The Earl's Runaway Governess, page 16
Mrs Bailey sighed. ‘But will you write to me? I will worry about you. I need to know that you are safe!’
Marianne hugged her then, saying gruffly, ‘I know not where I will be next. I hope that Mrs Gray can find me another governess position. If not I shall offer to be a scullery maid, or work in a tavern.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Whatever it takes, I will contrive. Somehow.’
They clung to each other for a long moment. Marianne reflected that this might be the last time she would feel warmth, affection or love from anyone. Then she stepped back, donned her cloak and bonnet and picked up her bandboxes.
Both of them recognised the similarity with her previous flight, though neither commented on it.
And so it was that Marianne Grant left Ledbury House in the late afternoon, her gardening work unfinished and her heart full of pain.
Lady Cecily, Jane and Mrs Bailey waved to her as Thomas drove the gig out of the yard. Marianne lifted her hand in farewell, her eyes taking in as much detail as possible of them and of Ledbury House. Her home.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Hup!’ Ash urged his stallion on and they cleared the ditch with a graceful leap. The horse was clearly enjoying their dash through the countryside, revelling in the jumps and the speed.
Eventually, conscious that he did not want to harm the animal, Ash finally turned back. As Ledbury House came into view he realised he was no nearer to deciding what to do about Miss Bolton—or whatever her real name was.
Marianne.
That was clearly her true first name.
Marianne.
His lips and tongue silently formed the word, enjoying an agonised pleasure in feeling her name in his mouth. It suited her. Oh, she had tried to hide underneath the cloak of a plain Anne, but Marianne did justice to her inner beauty, her complexity and her intelligence.
His rage had subsided somewhat, enabling him to think a little more clearly. She must have a reason. He had to trust his instincts that she was deeply uncomfortable about the deceit. Or had she simply been uncomfortable at getting caught?
He slowed his mount to a walk and directed him towards the stable yard. He would question her again, as soon as he went inside.
A sudden memory came to him—of the moment when he had spontaneously and without any clear reason told her that she could confide in him if she was troubled. That had been just after they had left the register office. She had been upset, and he had wanted to comfort her.
Of course she had been upset. With hindsight, he realised that she had been distressed not so much from hearing Mrs Bailey’s tale but from seeing Mrs Bailey herself! It was obvious now.
Lord, how foolish he had been! Embarrassment and a feeling of not being in control stung him again. Confound it, his emotions were in disorder! It would not do.
He stomped his way to the front of the house and into the hall. Cronin was there to meet him, his face a mask of inscrutability. Deuce take it, he had completely forgotten about his appointment with the steward. Although the man was an employee, he deserved more courtesy than that.
‘Afternoon, Cronin. I apologise for keeping you waiting, but I decided to ride first. I hope you were informed?’
‘Indeed I was.’
There was a rigidity about Cronin’s demeanour that let Ash know he was unhappy.
‘I am at your disposal, my lord.’ He bowed stiffly.
Ignoring the implied criticism—which was, he realised, entirely justified—he continued breezily along the corridor, the steward beside him.
‘Just let me change out of these clothes—and I need to speak to Miss Bolton about something. Then I will be right with you.’
Silence.
He glanced at Cronin. ‘What?’
Cronin’s face twisted. He seemed to be considering what to say.
Ash stopped, awareness prickling at the back of his neck. ‘Tell me!’
‘She’s gone, my lord!’ The words erupted from Cronin. ‘Thomas drove her away in the gig about a half-hour ago.’
‘Damn it all!’ Ash felt the blood draining from his face. Her words about packing came back to him. But he had not thought she would actually go—and certainly not this quickly. ‘Where has she gone?’
‘We believe to Netherton. The stage comes through in the early hours of tomorrow morning. She intends to wait at the inn until then.’
The inn at Netherton. The place where he had first seen her.
He wheeled around. ‘Tell them to prepare my phaeton. I am going to get her.’
* * *
The tap room at the inn was unchanged. There was the hearth. There were the tables. There, at the bottom of the room, was the landlady. Yet so much had happened in Marianne’s life since she had last been there.
Maintaining what she hoped was an air of confidence, Marianne walked to the landlady, ignoring the two farmers at a table to her right. Using some of her precious cash, she bought a ticket for the stage.
‘And would you like to hire a chamber, miss? Or a private parlour, perhaps?’
This was tempting, as the alternative was to sit in the taproom for the next six hours, until the stage arrived. But her money was so scarce she could not justify it.
‘No, thank you,’ she said calmly. ‘I shall be fine here.’
The landlady shrugged and returned to her task of cleaning the table underneath the taps.
Marianne looked around, then selected a table against the wall. Somehow she felt a little safer with solid stone at her back. She stowed her bandboxes under the table, clasped her hands together and tried not to think. About anything.
She watched the inn’s patrons come and go—mostly locals, calling in for some cool ale after their day’s work. Occasionally a carriage pulled into the yard, its occupants entering the coolness of the inn looking for food, or drinks or the use of the comfort chamber.
