Runaway Miss (14 page)

‘I do not think you can count on any support for your ideas there,’ she told Alex.

‘No, but it’s no more than I expected. The Rector is bound to be a little starchy, but he is only one of many.’

‘Yes, but he has a lot of influence,’ Amelia put in. ‘He has only to denounce it from the pulpit and you will lose the support of his parishioners too.’

‘Then I shall have to try to bring him round.’

‘How?’ Emma asked.

‘I will think of something. A bit of toadying to the lady of the house, perhaps. Get her on my side.’

‘She will not defy her husband, not unless she thought her daughter’s future depended on it.’ This came from Amelia, though the thought had crossed Emma’s mind and made her catch her breath. How could she bear to stand by and see his lordship snapped up by anyone else, let alone the strait-laced Miss Griggs? She was honest enough to recognise the feeling as jealousy, but it did not help. She had got herself into the biggest coil of her life and she could see no way out of it.

The soirée at Cragside House was worse. Not only was the Rector and his family there, but so was Dr Hurley and his daughters and Mr Dewhurst, the lawyer, with his wife and son, Cecil. Sir Mortimer was hearty and boastful of his influence in the neighbourhood; as he was in favour of the regatta, it looked as though there might be a serious falling out when he and the Rector began arguing about it and the doctor and the lawyer joined in. Emma longed to add her own arguments, but knew that would be entirely unacceptable and so she remained silent and simply listened.

It was left to Alex to do his diplomatic best to calm them down. ‘It was only an idea I had to help the employment situation,’ he said quietly. ‘I have no wish to go against local feeling.’

‘I think it’s a grand idea,’ Charlotte said, laughing and making eyes at Alex. ‘You want a battle, my lord, then you have a ready-made one. Papa and Mr Dewhurst against the Reverend and Dr Hurley.’

‘Do not be foolish,’ her father snapped at her. ‘Go and find some music to entertain us.’

She pouted and went over to the pianoforte, where she was joined by the other young ladies, though Emma remained
sitting beside Mrs Summers. The girls were whispering together and laughing and she felt left out. But such was her lot and it was a hundred times better than being married to Lord Bentwater, so she told herself, but that was followed by the thought that not being able to take her rightful place in society or being able to meet Lord Malvers on an equal footing was worse. She was between the devil and the deep blue sea.

‘Do you think we could dance?’ Rachel murmured to Charlotte. ‘I long to dance with the handsome Lord Malvers.’

‘You can’t. He’s mine,’ Charlotte snapped. ‘You can dance with Cecil Hewitt and Prudence can dance with your brother.’

‘What about me?’ Charity wailed.

‘Oh, you’re too young to dance with men,’ her sister said. ‘You know Papa will not allow it. You can play for us.’

Reluctantly Charity sat at the instrument and began to play. Emma watched and waited, wondering how Charlotte Pettifer was going to contrive to have the partner she wanted. She did not have long to wait; Charlotte stepped into the middle of the room. ‘Papa,’ she said gaily, ‘Charity has offered to play for dancing. You will allow it, won’t you?’ She did not wait for his reply, but seized Alex by the arm. ‘Come, my lord, show us how it’s done in London society.’

He had no choice but to obey and it was left to James and Cecil to pick their partners. Emma watched, her foot tapping. ‘I am sorry, child,’ Amelia whispered to her. ‘You should be enjoying the dancing too.’

‘That would set the cat among the pigeons,’ she whispered back, pretending she didn’t care.

The dance ended, the men bowed and the ladies curtsied, while Charity searched for more music. When she struck up a waltz, Mrs Griggs protested. ‘Charity, that is most unsuitable,’ she said. ‘Find a country dance.’

‘Oh, but, Mrs Griggs, the waltz is considered perfectly
proper in London, you know,’ Charlotte said. ‘Is that not so, my lord?’ She appealed to Alex.

‘I believe it is danced frequently in the best ballrooms nowadays,’ he said. ‘Even at Almack’s, which is considered very proper indeed.’ He looked across at Emma as he spoke and there was a twinkle in his eye that made her smile.

‘Oh, do teach it to us, my lord,’ Charlotte begged. ‘It is all right, isn’t it, Mama?’

