Читать книгу Runaway Miss - Mary Nichols, Mary Nichols - Страница 9

Lady Emma Lindsay looked at herself in the mirror, not out of vanity but simply to assure herself that the gown she wore would pass muster. It was made in pale blue mousseline de soie, with tiny puffed sleeves, a deep boat-shaped neckline edged with a darker blue satin ribbon, and a high waist marked by the same ribbon. The skirt stopped just short of her feet and revealed satin slippers. Her maid had arranged her dark brown hair à la Grecque, held with a coronet of tiny silk flowers.

‘There! You look very fine indeed,’ Rose said, as she helped Emma on with her velvet cape, handed her a fan decorated with a woodland scene and stood back, smiling at the picture she had helped to create. ‘You will have all the eligibles falling at your feet.’

‘Too late, Rose, too late. I shall soon be one and twenty, almost at my last prayers.’ She was unusually tall, but then all the Lindsays were tall, so it was hardly surprising. What with her height and her age, she despaired of finding a husband, at least not one she could love for himself and who would love her for the woman she was. And that was the problem. It was not finding a husband because her dowry was enough to ensure that, but finding the one to set her heart beating faster. Did such a man exist?

Mama said love did not come into it and she should not consider it, that a fortune and a pleasant temperament were of far more use, which was strange considering Mama had married again less than two years after losing her first husband and Sir George Tasker had neither a fortune nor a pleasant temperament.

Emma had been preparing for her come-out in the spring of 1813, when her father, Earl Lindsay, died suddenly and threw her into deep mourning. Naturally her trip to London had to be cancelled, but in truth Emma, grieving for her dear papa, had been in no mood for frivolity and had been content to spend her time quietly in the country at Pinehill, the family home in Hertfordshire. But one morning a year later, woken by bird song and the sun streaming through her bedroom window, she had suddenly realised that spring had arrived and life was passing her by and she ought to do something about it.

Mama must have had the same thought, because later that day, she had suggested taking Emma to London for her delayed coming out. The Duke of Ranworth, her mother’s brother, had offered them the use of Ranworth House in Hanover Square and they had done the rounds, attending balls and tea parties, but in the end it had not been Emma who found a husband but the dowager herself, though calling Mama a dowager was a jest, considering she had not been above forty at the time and still comely.

‘Lady Emma, that’s just the right age to be,’ Rose said, answering her last comment. ‘Though you are still young and beautiful, you are past the age of being thought an empty-headed schoolgirl that no one need take seriously. Some gentlemen would value your maturity.’

Emma laughed. ‘Thank you, Rose. What would I do without you? It is ridiculous when you think that a lady is not expected to dress herself, to do her own hair, or allowed to go out alone. But it is not only the dressing and looking after my clothes I value you for, it is having someone to talk to. I can say anything I like to you.’

‘My lady, I am sure you would manage.’ She paused and then took a deep breath before going on. ‘My lady, I have to give notice. My mother is having another baby and she needs me to look after the other little ones. There are seven now.’

Emma sank down on to the bed and stared up at her maid, who had been part of her life ever since she could remember. Rose had been a parlour maid at Pinehill, but as soon as Emma had become old enough to have a maid of her own, the girl had been promoted to lady’s maid. She was more than a servant, she was a friend. ‘Oh, Rose, of course you must go, but I shall miss you terribly. How long do you think you will be away?’

‘My lady, my mother is almost past childbearing age and this time she has found it very difficult carrying. I think she will need me to stay. I am sorry, my lady, truly I am. I do not want to leave you, but I must.’

‘I understand, Rose, of course I do.’ How selfish men were, Emma decided, determined to have their conjugal rights no matter what the consequences to their poor wives, but she did not say it aloud because she knew Rose loved her father—besides, it was not considered a suitable subject for a young unmarried lady to air. ‘When will you go?’

‘At the end of the week if that is convenient to you, my lady.’

‘My convenience is not important, Rose, I would never keep you from your mother. Go and look after her, I shall manage.’ She stood up. ‘Now, I must be off or we shall be late.’

Hurrying downstairs, Emma found her mother and Sir George waiting for her in the drawing room. Her mother, in a becoming gown of rose-pink taffeta, was looking unhappy, her face pale and eyes bright with unshed tears. Sir George, arrayed in a mulberry evening coat, an embroidered waistcoat, white silk breeches and silk stockings, was standing with his back to the hearth, his mouth set in a thin line of annoyance. There was a tension in the air, which immediately communicated itself to Emma.