After a while Marianne ordered a glass of milk and drank it as slowly as she could manage. Eventually though, it was empty. When she came to take it away the landlady brought two books for Marianne to read, to while away the time.
Grateful for this small act of kindness, Marianne opened the first book, pleasantly surprised to find that it was the first volume of a novel written by ‘A Lady.’ Perhaps it would be entertaining enough to divert her mind from her situation.
She squinted at it in the dim tavern light but could not make out the words. April sunshine was streaming in from the door to the yard, so she stepped outside to the yard and sat on the low windowsill, allowing the mild spring warmth to soothe her a little. She lowered her head and gave the book her full attention.
It worked. The first few chapters were well-written, and contained such interesting characters that she became quite engrossed. Which was why she did not notice the man standing beside her until it was too late to evade him.
Sensing him there, standing unmoving, she looked up. Shiny black boots, fashionable breeches of the finest quality, a rust-coloured waistcoat beneath a tightly fitting coat by Stultz. Her gaze continued upwards as her heart contracted with fear. He was smiling—a smile that filled her with dread.
‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘Finally I have found you, sister dear.’
Chapter Seventeen
Ash drove the phaeton himself. When he brought her back—as he fully intended to do—he did not want Tully or anyone else to witness the conversation he wished to have with his runaway governess. The words were burning in his mind, ready to be unleashed.
What a trimming he was going to give her!
How could she just disappear like that—without his leave, and without even saying goodbye to him?
Already he was thinking of the questions he would ask her, just as soon as he had unburdened himself of his frustration at her foolish flight. He was determined to get the truth from her—and to discover if there was, in fact, a valid reason behind her deception.
He checked his timepiece, then encouraged his horses to go a little faster. The stage was not due for another four or five hours, and an inn was not an appropriate place for an unaccompanied lady—particularly in the evening time.
Ten minutes later he pulled into the inn yard, which was empty. He jumped down and stalked directly into the taproom. A quick glance around showed no sign of her. Thankfully it seemed she had had the sense to reserve a private parlour—or a bedchamber.
He frowned. If she had already retired he would have trouble getting to her. Hopefully she was in a parlour.
‘Good evening, my lord. How may I serve you?’ The landlord, wiping his hands on a towel, was approaching him.
‘I am seeking a young lady who came here earlier. My servant, Thomas, brought her from Ledbury House.’ Ash spoke brusquely, not wishing to reveal anything that was not strictly necessary.
The landlord looked puzzled. ‘There are no young ladies here, my lord.’
‘What? What?’ Ash realised he looked and sounded foolish, but this was so unexpected that he was struggling to take it in.
The landlord looked uncomfortable. ‘Leastways I am not aware of any. I was gone all afternoon—at the market, you understand—so my wife was here by herself for a time.’ He gestured towards a nearby table. ‘I shall go and ask her, if it pleases you. Please, be seated.’
Ash sat, still reluctant to believe the landlord. Of course she was here! She had to be. She knew no one in the area—as far as he knew—and Cronin had been certain that her plan was to take the stage to London. This information had been relayed to him, apparently, by Mrs Bailey. And besides, where else would she go? There was nothing for miles except a couple of hamlets and Netherton itself.
The landlord returned, looking a little sheepish. ‘Apologies, my lord. My wife informs me that there was a young lady here earlier. Dressed in black and with two bandboxes.’
‘That would be her, yes.’
‘She left ’bout a half-hour ago, the wife says.’
‘Going where?’
‘I asked my wife that—for I reckoned you would want to know, my lord—but she did not know. The lady drank some milk, read a book and then left in a carriage, she thinks.’
‘Did she—? Was she happy to go?’ This made no sense. Why would she go with someone?
The landlord frowned. ‘My wife did not see her leave, but she did not notice anything untoward, my lord—for if she had I am certain she would have told me of it.’ He drew himself up, puffing out his chest a little. ‘I do hope there is nothing villainous or notorious going on, for my inn is a respectable establishment, my lord, and I don’t hold with no misconduct!’
Ash made haste to reassure him, suggesting that there had been a simple misunderstanding about the young lady’s travel arrangements, and left the inn shortly afterwards. Driving to the edge of the village, he pulled up at the crossroads. Straight ahead was the road to London—her most likely destination.
Who was she with? She had gone willingly—that much seemed clear. Yet he had only discovered her deception a few hours before. How could she possibly have had time to contact someone? And why had she deceived him in the first place? What had her plan been? Extortion? Theft? There was nothing to suggest either option.
Reluctantly he concluded that he had no right to go after her. She was free to leave his employment if she wished, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Refusing to listen to a small inner voice that encouraged him to continue his reckless pursuit, he turned the horses towards home.
What on earth was going on? He pondered this the whole way back to Ledbury House, racking his brain to try and figure out just how complex her deception had been. He came up with exactly nothing, save that he had clearly been duped by a seemingly innocent woman. Luckily he had stumbled upon her deception, and now she was gone.
Except he didn’t feel lucky. Not in the slightest.
