The Runaway Heiress (25 page)

The lady, not unaware of her effect on Frances,
walked gracefully forward. 'Good morning, Lady Aldeborough. We have not been
introduced, but I believe that you are aware of who I am.' Her voice was
pleasantly low and musical. Frances could imagine Aldeborough being unable to
resist anything she demanded from him in those persuasive tones and she burned
with envy.

'Mrs Winters. Yes, of course. You have been pointed
out to me.' Frances took a deep breath to compose herself in this unlooked-for
situation. Good manners overcame personal inclination, but that did not mean
that she had to be anything other than coldly civil. 'May I introduce Lady
Cotherstone, my husband's great-aunt. Aunt May, this is Mrs Winters, an...an
acquaintance of my husband.'

'I know who she is.' Aunt May held out her
gnarled hand to greet the lady and smiled with relish. 'I am very pleased to meet
you.'

Mrs Winters smiled wryly, showing a glimpse of
perfect teeth. 'I would value a conversation with you, Lady Aldeborough—and
with Lady Cotherstone, of course, if it is convenient.'

For a moment Frances was speechless. Into her mind
leapt her last memory of Mrs Winters in vivid detail: Aldeborough bowing
gracefully over this woman's hand as she smiled and tossed her golden curls provocatively.
And she had had the audacity to encourage him, one hand resting intimately on
his arm in the privacy of a curtained alcove. And now she was requesting a
conversation! Frances contemplated turning on her heel and snubbing Letitia
Winters in public, no matter what the social repercussions. But not so Aunt
May, who read the sparks in Frances's eyes correctly and took control of the
situation with masterly decision.

'Mrs Winters.
Letitia, is it not? Let us not stand upon ceremony. I suggest we get into the
barouche and stop blocking the pavement and attracting attention which none of
us want. And since the sun has decided to shine on us, we could take a turn
round Hyde Park.'

The ladies bowed to
such superior management and settled themselves into the barouche with fur rugs
tucked round them by an attentive footman. Unless she was prepared to walk home
alone, Frances had no choice in the matter. Mrs
Win
ters,
leaving her maid with strict instructions to await her at the entrance to the
Park, was able to express some relief herself. She had not been convinced that
she was taking the wisest course of action, but she had watched events at Almack's
with interest and concern. Far more amusing, she acknowledged, than the social
occasion itself, which was invariably dull with its rigid rules and eagle-eyed
Patronesses. And as for the refreshments, Mrs Winters had felt that all of
those present could have benefited from a glass of port before the evening was
over. But she had seen Frances
'
unhappiness and her cold response to Aldeborough
and been sorry for it. She suspected that her own very private conversation
with him had been partially, if not wholly responsible. A pity. She sighed as
she pulled her pelisse closely round her shoulders. She liked Aldeborough more
than a little, if the truth were told—and was sorry that their liaison had come
to an end. If all gentlemen were like him... But she felt that she must do her
best for his wife. A taking little thing. Very young, of course, but with some
style and countenance and a forthright way with her that Mrs Winters admired.
And it would be a pleasure to upset the Dowager and Penelope Vowchurch. Now
Lady Cotherstone was a wily old bird. Her presence here this morning might just
be what was needed, especially if The Bride was a little shy—or downright
reluctant—at taking advice from Aldeborough's mistress.

Until they reached the ornamental gates their
progress was slow and they talked stiltedly about the weather and the present
fashion for fur cloaks in the unseasonably cool weather. Lady Cotherstone
carried the burden of the conversation, amused by the reticence of her two
companions. But once into the quieter drives of Hyde Park, sparsely populated
at this time in the morning, silence fell. What a bizarre situation, thought
Frances. What would Aldeborough say if he heard that she was associating in
public with his mistress. And as for the Dowager! Her immediate anger had
subsided a little and a bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her chest. She
was intent on suppressing it when she caught the lady's eye, noting the gleam
and the quick smile of mischief. She could not help but respond, at the same
time wishing with all her heart that Mrs Winters did not exist.

'I know what you are thinking.' Mrs Winters broke
the silence. 'What would Aldeborough say if he saw us riding together round the
Park?'

