Runaway Miss (3 page)

‘Do you know, Mama, I cannot help wondering what Sir George is expecting to gain by it.’

If her mother intended to enlighten her, she did not do so because Harriet returned on Freddie’s arm and after he had bowed and left them, they sat chatting about the young men who were present, none of whom matched up to Freddie in Harriet’s eyes. As for Emma, she could not take any of them seriously. They were either dressed in the exaggerated fashion of the tulip, too young, too short or too old. Was Lord Bentwater among them and, if so, which was he?

‘Harriet, do you know who that man is, talking to my stepfather?’

‘I believe his name is Mr Jeremy Maddox. Don’t tell me he has taken your fancy.’

‘Goodness, Harriet, you do not think I have developed a
tendre
for someone I have only seen at a distance, do you? And he’s a dandy if ever I saw one. I was curious, that’s all. I thought he might be Lord Bentwater.’

Harriet laughed. ‘Good heavens, no! Why did you think it was him?’

‘I didn’t, particularly. My stepfather is set upon introducing me to Lord Bentwater and I am expected to be amiable. I am curious to know what he looks like…’

‘Bentwater! Oh, Emma, he does not expect you to marry that old roué, does he? He is fifty if he is a day and has gone through three wives already and not one has managed to
produce an heir. I hear he is desperate. You cannot possibly consider him.’

‘Then I shan’t.’ She spoke firmly, but they both knew it would not be as easy as that. Perhaps Harriet had been exaggerating or perhaps there was more than one Lord Bentwater.

She realised her friend had not been exaggerating when her stepfather tapped her on the shoulder a little later in the evening. ‘Emma, may I present Lord Bentwater. Bentwater, my stepdaughter, Lady Emma Lindsay.’

‘My lady, your obedient.’ He made a flourishing leg, bowing low over it, giving her time to appraise him. He was taller than she was by an inch, but that was all she could find in his favour. He was thin as a lathe, with sharp features and black brows. His coat and breeches were of black silk, his black waistcoat was embroidered with silver; his calves, in white silk stockings, were plumped out with padding. Emma was reminded of a predatory spider and shivered with a terrible apprehension. Surely her stepfather did not expect her to marry this man?

He was looking her up and down, taking in every detail of her face and figure, and she longed to tell him she was not a brood mare being trotted out for his inspection, but knew that would be unpardonably rude; for her mother’s sake, she resisted the impulse and met his gaze unflinchingly. She curtsied. ‘My lord.’

He offered his hand. ‘Shall we dance, my lady?’

She accompanied him on to the floor where they joined an eightsome. The steps were intricate and they were never close enough to permit a conversation, but she was aware as she moved up and down, across and sideways, that he was looking at her all the time, even when he was executing steps with another of the ladies. How uncomfortable he made her feel!
At the end of the dance, she curtsied and he bowed and offered his arm to promenade.

‘My lady, you must learn to unbend,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You are as stiff as a corpse and I would not like to think you are unhappy in my company.’

‘My lord, I am neither happy nor unhappy and as the dance has ended, you do not have to endure my company any longer.’

‘There, my dear, you are wrong. It is my earnest wish that we shall be often in each other’s company in future. Every day. Has your papa not told you of my intent?’

‘My father, my lord, is dead. And if you refer to my mother’s husband, then, no, he has not.’

‘No doubt he left it for me to do so after we had spoken together.’ When she did not reply, he went on with an oily smile. ‘You are a haughty one, to be sure, but that can be made a virtue, so long as your haughtiness is aimed at those beneath you and not your husband…’

‘My lord, I have no husband.’

‘Not yet. But the deficiency may soon be rectified. The details have yet to be settled with Sir George, but I think you understand me.’

‘You are offering for me?’

‘Yes. The offer has been made and accepted.’

‘Not by me, it has not.’

‘That is by the by. First things first. I have received the proper permission from your guardian to approach you and I shall call on you tomorrow when we will tie the thing up nice and tight.’

She stopped and turned to face him, drawing herself up and taking a deep breath. ‘Lord Bentwater, I am aware of the honour you do me, but I must decline. We should not suit.’