* * *
Henry spent the first hour of their journey congratulating himself on discovering Marianne’s whereabouts and pointing out to her how clever, resourceful and determined he had been.
‘I saw you, you see—that day when I had my accident. You were with Ashington.’ He sneered. ‘What an arrogant booby he is! Thinks himself a man of the town, but I outfoxed him!’ He leaned forward. ‘It’s common knowledge that he paid off his last mistress in January—just around the time you left—and that he has been spending an inordinate amount of time at this country house he’s just inherited. Of course, once I’d seen you and him together I knew exactly why he was spending so much time at his little nest in the country!’
‘But, no!’ Marianne protested. ‘How could you even think such a thing?’
She was horrified at Henry’s assumption—not just for her own sake but, more importantly, for Ash’s.
Henry laughed. ‘His friends actually believe he has developed a passion for farming!’ He shook his head. ‘Completely ridiculous. His passions are much more carnal than they realise.’
Unaccountably, Marianne was reminded of that kiss in Ash’s carriage—a kiss characterised by carnal passion. She flushed.
Seeing her reaction, Henry made a disgusted sound. ‘You rejected my advances but you must have gone to his bed within a week of leaving home. What did he offer you, eh? I see no fancy gowns or jewellery. You have devalued yourself, my dear sister.’
He flicked a casual finger down her cheek, and she flinched.
‘Oh, fear not,’ he muttered testily, ‘I will no longer be pursuing you. I would not take his leavings—not for all the gold in England. Your only attraction was your innocence, and now that is gone. Besides, I have other plans for you.’
Marianne could hardly breathe. If she protested that she was still innocent—that his assumptions about her connection to Ash were wrong—would he attack her again? Though it did not sit well with her, she realised that for now it was safer to allow him to keep believing that she had been Ash’s mistress.
‘It was an easy matter,’ Henry continued, ‘for me to discover the name and general direction of his country house. When I got as far as Netherton I went into the inn to ask for further directions—and there you were!’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But tell me, sister, why were you at the inn? And with your bandboxes? Has he tired of you so soon?’
He looked at her expectantly.
Marianne swallowed. ‘He—we had a disagreement and I left. I was planning to take the stage to London.’
She was so tired of lying. At least this was—more or less—the truth. Her voice had caught a little as she’d remembered the ‘disagreement’—the look of baffled disappointment on Ash’s face as he’d realised she had been lying to him.
Henry sniggered. ‘I see that you are wounded by him. Poor Marianne! Did you think yourself in love with him?’
In love? With Ash?
Henry’s words reverberated inside Marianne’s head.
In love with Ash.
Her breath stopped in her throat.
In love with Ash.
Of course she wasn’t! That was quite impossible. Why, she had never been in love with anyone!
In truth, he was the best person she had ever met—apart from Mama and Papa. The kindest, smartest, most attractive... Sometimes grumpy, sometimes completely infuriating, but always dear to her. She valued his friendship. She saw his good qualities. But she couldn’t possibly be in love with him!
Henry, with the benefit of their long acquaintance, read her expression precisely. He threw back his head and laughed, his hilarity ringing cruelly in her ears.
Her hands balled into fists. Oh, if I were a man, she thought, I would box your nose, right now!
‘Oh, Marianne—you always were a soft fool. He has seduced you and tired of you and you have given him your heart. What a sad, sad tale.’ He leaned forward, speaking in a theatrically lowered tone. ‘You have a lot to learn, my dear. Keeping the attention of a man like Ashington, renowned as a connoisseur of women—’ his tone was scathing ‘—requires a great deal of skill in the bedchamber. If you truly aspire to be a courtesan I can send you to people who can train you better.’
Before she had even thought about how to respond to this she found that she had already done so.
The slap of her hand on his face shocked them both. Her fingers, palm and wrist throbbed and stung—she had hit him with her open hand.
For a second there was silence, as they both realised what she had done. Then his expression turned ugly and he hit her back. Hard.
Her head was knocked backwards and sideways by the force of the blow, and blackness briefly threatened to overcome her. She slumped into the corner of the coach and tried to focus on his face, which was strangely blurred.
He was leaning forward over her, his fist raised as if he was preparing to hit her again. ‘There! How do you like it? Have you not realised yet that you are entirely in my power? That as your guardian I can have you sent to Bedlam or locked in the attic and no one can stop me?’
His tone was menacing, his face purple with rage, and Marianne knew real fear. Her body was shaking uncontrollably, her ears were ringing and the entire left side of her head was a blur of pain. She could taste blood in her mouth, too.
Lord! she thought. Is he going to murder me?
To her intense relief he seemed to check himself, lowered his fist and sat back in his seat. His face was set in the sulky expression that she knew well. He would refuse to speak to her now for a time.
Her fear was not limited to the chance of more physical harm at his hands. It was also because, legally, what he had said was right. She was entirely in his power. Oh, why had Papa appointed him her guardian? Such foolish faith in his son! But then, none of them had understood Henry’s true nature. And now, because of Papa’s will, she had no choice but to obey Henry.