‘About time too!’ Sir George said.

‘Goodness, child, whatever do you do up there to take so long to dress?’ her mother asked more mildly. She had once been upright and sprightly, but age and being cowed by her demanding second husband seemed to have diminished her.

‘I’m sorry, Mama, but I was talking to Rose. She wants to leave.’

‘Why? Whatever have you done to her?’

‘Nothing, Mama. She has to go and look after her brothers and sisters. Her mother is enceinte again.’

‘Well, there’s nothing to be done about it tonight,’ Sir George snapped. ‘You can send her packing in the morning.’

‘In the morning?’ Emma queried. ‘She is prepared to stay until the end of the week.’

‘No doubt she would like to, but it is my experience that servants under notice are worse than useless; they do no work, undermine the morale of the others and use every opportunity to steal…’

‘Rose is not like that,’ Emma protested. ‘She is honest and loyal.’

‘So you may think, but it is my rule that when a servant expresses a wish to leave, they are turned off immediately.’ He turned to his wife. ‘You will see she goes tomorrow. Now, the carriage is waiting. If we are not careful, we shall be the last to arrive and I particularly wanted to be there on time. There is someone I wish you to meet.’

‘Oh?’ Had he tired of waiting for her to accept an offer of marriage and found a husband for her? She waited to be enlightened.

‘Lord Bentwater.’

‘I do not think I know the gentleman.’

‘No, of course you do not or I would not be going to the trouble of introducing you.’

‘And what am I to make of this gentleman?’ She spoke coolly because she would not let him intimidate her as he intimidated her mother; if he expected her to fall into the arms of one of his disreputable friends, then he was going to be disappointed. She was not so desperate to marry that she would accept anyone in breeches. In fact, she was not desperate at all. Her mother’s miserable second marriage was enough to put anyone off.

‘You may make of him what you will, miss. What is more to the point is what he makes of you. Come, now, the horses will be growing restive.’ Followed meekly by his wife and an exasperated Emma, he set off down the hall, where the front door was opened by a liveried footman. A few short steps and he was at the carriage where he stood to one side as one of the grooms opened the door for the ladies to enter. Sir George seated himself opposite them and gave the order to proceed.

Although Almack’s was almost certainly the most exclusive club in London, it could hardly be called grand. Lit by gas, the ballroom was enormous, made to look even larger by the huge mirrors and a series of gilt columns. Other smaller rooms were used for supper and cards. The Patronesses who presided over the weekly balls during the Season made sure only the best people attended and that everyone behaved themselves. It was here young ladies were paraded before the eligible bachelors in the hope of finding a husband. Emma thought it unbearably boring and could not understand why her stepfather should suddenly take it into his head to attend. Except for that hint about someone he wanted her to meet. She was curious, but not hopeful.

As soon as they arrived Sir George disappeared in the direction of the card room and Emma and her mother wandered into the ballroom, where the sumptuous gowns of the ladies and the richness of the gentlemen’s coats formed a shifting rainbow of colour as they walked and gesticulated and preened themselves between dances. Spotting Lady Standon and her daughter, Harriet, they crossed the room to join them.

Harriet, a year younger than Emma, had recently become engaged to Frederick Graysmith, lawyer and Member of Parliament. He was likeable enough, but there seemed to be no fire in him. He would be safe but dull as a husband. Emma decided she wanted more than that. She wanted excitement and passion and a little something extra, though she could not define it. All she knew was that she would recognise it when it came. If it came. And if it did not, would she be able to settle for second best? She had a dreadful feeling that her stepfather was about to try to force a match on her and, if Lord Bentwater was anything like Sir George, she knew she would not like him.

‘Emma, I had no idea you would be coming tonight,’ Harriet said, her brown eyes bright with excitement. She was dressed in buttercup yellow, which contrasted well with her dark hair.

‘It was Sir George’s idea,’ she said. ‘He says there’s someone he wants me to meet and it must be important, for he insisted on buying me a new gown for the occasion.’ She looked round to see her mother deep in conversation with Lady Standon and lowered her voice. ‘We had such a rush to find something in the time available.’

‘It is very becoming,’ Harriet said, stepping back to appraise her friend. ‘You mean he is matchmaking?’

‘If he is, I cannot think what is behind it. I’m not sure I shall like it.’

‘Being married? Oh, surely you do not mean to be an old maid.’

‘It would be better than enduring an unhappy marriage, don’t you think? Once the deed is done, there’s no going back on it.’