He threw back his head and laughed so that one or two people close by stopped their chattering to turn towards them. ‘You suit me very well and it suits Sir George to give you to me…’

‘Give me?’ She was shaking with nerves and seething with anger. How could he assume she would meekly give in? He was a dreadful man. He was older than her stepfather, he had small currant eyes and bad teeth, and his manner was arrogant and self-satisfied. The very idea of being married to him repelled her. ‘Why does it suit Sir George?’

He drew his lips back over his yellow teeth in a mockery of a smile. ‘Let us say that he has his reasons for wishing to accommodate me.’

Emma realised he had a hold over Sir George and she guessed it was something to do with money. She was being sold! ‘My mother will never sanction such a thing.’

‘Lady Tasker will obey her husband as every good wife does. Now, my dear…’ Again that awful smile. ‘Let us not quarrel. I shall not be a bad husband, not if you please me…’

‘But
you
do not please
me
, Lord Bentwater. I bid you good evening.’ She broke away from him and went to sit beside her mother. ‘Mama, you wanted to know which of the gentlemen was Lord Bentwater and now I can point him out. He is that black spider over there, laughing with Sir George, no doubt over me. He tells me he has bought me—’

‘Bought you, child?’

‘Yes, bought me. I do not know what he has given, or promised to give, your husband for me, but I tell you now, nothing on earth will persuade me to take that rude, arrogant scarecrow for a husband.’

‘Oh, Emma,’ her mother said with a heavy sigh. ‘There will be the most dreadful trouble, if you do not.’

‘Why? What has Sir George said to you?’

‘He says he cannot afford to cross Lord Bentwater, that the man has it in his power to ruin us, though George will not tell me how or why. All he says—and he says it over and over again—is that without this match we will live in penury, his reputation will be ruined and we won’t be able to lift our
heads in society again. I think it must be a gambling debt, I can think of nothing else.’

‘Mama, surely it cannot be your wish that I marry that man?’

‘No, of course not. I have argued until I am spent, but George is adamant.’ Lady Tasker sighed heavily. ‘If only your papa were alive…’

‘You would not be married to Sir George Tasker, would you?’ Emma said with unanswerable logic. ‘Why did you marry him, Mama?’

‘I was lonely and in all my life I have never had to manage alone. My father, the late Duke, looked after me and my affairs until he handed me over to your father when I was seventeen and he carried on as my father had done. I never had to think of anything for myself and, when your papa died, I had no idea how to go on. Sir George was charming and understanding. Even now, when he is in a good mood…’ She stopped and gazed across the room where her husband was enjoying a jest with Lord Bentwater. ‘I dare not cross him.’

Emma gave up the conversation, knowing she would get nowhere with it. And now she was torn in two because it was obvious that if she was adamant in her refusal to marry Bentwater, her mother would suffer for it. Sir George would not beat his wife, he had too much pride for that, but there were other ways of punishing her: subtle verbal cruelty, forbidding her to receive her friends or call on them, taking away her pin money so that she could go nowhere, buy nothing, without petitioning him first. It had happened before when her mother displeased him and Emma loved her mother dearly and could not bear to think of her suffering in that way. ‘Mama, if you say I must, I must, but I shall do it with a heavy heart and I promise you I shall not be an obedient wife.’

‘Perhaps it will not come to that,’ her mother said hopefully. ‘George might relent.’

The music resumed and another partner came to claim
Emma and she was not called upon to answer. She went off and danced with the young man, a fixed smile on her face. She even managed to make one or two witty comments about the music and the company, but inside her heart was heavy as lead. If only she could find a way out without hurting her mother. If only she could find her own husband, she could tell the odious Lord Bentwater she was already promised. She smiled a little at her own foolishness. If she hadn’t found one in the two years since her come-out, she was unlikely to find one now.

She was about to return to her mother when she saw Sir George returning to her with Lord Bentwater in tow. She turned about and went to the retiring room, where she sat on the stool before the mirror and looked at herself, as if she could find the answer to her problems in her reflection. ‘You are on your own,’ she told the strained face that stared out at her. ‘You cannot depend upon your mama to support you and Sir George is quite capable of dragging you to the altar. And who can you confide in? Not your mother, for she is too afraid of her husband. Not Rose, who is anxious about her own mother and leaving you in any case. There is Harriet, but Harriet is thinking about nothing but her wedding and who can blame her? There is no one.’

