Runaway Miss. Mary Nichols

said with unanswerable logic. ‘Why did you marry him, Mama?’

      ‘I was lonely and in all my life I have never had to manage alone. My father, the late Duke, looked after me and my affairs until he handed me over to your father when I was seventeen and he carried on as my father had done. I never had to think of anything for myself and, when your papa died, I had no idea how to go on. Sir George was charming and understanding. Even now, when he is in a good mood…’ She stopped and gazed across the room where her husband was enjoying a jest with Lord Bentwater. ‘I dare not cross him.’

      Emma gave up the conversation, knowing she would get nowhere with it. And now she was torn in two because it was obvious that if she was adamant in her refusal to marry Bentwater, her mother would suffer for it. Sir George would not beat his wife, he had too much pride for that, but there were other ways of punishing her: subtle verbal cruelty, forbidding her to receive her friends or call on them, taking away her pin money so that she could go nowhere, buy nothing, without petitioning him first. It had happened before when her mother displeased him and Emma loved her mother dearly and could not bear to think of her suffering in that way. ‘Mama, if you say I must, I must, but I shall do it with a heavy heart and I promise you I shall not be an obedient wife.’

      ‘Perhaps it will not come to that,’ her mother said hopefully. ‘George might relent.’

      The music resumed and another partner came to claim Emma and she was not called upon to answer. She went off and danced with the young man, a fixed smile on her face. She even managed to make one or two witty comments about the music and the company, but inside her heart was heavy as lead. If only she could find a way out without hurting her mother. If only she could find her own husband, she could tell the odious Lord Bentwater she was already promised. She smiled a little at her own foolishness. If she hadn’t found one in the two years since her come-out, she was unlikely to find one now.

      She was about to return to her mother when she saw Sir George returning to her with Lord Bentwater in tow. She turned about and went to the retiring room, where she sat on the stool before the mirror and looked at herself, as if she could find the answer to her problems in her reflection. ‘You are on your own,’ she told the strained face that stared out at her. ‘You cannot depend upon your mama to support you and Sir George is quite capable of dragging you to the altar. And who can you confide in? Not your mother, for she is too afraid of her husband. Not Rose, who is anxious about her own mother and leaving you in any case. There is Harriet, but Harriet is thinking about nothing but her wedding and who can blame her? There is no one.’

      Sighing heavily, she returned to the ballroom and put on a brave smile, which she kept in place even when Lord Bentwater came to claim her for a second dance and spoke and behaved as if she had already accepted him. This was reinforced on the journey home, when Sir George told her that he expected her to accept the very next day. ‘You are well past marriageable age,’ he said. ‘It is time you settled down and I can think of no one who will serve you better than Cecil Bentwater. He is wealthy enough, even for you. My God, there must be dozens of young ladies who would jump at the chance…’

      ‘Then let him choose one of those.’

      ‘He has favoured you, though I do wonder if he knows what a hoyden he is taking on.’ And he gave a harsh laugh.

      ‘Perhaps you should enlighten him.’

      ‘Oh, I have, but he tells me he enjoys a challenge and there is no gainsaying him.’

      ‘But, sir, I do not, cannot, love him.’

      ‘Love!’ He scoffed. ‘Love has nothing to do with it. You do not have to live in each other’s pockets and, in truth, it would look strange if you did. Husbands and wives lead their own lives, have their own friends and pursuits to keep them occupied and Lord Bentwater would not expect anything else from you, except to do your wifely duty and give him an heir. Once that is done, you may please yourself, so long as you are discreet. Discretion is the name of the game, not love. If you remember that, you will deal very well together.’

      The idea revolted her. ‘I cannot believe that all marriages are like that. Mama and Papa—’

      ‘Enough!’ he said, not wishing to be reminded of his saintly predecessor. ‘You will marry Lord Bentwater and that is my last word on the subject.’

      Emma felt her mother’s hand creep into her own and squeeze it and she fell silent for the rest of the journey.

      

      It was three in the morning before she went to her bed, but even so Rose was waiting to help her to undress. Rose was sturdy, clean and tidy, with light brown hair pulled back into her cap and a neat waist encircled by a snowy apron over a grey cambric dress. ‘I shall miss you when you go, Rose,’ she said, as the girl helped her out of her ball gown.

      ‘And I shall miss you, my lady.’

      ‘Do you like being a lady’s maid?’ she asked, watching Rose deftly fold the gown and lay it carefully in the chest at the foot of her bed.

      ‘Oh, yes, my lady, it is cut above other house servants.’

      ‘What is it like?’

      ‘Like, my lady?’ Rose queried, puzzled. ‘Why, you know my duties as well as I do.’

      ‘I did not mean your duties, I meant the life, how you feel about it. Do you not hate being at someone’s beck and call all the time?’

      ‘We all have to work, my lady, unless we’re gentlefolk, that is, and I would as lief work as a lady’s maid as anything else. You have a certain standing among the others. If you have a good mistress such as you are, my lady, you are treated kindly, fed and clothed and paid well, and there are the perks. You often give me gowns you have tired of and when you are from home and do not need me, I have only light duties such as cleaning and pressing your clothes and tidying your room…’

      Emma managed a light laugh, though she felt more like weeping. ‘Oh, I know I am not the tidiest person in the world.’ She paused. ‘But don’t you resent being given orders?’

      ‘No, why should I? It is the way of things.’

      ‘But if they go counter to your own inclinations?’

      ‘My inclinations, my lady, do not count. But why are you asking all these questions?’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know. It is because you are leaving me, I suppose. And I wonder how I shall manage without you.’

      ‘Your mama will find you someone else.’

      ‘No doubt, but it won’t be the same. And what makes it worse is that my stepfather has found a husband for me…’ She paused while Rose undid her petticoats, picking them up when she kicked them off. ‘He is the most odious man imaginable and how am I to bear it without you?’

      ‘I am sorry, Miss Emma, indeed I am. If I could help you, I would.’

      But it was not Rose or her replacement who filled her thoughts when her nightgown was pulled over her head and she settled between the sheets, but the dilemma she faced over Lord Bentwater. She lay wide awake, going over and over in her mind what had happened, wondering what it was that made her stepfather so anxious she should obey him. It had to be money; Lord Bentwater had as good as told her so. Could she buy her way out? But she did not have the spending of her money and her trustees would take the advice of Sir George, especially if her mother agreed with him. Mama would not dare to defy him. Rose’s words—‘my inclinations…do not count’—came back to her. It certainly seemed to be true of the mistress at that moment.

      She could run away, but that would break her mother’s heart; besides, if she just disappeared, Mama would have half the ton out looking for her, not to mention Runners and constables and it would not be fair to worry her so. And it would make no difference in the long run; she would be hauled back in disgrace and she was quite sure it would not put Lord Bentwater off, for hadn’t Sir George said the man enjoyed a challenge? It was almost dawn before she fell into a restless sleep and then her dreams were of huge black spiders