‘I know that. But why should your marriage be unhappy? I set my heart on Freddie from the moment I met him and I know we shall deal well together.’

‘Then I wish you happy.’

‘Oh, I am sure I will be. The wedding is to be in June. I know it is very soon, but we have to be back from our wedding tour by the time Parliament reconvenes after the summer recess. You will be one of my attendants, won’t you?’

‘I shall be delighted, if Mama says I may.’

‘I would be even happier if I thought you were suited too. Do take advantage of the dancing. Almost every eligible in town is here. I am sure if you tried you could find someone.’

Emma laughed. That seemed to be all that mattered: the thrill of the chase, the announcement of the engagement and later the wedding with half the haut monde in attendance. But that was only one year—what about all the years afterwards, the children, the problems of motherhood, the steadily growing older? If the man you had married was the wrong one, it would be purgatory. ‘Oh, I am sure I could, but how would I know he was not after my fortune?’

‘Does that matter, if he is in every other way suitable?’

‘Tall, you mean.’ It was said with a laugh.

‘Yes, but more than that, surely? He must be amiable and considerate and have no bad vices, like womanising and gambling.’

‘How right you are, especially about the gambling. I could never marry a man who gambled, however suitable he might otherwise be.’ It was Sir George’s gambling that was the cause of most of her mother’s distress and that had entrenched in her a deep abhorrence of the vice, for vice it was. ‘But do you know of such a paragon?’

‘No, except Freddie, of course. But no doubt he has a friend…’

‘Don’t you dare!’

‘I was only trying to help.’

‘I know you were.’ Emma was contrite. ‘I did not mean to hurt your feelings, but I am not going to allow myself to be thrown to the wolves without a fight.’ She wasn’t thinking of Freddie’s friend so much as her stepfather. Just what was his game? He had never shown the slightest interest in her before, except to complain to her mother that she was too lenient with her.

‘Why must you fight?’

‘Because that’s my nature. Give me a challenge and I will rise to it. Tell me I must do something and I will refuse, tell me I cannot and I will most decidedly attempt it.’

‘Then I pity any husband of yours and perhaps I shan’t ask Freddie to introduce you to his friend after all. He would not thank me.’ She paused and nodded towards a young man making his way towards them. ‘Here comes Freddie, so I’ll leave you to enjoy yourself.’

Emma danced with several young gentlemen, none of whom set her heart racing, but she was honest enough to admit she did nothing to encourage them and they must have found her extremely dull. It was not like her to be so ungracious, but she could not concentrate on her partners when her mind was filled with the prospect of meeting Lord Bentwater. Who was he? What was he like? What was to be done if she took him in aversion? Perhaps, after all, he would be young and attractive and she was worrying for nothing. Or perhaps he would not turn up.

Her latest partner took her back to where her mother sat, bowed to them both and disappeared. ‘Who was that?’ her mother asked. ‘It was not Lord Bentwater, was it?’

Emma turned towards her in surprise. ‘Have you not met him?’

‘No.’

‘Then what is your husband about? Surely he has confided in you?’

‘He wishes to see you settled. As I do, dearest.’ It was said quietly, but Emma knew that her mother was not at all happy about it.

‘Am I to have no say in the matter at all?’

‘Oh, Emma, please do not be difficult. George tells me the gentleman is in every way suitable…’

‘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.

She could run away, but that would break her mother’s heart; besides, if she just disappeared, Mama would have half the ton out looking for her, not to mention Runners and constables and it would not be fair to worry her so. And it would make no difference in the long run; she would be hauled back in disgrace and she was quite sure it would not put Lord Bentwater off, for hadn’t Sir George said the man enjoyed a challenge? It was almost dawn before she fell into a restless sleep and then her dreams were of huge black spiders and struggling in a sticky web from which she could not escape.

It seemed she had barely closed her eyes when a hand shook her awake again. ‘Sweetheart, wake up.’

She woke with a half-scream; the nightmare had been very real, but it was her mother standing over her with a lighted candle. She was wearing a dressing gown over her nightgown and her hair hung loosely about her shoulders. ‘Shh, not so loud, my love.’

‘What’s wrong, Mama? What time is it?’

‘Just after five o’clock.’

‘Five! Couldn’t you sleep?’

‘No.’ She sat down on the side of the bed. ‘Emma, I cannot let you go to that dreadful man. You must leave. Now, before George wakes up.’

‘But where will we go?’

‘We? I cannot go with you, child. My place is with my husband.’

‘I cannot leave you. I want to escape that dreadful man, but the thought of leaving you behind is not to be borne.’