Aunt May cackled inelegantly before Frances could
think of a suitable reply.
'I
could tell you, but perhaps it would not be polite
in this mealy-mouthed society. Well, Mrs Winters. Is this not cosy? I had no
idea my morning was going to be interesting.' She sat back with her hands
folded around the plump and somnolent body of Wellington, ready to be entertained.

'You said that you wished to have conversation with
me,' said Frances stiffly.
'I
do not believe that we have anything to say to
each other. How can I possibly help you?'

'I hope that
I
might be able to help
you
, my lady. I believe
that I need to speak. Forgive me if my observations seem very personal but, you
see, I saw the distance between you and Aldeborough last night at Almack's.'

'You are mistaken. And what possible concern is
that of yours?' Frances's reply was icy.

'Why, none. And normally I would not presume—unless
I helped to cause that dissension. My dear...' she leaned forward to place her
hand gently on Frances's, trying to ignore the resulting flinch as Frances
tried to pull away '...let me speak plainly. Aldeborough has no relationship
with me other than friendship. And he has had none since your marriage.'

Frances found herself engulfed by embarrassment,
her cheeks flushed with sudden heat despite the chill wind. She cast an
anguished look at Aunt May, who merely shrugged her shoulders with a
speculative gleam in her eye.

'I have a great affection for him and I wish him
well,' Mrs Winters continued. 'But you have to believe me—I mean nothing to
him. I envy you.'

Frances decided that it was a time for honesty
rather than false modesty, so she swallowed her self-consciousness. 'How can I
believe you? At Almack's my husband singled you out. And you appeared to have a
prolonged and intimate conversation. It seemed to me that you were very well
acquainted in spite of your protestations of innocence.'

'It was merely a matter of completion of business.
Of financial nature, you understand.' Mrs Winters smiled rather sadly. 'Who do
you think ordered the beautiful dress that you wore for your marriage and wore
again at Almack's? He could hardly ask his mother to arrange it, could he? And
arranged the purchase and dispatch of a particular riding habit—I understand
the original was damaged.'

May muffled another
crack of laughter. Frances had to smile at the prospect. 'Aldeborough told me
what to buy; I arranged it. And very beautiful you looked too. The pale satin
was perfect for your colouring. He described you exactly.'
               

'Then I have to thank you. I have never owned
anything so fine.' Frances still found it difficult to unbend, but had to
acknowledge her debt. 'And all the accessories, of course.'

'And you were
thinking that Aldeborough had bought the underwear!' Aunt May patted her knee
understandingly.

'Aunt May, you are
incorrigible.'

'Can I say
something?' Mrs Winters studied her gloved hands for a moment as if considering
her next statement.
'A
ldeborough
does not deserve his reputation. Yes, it is self-inflicted, but chiefly to
spite his mother and those who would accept her slanderous comments rather than
the evidence of their own eyes and their knowledge of the man. His closeness to
his brother could not—should not—be questioned. It hurt him beyond belief and
he chose to defend himself by becoming the reckless heedless creature that
gossip had created. We became...acquainted at a time when he had first returned
to London from the Peninsula. His brother had died and he had just sold out. He
was not very happy, you understand?'

Frances nodded. She
understood the damage brought about by Richard's death and the Dowager's bitter
reaction only too well.

'He cares more for
you than you might believe.'

'No.' Frances's
reply was dogmatic. 'He would have been better off without me.'

'I cannot agree.'

'You do not know.'
It was little more than a whisper. Frances studied her clasped hands, knuckles
white, in her lap.

'Very well. I must
accept your knowledge of the situation, but may I be blunt? If you will take my
advice, you will not allow yourself to become too intimate with Penelope Vowchurch.
She has a cold ambition that bears watching and she had high hopes of marriage
with Aldeborough. She also has developed a surprising liaison with Charles
Hanwell, your cousin. They are not to be trusted.'

'Charles? And Penelope?'

Frances became aware
that Aunt May beside her was nodding in agreement. She looked at her with
raised brows.

'Don't look at me
like that, my dear. I know he is your cousin. But I think there is truth in Mrs
Winter's observations. And, if you are honest,
you
think so too.'

Frances sighed. 'Forgive me. You have given me much
to think about this morning. I suppose I should be grateful.'