Sighing heavily, she returned to the ballroom and put on a brave smile, which she kept in place even when Lord Bentwater came to claim her for a second dance and spoke and behaved as if she had already accepted him. This was reinforced on the journey home, when Sir George told her that he expected her to accept the very next day. ‘You are well past marriageable age,’ he said. ‘It is time you settled down and I can think of no one who will serve you better than Cecil Bentwater. He is wealthy enough, even for you. My God, there must be dozens of young ladies who would jump at the chance…’

‘Then let him choose one of those.’

‘He has favoured you, though I do wonder if he knows what a hoyden he is taking on.’ And he gave a harsh laugh.

‘Perhaps you should enlighten him.’

‘Oh, I have, but he tells me he enjoys a challenge and there is no gainsaying him.’

‘But, sir, I do not, cannot, love him.’

‘Love!’ He scoffed. ‘Love has nothing to do with it. You do not have to live in each other’s pockets and, in truth, it would look strange if you did. Husbands and wives lead their own lives, have their own friends and pursuits to keep them occupied and Lord Bentwater would not expect anything else from you, except to do your wifely duty and give him an heir. Once that is done, you may please yourself, so long as you are discreet. Discretion is the name of the game, not love. If you remember that, you will deal very well together.’

The idea revolted her. ‘I cannot believe that all marriages are like that. Mama and Papa—’

‘Enough!’ he said, not wishing to be reminded of his saintly predecessor. ‘You will marry Lord Bentwater and that is my last word on the subject.’

Emma felt her mother’s hand creep into her own and squeeze it and she fell silent for the rest of the journey.

It was three in the morning before she went to her bed, but even so Rose was waiting to help her to undress. Rose was sturdy, clean and tidy, with light brown hair pulled back into her cap and a neat waist encircled by a snowy apron over a grey cambric dress. ‘I shall miss you when you go, Rose,’ she said, as the girl helped her out of her ball gown.

‘And I shall miss you, my lady.’

‘Do you like being a lady’s maid?’ she asked, watching Rose deftly fold the gown and lay it carefully in the chest at the foot of her bed.

‘Oh, yes, my lady, it is cut above other house servants.’

‘What is it like?’

‘Like, my lady?’ Rose queried, puzzled. ‘Why, you know my duties as well as I do.’

‘I did not mean your duties, I meant the life, how you feel about it. Do you not hate being at someone’s beck and call all the time?’

‘We all have to work, my lady, unless we’re gentlefolk, that is, and I would as lief work as a lady’s maid as anything else. You have a certain standing among the others. If you have a good mistress such as you are, my lady, you are treated kindly, fed and clothed and paid well, and there are the perks. You often give me gowns you have tired of and when you are from home and do not need me, I have only light duties such as cleaning and pressing your clothes and tidying your room…’

Emma managed a light laugh, though she felt more like weeping. ‘Oh, I know I am not the tidiest person in the world.’ She paused. ‘But don’t you resent being given orders?’

‘No, why should I? It is the way of things.’

‘But if they go counter to your own inclinations?’

‘My inclinations, my lady, do not count. But why are you asking all these questions?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. It is because you are leaving me, I suppose. And I wonder how I shall manage without you.’

‘Your mama will find you someone else.’

‘No doubt, but it won’t be the same. And what makes it worse is that my stepfather has found a husband for me…’ She paused while Rose undid her petticoats, picking them up when she kicked them off. ‘He is the most odious man imaginable and how am I to bear it without you?’

‘I am sorry, Miss Emma, indeed I am. If I could help you, I would.’

But it was not Rose or her replacement who filled her thoughts when her nightgown was pulled over her head and she settled between the sheets, but the dilemma she faced over
Lord Bentwater. She lay wide awake, going over and over in her mind what had happened, wondering what it was that made her stepfather so anxious she should obey him. It had to be money; Lord Bentwater had as good as told her so. Could she buy her way out? But she did not have the spending of her money and her trustees would take the advice of Sir George, especially if her mother agreed with him. Mama would not dare to defy him. Rose’s words—
‘my inclinations…do not count’
—came back to her. It certainly seemed to be true of the mistress at that moment.