The Runaway Heiress. Anne O'Brien

Miss Vowchurch any indication that I would make her an offer of marriage.’

      ‘It has always been understood between our families. You must know that after Richard died you took no formal steps to end the connection.’ Lady Aldeborough was implacable, refusing to let the matter rest. ‘And now you have married this … this person. Who is she?’

      Frances looked on as if she were watching a scene in a play at which she was a mere observer with no role for herself. There was clearly little love lost between Aldeborough and his mother and she herself was now provoking another issue between them. A bleak wave of despair swept over her to add to the weariness. After she had spent three days alone at Aldeborough Priory, the Marquis had returned and she had been thrown into a flurry of activity. First her marriage, followed immediately by three days of exhausting travel to reach London. And now this. How foolish she had been to hope that Lady Aldeborough might accept this sordid arrangement with equanimity. Indeed, it was even worse than she had anticipated. She wished Aldeborough had given her some warning. Obviously he had seen no need to do so, which depressed her even further.

      ‘A penniless nobody who has trapped you into marriage.’ Her ladyship was continuing her diatribe as if Frances was not present. ‘How could you! Is there no way this marriage could be annulled? Or dissolved?’ Lady Aldeborough’s face was white with anger.

      A delicate flush stained Frances’s cheeks. With the haste and inconvenience of the journey following immediately after their marriage, there had been neither opportunity nor, it would appear, inclination for intimate relations between herself and the Marquis. For which, all things considered, she was heartily relieved. But would he betray her to his mother?

      ‘No, Mother. It is not possible. Your suggestion is insulting in the extreme to both Frances and myself. I think you should consider what you’re saying before you speak again.’ Aldeborough turned towards Frances, his face a polite mask. ‘Forgive me, Frances. I wish I could have spared you this, but it had to be faced.’ He led her to a chair by the window looking over the square. ‘Perhaps if you would sit here for a little while …’

      As he returned to shield her from further recriminations, her mind was free to travel back over the previous days. She remembered as in a dream standing in Aldeborough Church in the grey light of early morning with a special licence and a flustered vicar and with Sir Ambrose and the vicar’s wife as witnesses. No flowers. No music. Only the heavy starkness of Norman pillars and the air so cold that her breath had vaporised as she took her vows. She remembered the cold. No sooner had the vows been exchanged and her cheek dutifully kissed by Aldeborough than she had been installed in Aldeborough’s coach and the long, tedious journey had begun. Sir Ambrose had thoughtfully presented her with a tasteful posy of yellow flowers and kissed her fingers and called her Lady Aldeborough, a situation that she still found difficult to believe, but it had helped to strengthen her courage.

      And Aldeborough had been as good as his word. Her lips curled in memory of the beautiful dress that he had brought back with him to keep his promise. A dress of which dreams were made. In the height of fashion with a high waist and disconcertingly low neckline and tiny puff sleeves over long undersleeves, the jonquil taffeta was far more elegant than any gown she had ever seen. The tucked bodice was a little large, but nothing that a small alteration here and there could not remedy, and the silk ruching round the hem helped to disguise the fact that it was a little long. A simple satin straw bonnet with jonquil ribbons that set off her dark hair completed the ensemble. She had abandoned her puce disaster and travel-stained cloak without a qualm.

      And not only the dress, but fine kid gloves and matching kid heelless slippers. Not to mention the delightful package of shifts and petticoats and silk stockings. She blushed faintly that he should have purchased such intimate garments for her. And who had chosen the dress for her? She had found it difficult to thank him. He had merely brushed it aside as a matter of no importance. But Frances was now more than grateful for his foresight. Under Lady Aldeborough’s critical and unfriendly scrutiny, it was suddenly very important that she should be wearing a stylish blue velvet pelisse trimmed with grey fur and a pale blue silk bonnet, the brim fetchingly ornamented with one curling ostrich plume, both in the first stare of fashion.

      She had thought herself fortunate in her new wardrobe but this house, now her own, threatened to take her breath away. Her first impression as they had arrived had been fleeting, but there was no doubting its style and magnificence. In Cavendish Square, one of the very best addresses, the brick and stone façade with its pedimented doorway, decorative columns and imposing flight of steps bordered with iron railings could not fail to impress. All was elegance and good taste. Aldeborough might take it for granted, but she could not.

      She sighed as her attention returned to the heated words from the Marchioness and the cool rejoinders from Aldeborough.

      ‘What your father would have said I hesitate to think. And Richard—’

      Frances would never know what Richard would have thought or done for at this timely moment, the door burst open and a young man erupted with more energy than grace into the room.

      ‘Matthew! Perhaps you might enter my drawing room in a more seemly fashion. Your brother and I were engaged in a private conversation.’

      ‘Forgive me, Mother. I heard Hugh was back.’ Matthew looked anything but sorry and shrugged off his parent’s blighting words. ‘Is it true?’ He grinned as he embraced his brother in a friendly and vigorous greeting. ‘I have just seen Masters in town and he has told me all.’

      Aldeborough inhaled sharply in exasperation. ‘So just what has Masters told you? Perhaps, brother mine, this is not the best of times to elaborate!’ The warning was unfortunately lost in Matthew’s exuberance to discover the truth of the matter.

      ‘That you abducted Torrington’s niece from under his nose and forced her into marriage to get your hands on her inheritance.’

      Lady Aldeborough lowered herself carefully on to the chair behind her. ‘This is even worse than I thought. What have you done, Aldeborough?’ Her tone might be faint with shock, but her expression was steely.

      ‘So, is it true?’ Matthew insisted.

      ‘Of course it is true. Would you not expect me to be capable of such dishonourable behaviour? Even you, it seems, Matthew.’

      Matthew frowned at the bitter cynicism imprinted on his brother’s face, echoing in his harsh tones. ‘Well, no. I don’t believe it, as it happens. Are you jesting? And if it is true—where is she?’

      ‘Behind you. You will note her terrified appearance and the marks of coercion and cruelty about her person. I had to treat her most unkindly to persuade her that marriage with me would be an attractive proposition.’

      Matthew grinned, shrugging with some relief as Aldeborough’s expression relaxed and the tension slowly drained from his body, but he still had the grace to look more than a little embarrassed as he swung round towards the window embrasure. ‘Exactly. You deserved that. You had better come and meet her. I dare not imagine what impression you have made on her,’ Aldeborough added drily, but with a trace of humour at his brother’s discomfort.

      Aldeborough came to retrieve Frances from her seat by the window, taking her by the hand and leading her back into the centre of the room. ‘This, my lady, is my graceless brother Matthew, who believes that I beat you into submission. You have my permission to snub him completely if you wish.’

      ‘Please don’t. I had no intention of making you uncomfortable. I am very pleased to meet you.’ His engaging smile lit his youthful features.

      Frances found herself smiling back at the genuine greeting from the young man who was very close to her own age. He was slim and athletic and looked to have just grown out of the ungainly lack of co-ordination of youth. He was fairer than his brother, with blue eyes and an open, laughing countenance that Frances instantly felt drawn to. His manner suggested that he stood in awe of neither his mother nor Aldeborough, and his clothing that he was experimenting with the more extremes of fashion. His cravat was a miracle of folds and creases and his striped waistcoat caused Aldeborough to