Then I have fulfilled my obligation to you and your
husband. If you would let me down at the gate, my maid will be waiting for me
there. I am pleased to have been of service to you, my lady.'

'Thank you, Mrs Winters.'

'Please call me Letitia. Although I doubt if our
paths will cross with any frequency in the future. I find that I am sorry for
that;'

'So am I.' In spite of everything, Frances found
herself able to give the lady a smile of genuine warmth. 'In other
circumstances, perhaps we might have been friends.'

'One more thing—' Mrs Winters prepared to alight
'—make him talk to you about Richard.'

'I have tried, but he will not.'

'Don't
give up. It is important that he does.' She raised her hand in farewell as she
alighted gracefully from the carriage and turned away.

They were silent for much of the way back to Cavendish
Square.

'I think you need to
talk to Hugh,' was Aunt May's comment on the morning's revelations.

'Yes. I have not always been sympathetic.'
                    

'That is not at all
what I meant. You have had your reasons and my nephew is not the easiest man to
read. Don't be so
ready to take the blame. But you both need to be
more honest with each other and not so bound up in the aftermath of events. It
will not be easy.'

'No. It will not be easy—but I must agree with you.
'
Frances's tone was
bleak. 'I will talk to him. When he returns home from Newmarket...whenever that
might be!'

Chapter
Twelve

The three days that
followed in Cavendish Square had a deceptively peaceful quality. On the surface
the Aldeborough household enjoyed its varied and disparate existence. The
Marquis remained in Newmarket and it was uncertain when he would return.
Ambrose, whose visits to Cavendish Square were sufficiently frequent to make
him one of the family, was still in Yorkshire, shooting rabbits on his uncle's
estate, but with imminent plans to return to town. Matthew, always attracted
by the promise of horseflesh and gambling, had accompanied Aldeborough.
Frances and Juliet were thrown into each other's company and enjoyed the
experience. They walked in Hyde Park. They shopped in the most stylish streets
and frittered money on whatever took their fancy— for, as Juliet observed, what
is the use of an inheritance if it is not to be used for pleasurable purposes?
They watched a balloon ascension and attended a soiree and a small private
party. Aunt May was selective in her participation, but could be relied upon to
chaperon them when the Dowager refused or pleaded a headache. It came to much
the same thing. That lady's attitude towards Frances remained frosty with a politeness
as keen as a drawn sword, but as her daughter-in-law was now on visiting terms
with the Earl and Countess of Wigmore, and a substantial heiress, there was
little room for censorious comment. Frances found the disapproving glances tiring
but no longer distressing and accepted it with cheerful resignation.

But
she missed Aldeborough deeply. She expected—and longed—to hear his footstep in
the hall at any time. She missed the easy companionship that they had begun to
enjoy at the Priory and had been so wilfully destroyed by his confession to
Aunt May. And she missed his charming smile, which made her catch her breath,
and the nerve-tingling touch of his hands and his lips on her skin. She found
it difficult to sleep. She could no longer pretend that she felt nothing but
gratitude towards him. She had fallen in love with him...and was overcome with
grief that he did not love her. She must be content with his need for her body.
It was better than nothing. But in the privacy of her bedchamber she shed the
tears that she would never permit him to see.

At breakfast on the fourth morning, with only
Frances and Juliet lingering over the teacups, trying to decide on the respective
merits of a visit to the lending library or a drive in the barouche, Watkins
interrupted them.

'A letter for you, my lady.
'
He offered it on a
silver salver. 'It was delivered personally for you a moment ago.'

'Thank you, Watkins.' She smiled as she tore it
open in eager anticipation. Letters and invitations were still a new experience
for her.

'I expect it is another invitation.' Juliet stifled
a yawn. 'I declare that we could be out every night of the week. Perhaps it
will be something different—a breakfast or a poetry reading.'

'You don't like poetry readings! No. No it
isn't.' Frances concentrated on the single sheet in her hand, her eyebrows
raised in surprise. 'Listen to this.' Her relationship with Juliet was now such
that she had no hesitation in reading the missive aloud.

