hears you helped me. He is telling everyone I have been kidnapped and I would not put it past him to say you took me away against my will. What does the law do to kidnappers, my lord?’

  Even in her misery she was thinking of him, he realised, and he did not deserve it. ‘It is not going to happen, sweetheart, because I cannot be accused of abducting my own wife.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said he cannot accuse me of abducting my own wife.’

  ‘I thought my ears were deceiving me. You mean if he comes here you are going to tell him we are married? I never heard anything so foolish. He would soon find out we are not.’

  ‘No, but we could be. It would be a way out of your dilemma.’

  ‘No, it would not.’ She jumped to her feet, distancing herself from him. This was not what she wanted, not a marriage of convenience. Not with him. And she was angry that he had suggested it. ‘If you think I would marry you after…’

  He stood up and grabbed her hand. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you are a gambler, prepared to sit at a gaming table all night and throw away a lady’s life and happiness on the turn of a card.’

  ‘I never did and never would. I only played to make up the four. If I had known—’

  ‘It makes no odds. Marriage should be based on trust, on knowledge, on love. You don’t love me, you think I am only interested in rank and wealth—’

  ‘I did not say that. I said you might have been. I know differently now, of course.’ He had been a fool to confess to being there; he had known she disapproved of gambling and who could blame her for that?

  ‘Yes, because you have wormed the whole humiliating story out of me and now I am to be pitied.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said grimly. ‘I will show you how much I pity you, shall I?’ He pulled her towards him so sharply she fell against his chest. He put one arm about her to steady her and with his other hand lifted her face to his. And then his lips were on hers, hard and demanding. He was annoyed with himself, not her. He had been given the opportunity to make all right and instead had botched it completely. Instead of talking about their feelings for each other, they had become bogged down talking about Sir George and Bentwater and what she thought about gambling.

  All he had wanted to do was ask her to marry him. He had not asked her, had not proposed, he had simply stated it as a fact, to all intents giving her no choice, which was exactly what Bentwater had tried to do. Damn his stupid pride! She did not deserve such rough treatment, especially at the hands of someone who professed to love her. His mouth softened, as his anger softened, until he was putting all his love, all his longing into the gentle pressure of his lips on hers.

  He lifted his head to look into her face, so breathless he could hardly speak, did not know what to say in any case. Sorry seemed entirely inadequate. ‘Emma…’

  ‘I am not Emma,’ she said furiously, trying to put his kisses from her mind because they weakened her and she could not afford to be weak. ‘I am Fanny, penniless, simple Fanny who is foolish enough to be grateful for a handful of crumbs.’ She wrenched herself away, her face fiery, her eyes flashing. ‘I am grateful, but my gratitude does not stretch to submitting to being mauled. You are no better than the others.’

  ‘What others?’

  ‘Lord Bentwater, James Griggs, anyone else who thinks that just because I am no longer what society chooses to call a lady, they think they do not have to mind their manners. I am sick of it.’

  ‘Emma…’ He reached for her again, but she evaded him.

  ‘You can find someone else to rescue from your fortress. I am quite sure you are tired of having to rescue me.’ She ran for the door, ignoring him when he called after her. ‘Try Charlotte Pettifer, I am sure she will be delighted,’ she flung over her shoulder. Once up in her room, she threw herself on her bed and sobbed.

  He had known all along that she was not who she said she was and he had said nothing. He had been humouring her, calling her Miss Draper when he knew she was not. That gleam of amusement in his eyes, which had so attracted her, was mockery. It was insupportable. And then to suggest marrying her simply to thwart her stepfather was the outside of enough. And he had known about that too, had sat at the gaming table and heard her stepfather barter her for his vouchers.

  She loved him—his revelation had hardly dented that. If only he had said he loved her. If he had asked her quietly if she loved him enough to marry him, she might have…No, she would not have agreed. They had started off on the wrong foot and she did not see how any of that could be wiped out.

  She lay there for a long time, while the business of the house and the yard went on without her. She could hear Lizzie humming to herself as she dusted down the stairs outside her room, and Mrs Granger calling to Sam to fill a pail of water for her from the well. The grooms were working on the horses. Through the open window she could hear their feet on the cobbles of the yard, and somewhere the sound of a saw and a nail being driven into wood. And then there was Alex, calling to one of the men to saddle his horse. She sat up as she heard the animal being brought to the door, its hooves dancing while it waited for its rider. She left her bed and went to the window in time to see Alex throw himself into the saddle and canter off in the direction of Ambleside without looking back. ‘Gone to seek more congenial company,’ she murmured, amid a fresh
bout of weeping.