‘If his lordship says it is done in respectable circles, I think we can allow it.’

Alex smiled and, while Charity inexpertly thumped out the beat, proceeded to show them how to dance a waltz. ‘It’s difficult to demonstrate the lady’s steps without a partner who knows it,’ he said, stepping over to Emma and grabbing her hand to pull her to her feet. ‘Come, Miss Draper, let us show them.’

She should have pulled away, should have refused to leave her seat, but she was not strong-willed enough. She had been longing to dance with him and he had given her the opportunity and she was not going to waste it. She ignored the gasp of outrage of those watching as he swung her into the dance, and after that she forgot them altogether. She was in his arms, her body swaying with his, so in tune with each other, they moved as if they had been dancing together all their lives. He did not speak and neither did she, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes as if he knew what he had done and did not care.

The music ended and he held her hand as she dropped into a deep curtsy, then raised her again and bowed. ‘Thank you, my lady.’

She gasped. How could he say that to her? Did he know? Or was he teasing? Had anyone else heard him? ‘My lord,’ she said, bowing her head, so that he should not see her consternation.

‘Now, it’s my turn,’ Charlotte cried, stepping up to Alex as he reluctantly released Emma. ‘Come on, Charity, play it again.’

He bowed and danced with her and then the other ladies, patiently showing them the steps, while Emma returned to her seat, her heart so full of a mixture of elation and jealousy, she could not speak. It would be like that wherever they went. If he singled her out, he would jeopardise his popularity with the elite of the area, but if he ignored her, her heart would break. The best thing was not to attend such gatherings. She did not think Mrs Summers truly needed her and was only trying to be kind by taking her.

Alex knew he had stepped over the line between acceptable and unacceptable behaviour and so he spent the rest of the evening being extra-attentive to the other young ladies, ignoring Miss Draper, which was the hardest thing for him to do, and emptying the butter boat over the older generation of ladies so that by the end of the evening he was once again in favour. He knew they were making an effort to overlook his strange way of going on because they had marriageable daughters and viscounts did not come their way very often. He would have been amused and thumbed his nose at them if he hadn’t wanted to win them over to his regatta idea. By the end of the evening he thought he had, certainly enough for him to feel justified in making a start on the arrangements. They were even talking about a ball to finish off the proceedings in style.

‘After all, now Lord Malvers has shown us how to waltz, we ought to be able to show it off,’ Charlotte said. ‘Do you not think it a good notion, my lord?’

‘Yes, but I do not know if I will have the time to organise it.’

‘Then we will organise it for you, won’t we, Mama? You are very good at that sort of thing, everybody says so. After all, the occasion is not just for the lower class of person, is it?’

Lady Pettifer murmured that she would be responsible for the ball, if Lord Malvers wished it. They could hire the assembly rooms for the purpose.

He had not thought of rounding the evening off in that way, but realised it was a good idea, and, if he did not have the organising of it, so much the better. He thanked her ladyship; the last day in June was decided on by mutual agreement and the evening ended on a happy note.

He spent the next day talking to anyone who could help him. Having discovered that the nearest of the small uninhabited islands belonged to a Mr Hawthorne who lived in Bowness, he set off to see him and obtained his permission to use it for a battle, so long as no permanent damage was done and it was handed back at the end exactly as he found it. Next he went to all the inns and taverns in the area where ex-soldiers congregated and recruited as many men as he could to construct a wooden fortress on the island with all the trappings to defend it, including cannon. Others he set to work making a small armada from boats and yachts and anything that floated. Accounts for the materials they needed were to be sent to him.

‘What’s it all for?’ one of the men asked him.

‘To entertain the population and the offcomers, to make work and bring money to the area.’

‘Yes, I c’n see that, but if there’s to be a battle, it ought to be over something: a broken agreement, revenge for a wrong, the kidnapping of a lady, something like that.’

‘Yes,’ someone else piped up. ‘If a beautiful damsel were to be carried off to the island by evil men, she’d have to be rescued by the good men, don’t you think?’

‘A sort of Helen of Troy,’ Alex mused. ‘You might have an idea there. I’ll put my mind to it.’