My dear
niece,

It has
grieved me that a rift has opened between myself and the daughter of my only
and much-loved brother. I understand your feelings and can only offer my
apologies for any misunderstandings in the past. I have always had your care as
my first priority as your guardian and I wish to fulfil that role to the end.

'Well!' Juliet interrupted, a gleam in her eye. 'I
must say, that does not sound like your version of events!'

Frances shook her head in disbelief and continued.

I know that you have been informed of the extent of your inheritance
and I wish you well for the future now that you have almost reached your
majority. I have in my possession some keepsakes, letters and items of jewellery
that belonged to your poor mother, which were entrusted to me until you came of
age. They are of no great monetary value, but I am sure that for sentimental
reasons you would wish to possess them. I would like you to have them now. I
shall be in town tomorrow and I would like to discharge this obligation as soon
as possible. I do not think that it would be wise for me to visit you as
Aldeborough has made his censure clear. Therefore might I be permitted to
suggest that you visit Torrington House yourself so that the matter can be
settled quietly and without fuss. I am sure that you will see the necessity for
acting with discretion.

I will
put at your disposal my coach, which will await you at the entrance to
Cavendish Square at two o'clock this afternoon. I trust this will be convenient
for you. Your obedient servant, Torrington

'Well! What are you going to do? From what you have
told me, I would not wish to visit him. And certainly not alone. Perhaps you
should wait for Hugh to return.' Juliet rested her chin on her clasped hands
and awaited Frances's decision.

'But if he has some of my mother's possessions! I
have nothing of hers except this brooch—' she touched the amethysts at her
breast '—indeed, I was not even aware that any mementoes or keepsakes existed.
And letters! I cannot forgo them, Juliet, indeed, I cannot. And I would hate
him to return to Yorkshire with them still in his possession. I have to accept
his offer.'

A decided sparkle illuminated Juliet's eyes. 'I
could come with you, of course. Would that still count as discretion?'

'I doubt my uncle would think so, not if he knew
you!' Frances laughed but the idea attracted her. 'Would you come with me? He
does not exactly say I have to be alone. And I would dearly love your company.'

'It would be exciting. An adventure. And, as long
as Aldeborough does not get to know, there will be no harm done. And I may get
to see your fascinating Cousin Charles!'

'He is not fascinating and I am sure I should not
encourage you. Besides, I do not think he is in town any longer—he said at
Almack's that he intended to return to the country almost immediately.' After a
moment's reflection she asked, with a studied casualness that she hoped would
hide her interest, 'What do you think your brother would do if he found out?'

'Hugh? I am not sure. But he can be very severe if
he thinks I have done anything immodest or dangerous. But do not think
you
have to be concerned, dear Frances.' A sly
little smile touched Juliet's lips.

'I wish I had your confidence. Aldeborough and I had
an...an argument before he left for Newmarket.'

'I know. It was about Mrs Winters.'

'Juliet! How did you know that?'

'Aunt May, of
course. There is not much that goes on in this family without her knowing. But
don't worry. Hugh will never be severe with you. I have seen him smile at you.
' Wi
th which enigmatic
comment Juliet left Frances to contemplate the wisdom of a visit that might
drive her absent husband to extreme measures. It was an interesting prospect.
It was a pity that he would never know of it.

The two ladies,
suitably garbed for their afternoon visit, were waiting at the entrance to the
Square at the appointed hour when a plain, unmarked coach pulled up. A footman
jumped down and helped the ladies to ascend the steps. They were driven off at
a smart trot the short distance to the Torringtons' town house.

'The knocker is off
the door,' said Frances with more than a hint of disappointment in her voice as
she leaned forward to see their destination, an undistinguished town house,
rather narrow and in need of new paint. 'I hope he has not left already, but
then, since he has sent the coach...' Her fears were clearly ill founded, for
as they pulled up the front door was opened and a liveried servant ushered them
into the house. He preceded them quickly up the staircase, giving them little
time to note the shabby furnishings, meagre furniture and the general air of
neglect, and opened the door into one of the large reception rooms on the first
floor overlooking the small unkempt garden at the rear.

'If you would make
yourself comfortable, my lady. You are expected. I will arrange for tea to be
brought.'

They were left alone
to wait for Torrington.

