Free The Runaway Heiress by Anne O'Brien Page A

depicted in the background, a shotgun tucked through his arm and
a gun dog at his side. The artist was good, successfully catching the vivid
personality and love of life—Frances had the impression that he could have
stepped out of the frame at any moment. Even though she had never known him, it
was difficult to believe that he was dead. What a terrible tragedy! No wonder his
mother mourned him with such passionate intensity.
    'Was...was it an
accident?' Frances asked to break the painful silence.
    'Some might try to imply
that it was—to hide the truth from the world—but his death was to Hugh's
advantage, a fact which must be obvious to all. It breaks my heart to think of
it'
    Frances
privately doubted that she had a heart to break.
    Lady
Aldeborough continued, long pent-up bitterness pouring out. 'And Penelope, his
fiancée. So beautiful and elegant. So well connected—so suitable. She would have made an excellent
Marchioness. As if she had been born to it.'
    'I
can see that she must have been greatly distressed.'
    'Penelope
has remarkable self-control. And of course she still hoped to become my
daughter-in-law in the fullness of time. But now it has all changed. I do not
know how I shall have the courage to break the news to her. But, of course,
Hugh would never think of that. He has always been selfish and frippery. His
taking a commission in the Army to fight in the Peninsula was the death of his
father.'
    As
Lady Aldeborough appeared to be intent on holding her son to blame for
everything, Frances felt moved to defend her absent husband.
    'I
have not found him to be selfish.'
    'To
be the object of an abduction or an elopement—or whatever the truth might be,
for I do not think the episode has been explained at all clearly to my
satisfaction—I can think of nothing more degrading.' Her eyebrows rose. 'That
smacks of selfishness to me.'
    'That
was not his fault, in all fairness. My husband' — Lady Aldeborough winced at
Frances's deliberate choice of words— 'has treated me with all care and
consideration. He saw to my every comfort on our journey here. I accept that
our marriage is not what you had hoped for, but Aldeborough has shown me every
civility and courtesy. I cannot condone your criticism of him.'
    'Be
that as it may, there is much of my son that you do not know. But you have
married him and will soon learn. I hope you do not live to regret it. Now, tell
me. Have you a dowry? Have you brought any money into the union? At least that
would be something good.'
    Frances
took a deep breath to try to explain her inheritance in the most favourable
light when the door opened on the return of Aldeborough and Matthew. She
grasped the opportunity to allow the question to remain unanswered and turned
towards her husband with some relief.
    They
were obviously in the middle of some joke and Frances was arrested by the
expression on Aldeborough's face. She had never seen him so approachable. His
eyes alight with laughter and his quick grin at some comment were
heartstoppingly and devastatingly attractive. She had much more to learn about
her husband than she had realised. And the unknown Richard.
    The
smile stayed in Aldeborough's eyes as he approached across the room. 'I see you
have survived,' he commented ironically, showing recognition of her
predicament. 'I knew you would.'
    'Of
course.' Frances raised her chin and looked directly into his eyes. 'Your
mother and I have enjoyed a...an exchange of views. I already feel that we
understand each other very well.'
    Aldeborough's raised
eyebrows did not go unmarked.
    He
came to her that night.
    Immediately
upon a quiet knock, he entered the Blue Damask bedroom, where Frances had been
temporarily accommodated until the suite next to the master bedroom could be
cleaned and decorated to her taste. The door clicked shut behind him. He halted
momentarily, his whole body tense, his senses on the alert, and then with a
rueful shrug and a slight smile he advanced across the fine