The Earl's Runaway Governess, page 19
It was not impossible that it was true, she realised. She had seen Ash fall in love—not particularly with Fanny, but with Ledbury House. He was truly engaged in the life there, as she had been, and she believed he had developed a lasting interest in the estate.
Fanny was mistress of Ledbury House, Ash was Cecily’s guardian—and the deceased Lord Kingswood had been Ash’s friend as well as his cousin. It made sense from a certain point of view. It might even, she speculated, have been John’s intention when he’d written his will the way he had, giving Ash responsibility for Cecily. Perhaps Ash felt it was his duty to marry Cecily’s mother. Perhaps he wished to be the girl’s stepfather.
Like Marianne, Ash had come to enjoy life there, she thought—or was her own anguish at leaving Ledbury House leading her to make assumptions?
The Earl had a perfectly cordial relationship with Lady Kingswood, but honestly Marianne could not say that she had seen any spark of passion between them. In fact she had often had to intervene to prevent them from irritating each other. The news that Fanny and Ash had been sweethearts before her marriage was surprising, but it meant that there was a long history and an understanding between them.
The thought of Lady Kingswood and Ash married was hugely disturbing. It could not be good for the happiness of either party.
His relationship with Cecily was more affectionate—more like his warm interactions with Marianne herself had been. Her heart squeezed in pain. Her deceit had destroyed that warmth. It was painful to think he was out there somewhere, angry with her and planning to marry Fanny.
There was a lump at the back of her throat, begging to be released as sobs, but Marianne held firm. She ate and drank nothing more, barely spoke, and spent the next hour in a daze.
Somehow she survived the dinner, and the increasingly raucous antics in the drawing room afterwards. The guests had begun to pair up, and she firmly discouraged both the lecher and the drunken sot before quietly announcing—though no one was listening—that she was retiring.
She fled upstairs to the sanctuary of her chamber, placed a chair against the door handle to dissuade any night-time invaders, and cried herself to sleep.
* * *
‘A great success!’ Despite the heavy eyes and pained expression that told of the after-effects of too much wine, Henry was pleased with himself. ‘They thought you cold and standoffish, but none of them could say that you were being ill-treated.’
Cold and standoffish? To be fair, that was not an unreasonable reflection of her manner towards Henry’s friends. She held them in disdain, and had not been afraid to show it a little.
Henry rubbed his hands together. ‘Now for the next part. I shall accompany you to Lady Annesley’s ball on Friday night. You will smile. I shall bring you ratafia and help you find dance partners. It is expected to be a crush—all of the ton is clamouring for an invitation. That should put paid to any remaining rumours.’ His expression grew sly, and then he added with a casual air, ‘Oh! The lawyer has some papers he wishes you to sign. Nothing important—just matters related to the estate.’
Marianne was conscious that the hairs on the back of her neck were suddenly standing to attention. What was he up to?
With an equally casual air, she replied, ‘Of course! But what shall I wear to the ball?’
Her diversion worked in the way she had intended. He laughed.
‘I might have guessed that would be your first thought! You ladies have little in your heads beyond fashion.’
Resisting the urge to challenge him on this—for Marianne’s mind was working furiously, trying to consider what these ‘unimportant’ papers might be—she said, ‘Well, you can hardly hope to present me in a half-dress and have people believe that I am not ill-treated! And, it being only five days until the ball, it may be difficult to get a gown made in time.’
He chuckled. ‘I see your game! You hope to squeeze more money out of me for an expensive gown! Very well—but know that this will be your last evening out for quite some time.’
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, sister dear, that you will be living in the country until I can arrange a marriage for you. I have been considering which of my friends should have the burden of your care. I invited all the likely ones last night, but only two are showing an interest in pursuing you. I am quite torn between Eldon and Hawkins. Both are well-juiced, but I may be able to squeeze Eldon a little easier than Hawkins.’
Marianne felt sudden rage boiling within her. ‘Do I not choose my own husband? And Hawkins? The drunken sot from last night? Why, I would not marry him for all the gold in England!’
‘Ah, but his family own much of that gold. And, no, you will not choose your own husband. My father’s will gives me that right. My father,’ he repeated, ‘not yours. He was never yours.’
‘So this is about money? You will sell me to the highest bidder?’ Marianne could barely contain herself. ‘What happened to all the money you inherited?’
He smiled again—he was clearly enjoying her outrage. ‘Ah, well, I found it was not quite enough to keep me in the lifestyle which I prefer to have.’
‘You mean, I suppose, that you have squandered it at the card tables and the horse racing?’
He was unperturbed. ‘Not only there, my dear. There is also the cock-pit and the bawdy house.’
She gasped. ‘How dare you speak of such things to me? Papa would be ashamed of you!’
Without warning, he hit her in the stomach. She doubled over in pain and discovered that she could not take a breath. Her chest muscles seemed frozen, and she struggled in agonised panic as her lungs screamed for air. She sank to her knees.
He stepped closer and leaned over her in an intimidating fashion. ‘Never speak of him to me again!’
He pointed his finger at her to emphasise his point. She cowered, sure he was about to hit her again.
