Sylvia Andrew (10 page)

‘Papa, you are a tease! I leave that sort of thing to Lydia. She is of an age to enjoy it.’

‘You talk as if you were a hundred, Francesca. Twenty-five is not such a great age.’

‘It is too old to look for romance. In any case I do not seek it, as you very well know.’

‘My child, I was forty, and a rake past redemption, I thought, when I fell in love with your mother! But tell me…’ Lord Beaudon paused. He was treading on delicate ground, he knew, but the temptation to gain Francesca’s confidence was very strong. ‘Have you never been in love?’

The response was too swift and too emphatic to be convincing. ‘In love? No!’

‘Not even with Freddie?’

Francesca’s face was blank. ‘Freddie who? Oh…that Freddie! Of course not. Who told you about him? Madame Elisabeth?’

‘Don’t blame her. I asked her if you had had any other friends, and she mentioned the episode with Freddie. She seemed to think your aunt had been unjust.’

‘Well, I think so, too. I told Aunt Cassandra that I hadn’t wanted to talk to him and, what’s more, he hadn’t spent more than five minutes in my company before she found us, but she wouldn’t listen. She probably wanted to believe me wicked.’

Lord Beaudon gave an angry exclamation, but Francesca went on, ‘You needn’t worry, Papa. It’s all in the past now; anyway, even at the time, I didn’t care very much what she did—the worst part was having to listen to Mr Chizzle’s sermons.’

‘Why didn’t you care?’ He spoke so softly that Francesca found herself speaking without guarding her tongue.

‘Nothing mattered very much at that time…’

‘Were you so unhappy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why, my child?’

Francesca walked away from him and stared out of the window. Her father held his breath as he watched her. If only she would confide in him!

When she finally spoke, her voice was flat and stiff, as if the words were being forced out against her will. ‘I was not
telling you the truth before. I did love someone once—or thought I did. A friend of Freddie’s—also from Witham Court. Aunt Cassandra never knew about him. No one did.’ Her mouth twisted in a bitter little smile. ‘Except Freddie. Nothing of any consequence happened between us, but I thought my heart was broken. Silly, wasn’t it? To break your heart over a rake—for that is what I discovered he was.’

She turned round and gave a wry smile, ‘It’s very rare to find a rake who really falls in love—Mama was luckier than she knew.’

Lord Beaudon smiled back at her. ‘Your mama, Francesca, had her own anti-rake brand of magic. From the moment I saw her, my days of rakishness were over! And, in my opinion, you have the same magic—or could have, if you chose to exercise it. But…this man—how are you so sure that he was a rake?’

‘He was staying at Witham Court. He gambled and drank…’

‘He cannot be condemned on those grounds—they are not exactly unusual pursuits for a young man!’

‘No, but…He made me believe he loved me…that I was beautiful…of value to him. Have you any idea what that meant to me, Papa? To be loved? After years of living without it?’ Her father drew in his breath and shook his head in self-disgust. Francesca came over and put her hand on his arm. ‘I understand now, Papa, really I do. You mustn’t blame yourself. You did what you thought was best.’

‘But I should never have agreed to lose all contact with you, Francesca! However grieved I was at your mother’s death, I should never have abandoned you so completely. I should have been there to help you when this man…What happened, my dear? Did you…did he seduce you?’

Francesca flushed and looked away. She said painfully, ‘No, Papa. I was spared that folly. But not because…because
I refused him. I was besotted enough to have given him anything he asked of me. No, I was saved from that last betrayal by his friend, who had come up the hill in search of him. We had to part before Freddie found us.’

‘Freddie!’

‘Yes, Freddie, Papa.’

Lord Beaudon decided to leave the question of Freddie for the moment. His daughter was talking of someone who had been much more important to her. ‘This other man…?’ He paused, hoping she would put a name to him. Francesca was silent, so he went on, ‘You saw him just once?’

