was duty and honour
which drove him, whatever her own feelings might be.
She received no help as
she stood, lost in her deliberations. Aldeborough merely stood and watched her
quizzically, a faint smile on his lips.
'I think I should tell you
that my uncle will not give his permission for our marriage,' she managed
eventually in a surprisingly calm voice. 'Will that present us with a problem?'
'A special licence will
solve the matter,' the Marquis stated, chillingly dismissive. 'We claim to have
a bishop in the family so we may as well make use of him. It can all be
arranged discreetly and quickly.'
'Thank you.' She swallowed
at her presumption. 'There is just one thing.'
'What now, Miss Hanwell?
You are very difficult to please, but I am sure it will not be an
insurmountable problem.'
'You are laughing at me, my
lord. I wish you would not,' Frances exclaimed crossly. 'It is just that I will
not marry you in this dress.'
'Then I must do something
about it, mustn't I?'
Frances blinked at the
casual acceptance of her demand.
'I shall need to leave you
for a few days to make arrangements,' he continued. 'I must ask you to promise
that you will not try to run away again.'
'Or?' She could not resist
the challenge to the implied threat.
'Or I might have to lock
you in your room until I return.' Frances was left under no illusion that he
would do exactly as he said.
'It is not necessary.' She
sighed, with resignation to a stronger force. 'I will marry you. I will not run
away.'
'Thank you.' He tossed off
the rest of the brandy in his glass. 'I am relieved. Go to bed, Miss Hanwell.
It has proved to be a long and tiring day, for both of us!'
Chapter
Four
'Aldeborough!
At last!' The voice was as smooth and cool as chilled cream. 'I have expected
you home any time this past week. How could you have missed the Vowchurches' drum?
I understand from Matthew that you have been at the Priory.'
Lady
Beatrice, the Dowager Marchioness of Aldeborough, and despising every moment of
her loss of influence in the Lafford household since the death of her husband,
put aside a piece of embroidery and rose from her chair in her cream-and-gold
sitting room. She waited with not even a hint of a smile for Aldeborough to
approach, extending an elegant hand in greeting and allowing him to kiss her
cheek. She was slim and dark and exquisitely dressed in a cream gown that
perfectly complemented her surroundings. It was strikingly obvious from whom
Aldeborough had inherited his features and colouring. She had the same cold
grey eyes that at present were fixed on, Frances, who had entered the room somewhat
hesitantly in Aldeborough's wake.
Aldeborough
saluted his mother's cheek with filial duty and grace, but the lack of
affection between them was as clear as her neglect in returning the embrace.
'And
who is this?'
'I
have been at Aldeborough, ma'am, as you are well aware. There was some
necessary estate business.' He turned hack to Frances who had apprehensively
come to a halt just inside the doorway. 'I wish to introduce you to Frances,
Miss Hanwell.' He took her hand to draw her further forward into the room.
'Miss Hanwell, ma'am, is now my wife.'
The
silence in the room was deafening. Frances continued to cling to Aldeborough's
hand. She had rarely felt so alone as she did at that moment under the
razor-sharp scrutiny. She made a polite curtsy and awaited events with
trepidation as her ladyship's features froze into perplexed disbelief. The
temperature dropped to glacial.
'Forgive
me, Hugh.' Her ladyship ignored Frances. 'Perhaps I misunderstood? This is
your wife? '
'Indeed,
ma'am. We were married three days ago at Aldeborough.'
'But
I had no idea. Who is she?' Her cold eyes raked Frances in an icy sweep from
head to foot and apparently found nothing in the exercise to please her.
'Her
guardian is Viscount Torrington. I met her at Torrington Hall.'
'Really?'
Her lips thinned, 'I am afraid that I find this difficult to
which drove him, whatever her own feelings might be.
She received no help as
she stood, lost in her deliberations. Aldeborough merely stood and watched her
quizzically, a faint smile on his lips.
'I think I should tell you
that my uncle will not give his permission for our marriage,' she managed
eventually in a surprisingly calm voice. 'Will that present us with a problem?'
'A special licence will
solve the matter,' the Marquis stated, chillingly dismissive. 'We claim to have
a bishop in the family so we may as well make use of him. It can all be
arranged discreetly and quickly.'
'Thank you.' She swallowed
at her presumption. 'There is just one thing.'
'What now, Miss Hanwell?
You are very difficult to please, but I am sure it will not be an
insurmountable problem.'
'You are laughing at me, my
lord. I wish you would not,' Frances exclaimed crossly. 'It is just that I will
not marry you in this dress.'
'Then I must do something
about it, mustn't I?'
Frances blinked at the
casual acceptance of her demand.
'I shall need to leave you
for a few days to make arrangements,' he continued. 'I must ask you to promise
that you will not try to run away again.'
'Or?' She could not resist
the challenge to the implied threat.
'Or I might have to lock
you in your room until I return.' Frances was left under no illusion that he
would do exactly as he said.
'It is not necessary.' She
sighed, with resignation to a stronger force. 'I will marry you. I will not run
away.'
'Thank you.' He tossed off
the rest of the brandy in his glass. 'I am relieved. Go to bed, Miss Hanwell.
It has proved to be a long and tiring day, for both of us!'
Chapter
Four
'Aldeborough!
At last!' The voice was as smooth and cool as chilled cream. 'I have expected
you home any time this past week. How could you have missed the Vowchurches' drum?
I understand from Matthew that you have been at the Priory.'
Lady
Beatrice, the Dowager Marchioness of Aldeborough, and despising every moment of
her loss of influence in the Lafford household since the death of her husband,
put aside a piece of embroidery and rose from her chair in her cream-and-gold
sitting room. She waited with not even a hint of a smile for Aldeborough to
approach, extending an elegant hand in greeting and allowing him to kiss her
cheek. She was slim and dark and exquisitely dressed in a cream gown that
perfectly complemented her surroundings. It was strikingly obvious from whom
Aldeborough had inherited his features and colouring. She had the same cold
grey eyes that at present were fixed on, Frances, who had entered the room somewhat
hesitantly in Aldeborough's wake.
Aldeborough
saluted his mother's cheek with filial duty and grace, but the lack of
affection between them was as clear as her neglect in returning the embrace.
'And
who is this?'
'I
have been at Aldeborough, ma'am, as you are well aware. There was some
necessary estate business.' He turned hack to Frances who had apprehensively
come to a halt just inside the doorway. 'I wish to introduce you to Frances,
Miss Hanwell.' He took her hand to draw her further forward into the room.
'Miss Hanwell, ma'am, is now my wife.'
The
silence in the room was deafening. Frances continued to cling to Aldeborough's
hand. She had rarely felt so alone as she did at that moment under the
razor-sharp scrutiny. She made a polite curtsy and awaited events with
trepidation as her ladyship's features froze into perplexed disbelief. The
temperature dropped to glacial.
'Forgive
me, Hugh.' Her ladyship ignored Frances. 'Perhaps I misunderstood? This is
your wife? '
'Indeed,
ma'am. We were married three days ago at Aldeborough.'
'But
I had no idea. Who is she?' Her cold eyes raked Frances in an icy sweep from
head to foot and apparently found nothing in the exercise to please her.
'Her
guardian is Viscount Torrington. I met her at Torrington Hall.'
'Really?'
Her lips thinned, 'I am afraid that I find this difficult to
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