‘Do you understand me?’
Terrified, and still winded, she nodded.
Thankfully he stepped back. ‘You may have bruising, but it will not show. If you defy me you will be punished—but in such a way that it cannot be seen by anyone else. Now, get up! You offend me.’
Oh, how she wanted to defy him! She wanted to hit him back. She wanted to spit in his face and tell him what she thought of him. But she had also to survive. So she scrambled to her feet, her breath coming in long, strained, noisy inhalations—as if her throat were almost closed. She stood there, conscious that her whole body was trembling and wishing he could not see her fear.
‘Now, understand this,’ he snarled. ‘You will do what I say without question. You will retire to Papa’s house immediately after the ball. While you are there you will speak to no one and see no one, apart from the new servants I have hired. You will marry whomever I choose. And, most importantly of all, you will tell no one false stories about my treatment of you. Oh, I see that you believe yourself to be ill-used... Believe me, you are very well-treated in comparison to many women. So I expect you to be grateful.’
Grateful? She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. But she knew that to oppose him directly would bring her more pain. Just get through this, she told herself. Get out of the room and you will not be hit again.
She had to think. Surely there was something she could do to escape this nightmare? She tried, but her mind simply would not function. Stupidly, sluggishly, it refused to provide any answers. It was as though all rationality had left her. All that was left was terror.
‘Now, go to your room and stay there for the rest of today. It makes me sick to look at the ugliness of your person.’
The contempt in his voice and in his facial expression almost proved her undoing, but she refused to submit completely. She straightened her spine and looked into his eyes. His gaze dropped.
Wordlessly, she turned and left the room, still shaking, her eyes blinded by the tears that were ready to flow. But as she slowly climbed the stairs, and the horror began to subside a little, she made a vow to herself.
I promise, she said in her head, that I shall escape from you, Henry. Somehow I will. And I shall always remember that I was loved. Mama and Papa loved me. I promise never to let you take that away from me. I was loved. I am Marianne. I shall survive this.
Chapter Twenty
‘Are you going to Lady Annesley’s ball tomorrow night, Ash?’
Barny is a good soul, thought Ash, but his eternal cheerfulness can be wearing.
‘I have not yet decided, Barny. I told her that I would try to attend, but matters of business might take me away from London tomorrow.’
‘Oh, but surely there is nothing so pressing that it cannot wait for one more day?’
Ash sighed. ‘I suppose not.’
In truth, he had no energy or joy for anything these days. Since Marianne’s departure he had been wavering between worrying about her, desperately trying to think of ways to find her, and absolute rage at her for deceiving him, then running away. He still did not know whether to think of her as the victim of some unknown misfortune or a practised deceiver.
Ledbury House without her was unbearable, and yet he had to persist with the work there. Cronin, Mrs Bailey and Cecily never mentioned Marianne, yet her absence was an unspoken bond between them. Fanny, of course, did not mention her either, but only because she did not give a fig for Marianne or anyone else.
Thankfully Fanny was spending more time in London, and Ash rarely saw her. Although mourning limited her from attending large or public events, she was still busy visiting drawing rooms and tea rooms, and from what he could make out she was still spending much more money than she could afford.
She insisted on dining with him every few days, and he did so for Cecily’s sake. The girl was more subdued than ever, and clearly missing Marianne. As was he. She had, it seemed, quite without him noticing it, become a part of him. Now that she was gone he felt as an amputee must—ever-conscious of the absence, of someone or something that should be there but was gone.
‘Here we are!’
Barny’s words brought him back to the present. He had somewhat reluctantly agreed to accompany his friend to a coffee house in New Bridge Street in Blackfriars which was, Barny assured him, all the rage. As they stepped down from the carriage he caught a fleeting glimpse of a lady climbing into another carriage nearby, followed by a footman and a maid. He glimpsed a flash of dark curls peeping out from beneath a fetching straw bonnet, and there was something about the way the lady moved—simply the shape of her—that made him stop dead in his tracks.
Marianne!
Without thought, he ran towards the carriage just as it pulled away. There was a crest on the door, he noted. To his great frustration, the street being fairly clear, the carriage moved ahead, and before long he had to give up his pursuit.
He stood at the side of the road, pondering what he had seen, until Barny huffed up to him.
‘What on earth are you at, Ash? Running up the middle of a London street—have you taken leave of your senses?’
‘Do you know, Barny, I believe I have. But tell me—who owns that coach? Did you see the crest? It was not one I recognise.’
‘Of course I saw it—and I know exactly whose coach it is. It belongs to Henry Grant.’
* * *
Marianne put her cloak and bonnet in her chamber and left the room, intending to go to the library and read. During these past two weeks it had become quite a habit with her to read there in the middle of the day.
Thankfully Henry had gone off with his friends for the day. He was promised to a cock-fight in Richmond and a card party tonight. He would not return until the early hours of tomorrow—the day of the ball.
It was such a relief to know he would be gone all day and all night. Her steps felt a little lighter, and even the continuing presence of her jailers did not daunt her.