‘No, we met the day after, too. But by then he had decided he…no longer wished to continue the acquaintance. Oh, he was plausible enough. He played the part of the romantic hero to perfection, pretending concern for me, telling me that he could offer me nothing, that he was poor, I was too young, that he had to go away…He was very plausible. He seemed as unhappy to leave me as I was to see him go.’

She stopped for a moment, then went on, ‘And poor fool that I was, I was completely taken in. I believed him, Papa! I was unhappy, of course, but I was used to disappointment. And the thought that someone had loved me, really loved me, even if Fate and Fortune were against us, gave me courage to bear it. A latter-day Romeo and Juliet…I was really very young—and very naïve,’ she added bitterly. There was a pause. ‘Then a few days later I found out how he really regarded me. Freddie told me.’

She turned and lifted her head, gazing defiantly at her father. ‘When my aunt found me with Freddie, I had just learned that my “Romeo” had boasted of his conquest to the others at Witham Court. I expect they repeated all the gossip to him, about my lack of fortune and…and all the rest. They had probably laughed about me. And after my “hero” had made his escape, Freddie came to see if he could be equally lucky.’

Lord Beaudon could restrain himself no longer. He swore comprehensively, then took his daughter in his arms and held her closely. ‘My poor child! May Cassandra Shelwood rot in hell! Why the devil did I ever let her keep you?’

‘She couldn’t have stopped me falling in love, Papa. I did that all by myself.’

‘But you wouldn’t have been so vulnerable. Did you…did you never see him again? Not Freddie—the other man.’

‘Oh, yes! As soon as he heard I had inherited the Shelwood fortune! He couldn’t wait to come to see me again. I understand why—I knew he was poor, he had told me himself. But, on that occasion, even he couldn’t bring himself to pretend he loved me. He talked of a “communion of spirit”, was kind enough to offer me marriage as a form of protection from fortune hunters! He appeared to have no doubt that I would accept his offer. I was…humiliated by his assumption that I was stupid enough, still besotted enough to marry him!’ Francesca’s voice trembled. ‘I am ashamed to remember what happened next, Papa.’

‘Go on.’

‘I have always tried to keep my feelings under control, whatever the provocation. I take pride in the fact.’

‘I had noticed,’ said Lord Beaudon drily.

‘It was the only way to survive with Aunt Cassandra. But he…it was strange—it was as if I had no barrier to put up with him, whatever I felt. So when he tried to deceive me yet again…I tried to stay calm, to dismiss him with d-dignity, but…He stood there, Papa, so complacent, with such confidence! And I lost my temper. I can’t remember exactly what I shouted at him, but I was unforgivably rude. I don’t think he’ll come back. I certainly never wish to see him again.’

‘My child!’

‘It’s all right, Papa. It hurt at the time—it even hurt when he came back, though I knew him for what he was. I’m over
it now. But that is why I want to marry someone…kind. Safe. Someone I can respect, but not anyone who will make me so stupidly fond…not ever again.’

But Francesca’s wish never to see Marcus again was not to be granted. And once again, even after all the lessons on deportment and correct behaviour, she discovered that Marcus possessed the power to strip away her calm veneer, to reveal the tempestuously impulsive creature beneath. It was not a comfortable sensation.

On the few occasions she was left to her own devices, Francesca took to riding or driving in the woods and lanes round Packards. She was interested to visit the various farms on her father’s estate and compare them with Shelwood. This was one interest that her father did not share with her, so, after an initial introduction to his agent, he left her to her own devices. Since she was always accompanied by her groom who knew the district well, Lord Beaudon’s mind was easy.

On one such occasion she drove over to Brightwells’, a large farm on the farther side of the estate, and was surprised to find that Samuel, her groom, was the younger son of the house. The family were delighted to welcome them both, especially as it was Mrs Brightwell’s birthday.

When the time came for them to leave, Francesca could see that Sam’s mother was disappointed not to have her son at the feast that was due to take place that afternoon, and insisted that Sam should stay. She could quite well find her way back to Packards without him. Thus it was that Francesca started off for home on her own—something she had been well used to at Shelwood.