  But one could not weep all day. The tears dried at last and she sat up. This would not do, it would not do at all. Whatever name she gave herself, she was her father’s child and he had not been one to lament anything. ‘One has to stiffen one’s spine and get on with it,’ he used to say to her. He had followed his own advice, even when he knew he was sick unto death. He had been out riding, looking after the estate the day before he died. It had been so sudden. Her mother had been bereft, lost without her prop, and when Sir George had come along eighteen months later, charming her with his flattery, helping her make decisions, shielding her from the world, she had succumbed and married him. What an evil day that had been. Emma had never liked him from the start, though she had tried to hide it for her mother’s sake. He was a compulsive gambler and whatever Papa had left was soon gone and Pinehill left to go to rack and ruin. She had said she could not, would not, marry a man who gambled and that included Viscount Alexander Malvers.

  She went to the washstand and splashed her face with cold water, straightened her dress and went downstairs. She had duties to perform as Mrs Summers’s companion and that was what she would do, at least until she decided on a course of action that would take her away from here. She would be polite to Viscount Malvers and smile when the occasion demanded and never allow herself to be alone with him again. She would survive.

  Having been told Mrs Summers had taken the carriage to Kendal, she spent the rest of the morning helping Mrs Granger and Mrs Yates, listening to their friendly chatter, and gradually became calm again. She did not see Alex or Mrs Summers until dinner time, but by then she had taken a firm hold of herself and gone back to her self-effacing role of companion.

  Amelia looked from Alex to Emma and heaved a huge sigh. Her nephew was looking grim, as if something had annoyed him, even though on the surface he was smiling and jovial, saying his ride had given him an appetite and he was looking forward to one of Mrs Granger’s roast dinners. Emma was looking at her plate as if there were words written on it she was trying to decipher. Amelia wanted to knock their heads together.

  ‘Well,’ she said cheerfully, ‘what have you two been doing today?’

  ‘I have been talking to the regatta Committee about the peripheral events,’ Alex answered.

  ‘I did not know you had formed a Committee.’

  ‘I couldn’t do it all myself, Aunt. I have enough to do, organising the invasion. Lady Pettifer is in charge of the ball, the shopkeepers together are managing the stalls and I have put Mr Maddox to work organising the races.’

  ‘Was that wise? Using Mr Maddox, I mean.’

  ‘I met him in Ambleside this morning. He was most insistent he wanted to help. And as Miss Draper has declined to take the part, I have asked Miss Pettifer to take on the role of the kidnapped maiden.’ He looked towards Emma, expecting her to comment, but she would not look at him and remained silent. ‘She has been pleased to agree.’

  Amelia looked sharply at him. ‘Well, you know best, I suppose.’ She turned to Emma. ‘What about you, Fanny? I have not seen you all day.’

  ‘I have kept myself busy. If I had known you were going to Kendal, I would have made myself available to go with you.’

  ‘You would have been bored, my dear. I was keeping a promise I made to old friends at Henry’s funeral to call on them. I should have gone before, but with one thing and another…’ She paused. ‘It is good for you to have a little time to yourself, you know. I would not like you to think I monopolised your time.’

  ‘Goodness, ma’am, you never do that. I do not earn my keep.’

  ‘I will be the judge of that.’ She stopped, then went on softly. ‘Did Alex speak to you?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, he did.’ She spoke clearly, looking at him. She was not going to be cowed.

  ‘And?’

  ‘We are in complete accord. I remain Miss Fanny Draper, companion.’

  Amelia raised an eyebrow at Alex. He simply shrugged. She gave up.

  Alex went out again as soon as the meal was finished, saying he wanted to make use of the daylight while it lasted. Amelia and Emma had tea in the withdrawing room alone.

  ‘It is no good you scolding me,’ Emma said. ‘I did not have to tell him. He knew. And you knew he knew.’

  ‘Yes, but I could not tell you, could I? It was up to the two of you. And now I suppose you have fallen out. How did that come about?’

  Emma told her everything, even the fact that she had, in a fit of anger, withdrawn her support of the regatta. ‘It was why he asked Miss Pettifer. I did not expect him to go straight out and do it, like that. He must have been wanting to do it all along. How could he do that and suggest marrying me almost in the same breath?’

  ‘Oh, dear, he has bungled it, hasn’t he?’ the good lady said.

  ‘Bungled what?

  ‘The proposal of marriage.’

  ‘Did you put him up to it?’

  ‘No, certainly not! He would not take any notice of me, and I should not expect him to. He is a good man, Emma. Do you not think you have been a little hard on him? He is not a gambler, not in the way that your stepfather is, so addicted he can think of nothing else and ruins the life of everyone about him in the process. Surely you know the difference?’