The room was as
dingy and badly furnished as Torrington Hall. Frances could only remember one
visit here when she had been a child and so had little recollection of the
house. She traced her finger through the dust on one of the walnut side tables
while Juliet adjusted her flower-trimmed straw bonnet in the badly foxed mirror
over the mantelpiece. She wrinkled her nose with displeasure.

'It does not have an
air of being lived in, does it? I cannot imagine when a fire was last lit in
this grate.'

'Not for many weeks.
I wonder why—'

She was interrupted,
the door opening to reveal, together with the expected tea tray, not Viscount
Torrington, but a smiling Charles Hanwell, as urbane and self-possessed as
usual and certainly more approachable than on their previous meeting at
Almack's.

'Charles. I did not realise you were still in
town.' France allowed him to take her hand in a cousinly salute as the foot man
left the tray and closed the door. 'Didn't you say that you were leaving when I
saw you at Almack's?'

'Yes. That is what I said.' He continued to smile
at her but she detected an edge to his voice as he inclined his he towards
Juliet. His words startled her. 'I did not expect you to be accompanied. I fear
that I cannot say that I am pleased to see you, Lady Juliet.' His elegant bow
held more than touch of irony.

'I had a letter from my uncle,' Frances stated,
unease touching her nerve endings with its icy fingers.

'No, you did not. I sent the letter. My father is
in country.'

'Forgive me, Charles. I do not quite
understand. Are
you
offering to give me
my mother's possessions?'

'There are none, to my knowledge. That, my dear
cousin, was merely a lure to bring you here. I knew you would be unable to
resist. Such sentimentality, Frances, can be dangerous.'

'What do you want of me?' Those icy fingers spread
her heart.

'I am sure that you are intelligent enough to work
it for yourself.'

'Do I presume it is money?'

'Of course.' Charles's lips continued to curve in
the semblance of a smile, but Frances saw no humour in his face.
'I
had no choice but
to bring you here. My other plans failed so I am left with one final option.'

'Other plans? I thought you wanted to marry me.'

'Past history, my dear Frances. My intentions
changed.
I
had not bargained on your presence,
Lady
Juliet,
but it need not intrinsically alter
my design.'

'But what do you want? What do you intend to do to
us?' .

'You will remain here for a little while—I assure
you will be quite comfortable. I have some arrangements to finalise. You will
not expect any attempt to rescue you, of course,' Frances curved her lips into
what she hoped was a smile filled with total disbelief and disdain for her
cousin's plan, 'Of course there will be an attempt to rescue us! How could you
doubt it? As soon as we are missed—'

'Come now, Frances,' Charles interrupted with a
careless shrug. 'Do not play the fool with me. I would wager any money that you
told no one of your intentions this afternoon. After all, who would you tell?
Your resourceful husband
is
in Newmarket. The
Dowager? I doubt it. Your inimitable aunt? Perhaps. But you did not, did you?'
He caught the telltale flush that stained her cheeks and smiled. 'Of course you
did not. We both know that no one will come here to search for you.'

'I don't believe that you could contemplate keeping
us prisoner!' Juliet looked at him in disbelief.

'Oh, yes, he would.' Frances was now convinced of
her cousin's guilt. 'I believe he has tried to cause harm before. Isn't that
right, Charles? On the road to York? You tried to kill Aldeborough, didn't you,
so that you could marry me and lake the money for yourself. What are you trying
to do now? Do you intend to blackmail Aldeborough? My inheritance in return for
my life?'

An amused smile crossed Charles's face. 'The
thought had crossed my mind. But you need not trouble yourself about the means,
dear cousin. Last time, purely by chance, I failed. I shall not do so again. I
am truly sorry that you would not accept my offer of marriage, Frances. It would
have saved us both so much pain and heartache. But now it is irrelevant.'

He opened the door and stood, confident and amused
at the inevitable success of his plan, his hand on the latch. Frances felt her
fingers curl into claws and an overwhelming desire to mar his handsome face
with feline scratches.

'You
cannot escape through the windows—they are all securely locked. And there is
no one to hear you if you call out for help. My servants can be remarkably hard
of hearing. I will leave you to your reflections. Good afternoon, ladies.'

'Can he really keep us here?' Juliet enquired with
remarkable composure in the circumstances.