Thoroughly satisfied with his day’s work, he returned home, wondering if Miss Draper would consent to take part and be the lady to be kidnapped. He put it to her over dinner. ‘It would only mean pretending to struggle while you are
being carried off and waiting on the island to be rescued. What do you say?’

‘If it helps, of course I will,’ she said. ‘But are there not other young ladies who might do as well? One of the Misses Hurley or Miss Pettifer. I am sure she would jump at the chance.’

He looked at her in amusement—his lovely Miss Draper was jealous! ‘No, can you imagine them kicking and screaming? They would be far too decorous for that.’

‘Meaning I am not,’ she said sharply.

‘Well, I do know you can act the part.’

‘Alex, do not tease,’ Amelia said, seeing the look of consternation on Emma’s face. ‘It is unkind of you. It is not Fanny’s fault that she has so many adventures.’

‘No, you are right. I beg your pardon, Miss Draper. But will you do it?’

‘Yes, if you like. Tell me what you would like me to do.’

‘I haven’t worked it out yet, there is plenty of time. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, while we are out riding.’ Because of his outrageous behaviour in making her dance with him the evening before, he knew she deserved an apology and an explanation and going riding might afford an opportunity to talk.

‘Are we going riding? It is the first I heard of it.’

‘I did promise to take you. Tell me if it is not convenient.’

‘It is not my convenience that matters. Mrs Summers might need me.’

‘You go and enjoy yourself, my dear,’ Amelia said. ‘I have no particular need of you tomorrow.’

And so she agreed and began to look forward to it eagerly.

The next morning they rode along the road to the bridge that took them over the river, and then round the top of the lake where she had tried to walk before and were soon following a path through woods that was wide enough for them to ride side by side. They talked about the kidnap of the lady
and the rescue attempt and how it could be done, until they emerged on the far shore of the lake. There was a stretch of firm turf here and they were able to put the horses to a canter. Emma spurred Bonny into a gallop and was thrilled when the mare responded. It was good to feel the wind on her face; for the first time in months she felt free. If only it could always be like that.

He followed her, his heart in his mouth, but when he saw how competently she rode and how fearless she was, he relaxed. She was no novice. They slowed at last and slipped from the saddles to rest the horses, standing side by side, looking out across the lake to Waterhead on the far side. ‘You managed very well for someone who has only done a little hacking,’ he said.

Was he probing again? Or simply teasing her? Should she confess that she had been riding almost since she could walk? If she did, it would lead to other questions and was she ready to answer them? ‘My father taught me. He was very fond of riding. I have done very little since he died.’

‘I am sorry. I did not mean to make you sad.’

‘I am not sad, my lord.’

‘Good.’ He paused, but when she did not enlarge on that, added, ‘Can you not call me Alex, at least when we are alone?’

‘Oh, no, my lord, that would not be—’

‘Proper!’ he said, laughing. ‘For someone who manages to fall into every sort of mischief, getting wet and muddy, letting down her hair and riding like a trooper, you place an inordinate amount of importance on being proper. I do not think you make a very good lady’s companion at all. I said so before, did I not?’

‘Then it is as well it is not for you to decide, but Mrs Summers, and she seems satisfied.’ It was spoken sharply.

‘No doubt there is a reason for that,’ he said gently.

‘Yes, she is a kind lady who understands my predicament.’

‘I wish I did,’ he said.

‘You know perfectly well that it became necessary for me to earn a living and Mrs Summers was known to my mother; it was better than working for a stranger. Surely you can understand that?’

He sighed. ‘I am doing my best.’

‘And so am I. Please do not keep quizzing me, or I shall think you do not believe me and that would be most uncivil of you.’

‘Very well, I shall say no more. But I want to apologise for putting you to the blush the other night. I wanted to dance with you and I had seen you tapping your foot as if you wanted to join. The temptation was too strong to resist. Am I forgiven?’ It was asked with a smile that sent her pulses racing. He had a most disconcerting way of slighting her and making it sound like a compliment.

‘Yes, but why did you address me as if I were a lady?’

‘Oh, I was only demonstrating to the others how it should be done in polite circles,’ he said offhandedly. ‘And it annoyed me to see you ignored.’

Her spirits soared at this, but then plummeted again. ‘But that is my lot, my lord. There is no getting away from it and I beg you not to do anything like that again.’