  ‘Of course I do, but I was so angry when he said he had taken part in that game, I did not stop to think, but as soon as I calmed down I realised he could not have done anything to help me at the time and since then he has done everything. But is that love?’

  ‘Well, I do not know what else to call it.’

  ‘If he bungled it, so did I. And now I do not know if there is any going back. He might never forgive me.’

  ‘Oh, I think he will,’ Amelia said.

  But Emma was not sure she believed her.

  The date of the regatta drew nearer and the local people were in a fervour of anticipation. The news of it had been broadcast far and wide and entries for the competitions were coming in from miles away. Jeremy Maddox was in his element, organising the swimming races and the boating competitions, for which a part of the lake would be sectioned off. There were to be races, for rowing boats with one oarsman and two, for canoes, curricles and rafts, as well as the swimming, when the contestants would be required to dive from a platform anchored in the middle of the lake and race to the shore. On the old regatta on Derwentwater it had been done by men on horseback, but Alex had decided not to use horses on the grounds it was cruel to them.

  Jeremy was out on the water in a small rowing boat one day in rough weather, when it overturned, tipping him into the water. It was only when he shouted for help, that Alex, on the shore, realised he could not swim. He stripped off his coat, kicked off his shoes and went to the rescue. The water was very choppy, especially at the point where the overfull river emptied itself into the northern part of the lake. Alex knew the lake was very deep at that end; if the man disappeared, he would never find him. He renewed his efforts and just managed to grab Jeremy’s arm as he was about to go down.

  ‘Stop struggling, for God’s sake,’ he said, as Jeremy thrashed about in panic. ‘I’ve got you.’ He put his hands under Jeremy’s arms and turned on his back to tow him to the shore, but then realised the man’s body was tangled up with a thin rope. He had to dive several times to free him, not helped by Jeremy’s struggles, before he could take him to safety. He was exhausted by the time he dragged his burden up the shingle to applause from those who had been working there. Jeremy coughed and spluttered and sat up.

  ‘Good,’ Alex said, evincing little sympathy. ‘You are not drowned, then.’

  ‘I thought I was going to be.’ More coughing, spitting up dirty water. ‘My thanks, Malvers. Didn’t know a lake could be rough like that.’

  ‘You know now. We had better get you up to the house to dry out.’ He looked around him. There was a horse and cart standing nearby, which had been used to bring wood down from the workshop to the vessels. He lifted Jeremy on to it and then drove it
up to Highhead Hall.

  Emma was in the yard with Sam when they arrived looking like two drowned rats. She ran straight to Alex, forgetting their animosity, forgetting everything in her concern for him. ‘Alex, what happened? Are you hurt?’

  ‘No,’ Alex told her, grinning as he jumped down; he liked the sound of his given name on her tongue—did that mean he was forgiven? ‘Simply very wet. Mister Maddox decided to take a swim with all his clothes on. I will take him to my room and dry him out. Would you ask someone to bring us some hot water?’ He turned to Jeremy. ‘Can you walk?’

  ‘If you think I am going let you carry me, you are mistaken, my friend. I am not a sack of potatoes.’ He scrambled down from the cart, but his legs were wobbly and he had to hang on to the side of the cart for a minute before he could proceed.

  Alex waited. The concern in Emma’s voice when she ran over to them, and the way she had called him Alex, had heartened him. She did care, after all. But he must be patient. As time passed and no one came to harass her, she would realise her fears had been unfounded and then he would talk to her again. His love for her had nothing to do with saving her from Lord Bentwater, though that loomed large—it was the conviction that she was the only woman for him, the only one he would consider making his wife. All he had to do was convince her. After the regatta.

  He ushered Jeremy into the house with Emma following behind. Mrs Yates and Sam took the bath up and Emma and Lizzie carried two large jugs of hot water. Alex came to the door to take them in. He had taken off his wet coat, shirt and hose and stood there in nothing but his pantaloons, big and muscular. He had a towel in his hand with which he had been rubbing his hair. It lay close to his scalp in tight little curls. Emma felt her stomach contract and a shiver pass right through her; though she knew she ought to look away, she could not—he was magnificent. And, oh, how she loved him! She wanted to throw herself into his arms and feel those strong arms enfolding her, his mouth on hers again.

  He was not unaware of her little gasp of shock and smiled, thinking it was probably the first time she had ever seen a man half-naked. ‘Thank you, Miss Draper.’ He took the jug from her and the other from Lizzie and stood aside for Mrs Yates and Sam to take the bath in and set it on the hearth. Mr Maddox was sitting in a chair, wrapped in blankets. Alex handed his clothes to Mrs Yates. ‘If you could do something with these, ma’am. I will lend Mr Maddox something of mine until they are dry. And will you tell Mrs Granger there will be one more for luncheon?’