The road was deserted, for the day was cold, though the sun was shining, but Francesca revelled in the fresh air, and the unexpected sense of freedom. In the enjoyment of her new life, she had not realised how much she missed some pleas
anter aspects of her old one, when no one had been in the slightest concerned what she did. The road ran alongside the forest, and she slowed down to admire the huge trees that lined the way. She could see a small clearing off the road a little way ahead and decided to risk pulling in for a short while. But as she drew nearer, she saw that someone was there before her.

A carriage was standing on the edge of the forest, with a groom in livery in attendance. He had his hands too full to notice her—the horses were restless, and it was taking all his skill to keep them under control. Francesca was puzzled. What was such a splendid equipage—for the carriage was a handsome one, and the horses a magnificent pair of matched bays—doing here in this remote spot? She drew up behind the trunk of a large oak tree and watched.

Now she became aware that the noise of the groom’s efforts to pacify his horses had been drowning other, more menacing, sounds. An altercation was taking place in the forest, and she could hear a girl’s voice raised in distress. They were coming nearer, and Francesca heard the girl cry out.

‘Leave me alone! You’re hurting me! Leave me alone, I say!’

Francesca started up in her seat. What was happening?

Then a man’s voice exclaimed in pain, ‘Ouch! You little vixen! By God, I’ll make you sorry for that, Charlotte!’

Two figures came out of the trees, a tall man, half-carrying, half-dragging a young girl towards the carriage. The girl was kicking and shouting, and the man’s face was black with fury, his voice trembling with rage, but even so Francesca recognised him. With horror she realised that the abductor was Marcus! It couldn’t be! Oh, dear heaven, surely it couldn’t be! Even he could not stoop so low!

‘Please don’t make me go with you! I don’t want to go with you!’ The girl was sobbing with fear.

‘Don’t be such a fool, Charlotte! You know I’m stronger than you, so why keep on fighting me? It won’t be half as bad as you fear!’

‘It will, it will!’

‘Oh get in, girl, and spare me these histrionics!’ Francesca hardly knew Marcus’s voice, it was so harsh. But what was she to do? She must do something to save the girl, but what? Marcus and the groom between them could easily foil any attempt at rescue.

But at the very moment when Francesca had decided to drive forward and risk the consequences, fate intervened. Some birds, which had been roosting in the trees above the carriage, suddenly flew up in a swirl of fluttering wings. One of the bays took strong exception to this and reared up, knocking the groom to the ground. Marcus let the girl go and ran to his servant’s aid, ducking under dangerously flailing hooves to drag the man clear. The girl, left unchecked for a moment, looked wildly round, obviously wondering which way to go.

‘Quickly, girl! Here!’ Francesca cried. With a sob of relief, the girl ran to the phaeton, and with Francesca’s aid scrambled into it. Francesca gave her horses a crack of the whip and they careered off along the the high road, leaving Marcus still wrestling with his horses.

The girl sank back into the seat and burst into tears. Francesca glanced down sympathetically, but was too busy to comfort her. She was encouraging her horses to go faster than ever before, for she had seen the groom getting to his feet as they had passed the carriage. It was some miles to the next village and she must make every effort to get there before they were overtaken. It would not be long before the two men would set off after them, and her horses were no match for those bays! But as she whipped her horses to ever greater effort, her thoughts were in turmoil.

She had known that Marcus was a rogue and a fortune
hunter, but this latest exploit was villainous! She could still hardly believe it. The girl was no more than sixteen—if that! But then, she reminded herself, she had been less than sixteen when he would have seduced her, a more willing victim than the girl beside her. Oh, Marcus! How could you, how could you be so wicked! And why am I foolish enough to be made so miserable by it?

She drove on, immersed in her own unhappy thoughts, till a small voice beside her said, ‘I must thank you, ma’am.’ The girl had recovered and was now looking at Francesca in grateful, if surprised, admiration. Francesca pulled herself together.

‘I was glad to help you…Charlotte, is it? It was fortunate that I happened to be passing. But we are not clear yet, I am afraid. I shan’t be happy till we have reached civilisation.’