Henry had overslept this morning, and his valet had been helping him into his jacket even as they had descended the stairs. Yet still he had taken the time to remind her that the servants would remain vigilant.
‘They have been told,’ he’d said, ‘that you are only to leave to see the dressmaker, and you are to be accompanied at all times when you are out of this house.’
She had already taken the measure of the servants. Apart from the disagreeable housemaid, her other chief jailer was a sullen footman named Trout. It suited him. Both Trout and the housemaid were to accompany her on all the trips to the dressmakers and milliners. The rest of the servants kept out of the way, and while they were no longer actively hostile, they made no attempt to help her either.
As she descended towards the middle floor her eye was caught by a metallic glint on one of the stairs. She bent down and picked up a small silver key. It looked familiar.
A moment later her heart began pounding furiously as the realisation came to her. Henry’s desk key! She had once tried the drawer where he kept his papers, but it had of course been locked. As far as she knew he kept the key with him at all times. And now it was resting in her hand.
She closed her fingers over it and continued downstairs. Such a tiny object, and yet it might give her access to some clue about the mystery of Henry’s furtive behaviour. What were the papers stuffed into the locked drawer?
He had never been interested in business while growing up. Papa had continually tried to get him involved in meetings with the steward, or the lawyer, or the banker, but Henry had had no time for it. Of course Henry was now responsible for his own business affairs, so the drawer might simply contain legitimate dull papers.
They might, but Marianne’s instincts told her otherwise.
‘Miss Grant!’
A deep voice sounded sharply behind her, making her jump in fright. She turned and schooled her features into calmness as Trout approached.
‘I am to inform you that the master has invited two guests for dinner tomorrow evening before the ball—Mr Hawkins and Mr Eldon. He left instructions that you are to confer with Cook about the menus, and to ensure that all is made ready for his friends.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Is something amiss?’
Lord! Her fear of getting caught with Henry’s key must be showing on her face. Not for the first time she wished her thoughts were a little less transparent.
‘Nothing save the fact that you frightened me half out of my wits, addressing me like that!’
His jaw hardened, but he did not argue. He, too, maintained the pretence that he was a footman, not a prison guard, so his insolence was somewhat contained. Under normal circumstances he would have been given his marching orders for speaking so to his master’s stepsister.
She pursed her lips, every inch the serene lady of quality. ‘Please tell Cook to meet me in the green parlour at four o’clock with a suggested menu.’
She inclined her head graciously, indicating that the conversation was at an end, then turned and walked smoothly to the library.
Eldon and Hawkins—the two suitors Henry had identified as wealthy targets he could squeeze for cash if one of them became Marianne’s husband!
She half expected Trout to challenge her again, but he let her walk on. She felt his gaze boring into her back and it took every ounce of her strength to keep walking, head held high, until she was safely inside the library.
Closing the door, she leaned against it, her body sagging in relief.
Chapter Twenty-One
So it is true! thought Ash. He and Barny had enjoyed an almost silent dish of coffee, and they were now back in Ash’s carriage. After leaving Barny at his lodgings Ash intended to go for a long walk in the Green Park, to try and return his mind to sanity.
She had deceived them all and was obviously a high-class courtesan. After a short time pretending to be an innocent—a governess, for goodness’ sake!—Marianne had shown her true colours.
Henry Grant had seen instantly what she was. Ash’s own instincts had been dulled, he now realised, by his immediate and compelling attraction towards ‘Miss Bolton.’ Besides, she had introduced herself as a governess and, while he had realised there was something not quite right about her, he had had no idea of the scale of her deceit.
Grant had seen her in his company and made an incorrect assumption about their relationship, but he had been entirely accurate in realising that Marianne was a lightskirt.
Either that or he had known her already, and had been seeking an opportunity to continue a previous liaison or pursuit. It was also still entirely possible that Marianne, as Grant had said, did know Grant’s sister. Barny had told him that Grant’s sister never came to London. With Grant having installed a mistress in the capital, Ash now knew exactly why the sister would never be allowed to venture into Grant’s world.
Grant had been open in his pursuit of Marianne—going so far as to blatantly try to steal her from Ash, whom Grant had assumed was her current protector.
And in a sense I was, Ash mused. As Cecily’s guardian, I paid her wage. I paid for her keep in return for her services. Just not in the usual way.
Whatever quirk of fancy had inspired her to try her hand at being a governess, it had not lasted long. The minute she had been unmasked she had vanished, gone on to find a new victim. Henry Grant.
The fact that he already intensely disliked Henry Grant should have made it easier to take. Instead it was harder. The thought of Grant bedding his Marianne had fired a rage inside him that was begging for release. Seeing her willingly climb into Grant’s carriage—arrayed in fine new clothes, if he was not mistaken—had put to rest any lingering doubts he had had about her true vocation.
He was not ashamed to admit that along with the sense of betrayal and hurt there was a sense of relief. Stupidly, he had actually thought himself to be in love with her! He had even, he admitted to himself, considered making her his wife! He, who had vowed long ago never to let any woman into his heart after the disaster of his mooning calf love for Fanny all those years ago, had actually thought that he quite adored Miss Bolton.