‘You must. If we both go, we shall attract attention and George will find us and make us come back. It must look as though you have gone alone. I shall deny all knowledge of your intentions.’ She opened Emma’s wardrobe and began pulling out clothes. ‘I’ve spoken to Rose and she has agreed to go with you. As soon as you are safe arrived, she can go to her mother. If George asks to question her, I shall tell him I obeyed his instructions and turned her off.’ She was throwing garments on the bed as she spoke. ‘There is nothing suitable here. You cannot go dressed as a lady, that would be asking for someone to become suspicious and if it becomes known Sir George is looking for you, especially if he offers a reward, you will soon be brought back.’

‘Mama, do stop throwing my clothes about and come and sit down again. Where am I to go and how will I travel? And how will you know I am safe?’

Lady Tasker sat down and took her daughter’s hands. ‘You will go by stage to a very old friend of mine who lives in Kendal in Cumbria. Her name is Mrs Amelia Summers. I have had no correspondence with her since I remarried and Sir George knows nothing about her, so he will not think of her. I have no money for a hired chaise and besides, like elegant clothes, it would only cause comment. I will give you all the money I have and the pearls your father left for your twenty-first birthday. George knows nothing about them. I’ve kept them hidden. You’ll have to sell them or perhaps pawn them. You never know, we might have a stroke of luck and be able to redeem them.’

Emma realised that would only come about if Sir George became ill and died, but, as he was disgustingly healthy and never exerted himself, that prospect seemed far distant. ‘Mama, I am not at all sure I should agree to this.’

‘Do you want to marry that dreadful man?’

‘You know I do not. But I am afraid for you.’

‘Sir George will not harm me. There is no other way and we are wasting time.’ She handed Emma an envelope. ‘Here is the letter to Mrs Summers and here, in this purse, is the necklace and twenty guineas. I have no more, but it should be enough for your fares and for Rose’s return fare, with some over.’

‘Mama, I can’t—’

‘Please do not argue, Emma. It has taken all my resolve to come to this and I want you to go. When you are safe arrived, write to Lady Standon, not me. You had better have a pseudonym and one Sir George will never guess. Say the first thing that comes into your head…’

She looked about her, noticed the bed curtains and promptly said. ‘Draper. Miss Fanny Draper.’

‘Good. When you write to Lady Standon, be circumspect.’ She stood up, ‘Now I am going to send Rose to you. She might have something suitable for you to wear.’

She left the room, leaving Emma shaking with the enormity of the undertaking. She had never travelled anywhere alone before and never on a public coach. But it was not so much that that made her hesitate, it was the thought of leaving her mother. But perhaps it would not be for long. Perhaps Sir George, when he realised how determined she was, would relent and she could come home again. She left her bed and poured cold water from the jug on her washstand into a bowl and washed her face.

She was brushing her hair when Rose crept into the room. ‘I’ve brought a dress of mine for you to wear on the journey,’ she whispered. ‘But you had better take a few garments of your own for when you arrive. I’ll pack them while you dress. We can’t take more than a carpet bag, considering we will have to carry it.’

‘Rose, am I doing the right thing?’

‘Yes. Now do not trouble yourself over the rights and wrongs of it, for the wrong is all with Sir George. We must hurry before the rest of the house stirs.’ She finished the packing and turned to look at Emma. A little giggle escaped from her. ‘Who is to say who is mistress and who servant now?’

‘I cannot get into your shoes.’

‘Then you must wear your own. It won’t matter.’ She picked up a cloak that had seen better days. ‘Here, put this on, the morning is chilly.’ She draped it over Emma’s shoulders and buttoned the neck. ‘It’s shabby, but that’s all to the good, we don’t want you recognised, do we? Come on, let’s be off.’

‘But I must say goodbye to Mama.’

‘She is waiting in the kitchen. We will go out of the back door.’ She picked up the carpet bag, opened the door and peered up and down the corridor. ‘All clear,’ she whispered.

The farewell she bade her mother was tearful on both sides, but could not be prolonged in case Sir George woke and came in search of his wife. ‘Go now,’ her mother said, giving her a little push towards the outside door. ‘God keep you and bless you. Rose, look after her, won’t you?’

‘I’ll do my best, my lady.’ She turned to Emma. ‘Come, my lady…No, that cannot be. What are you to be called?’

‘Fanny Draper.’

And so it was Lady Emma Lindsay who stepped out of Lindsay House, but Fanny Draper who linked her arm in Rose’s to walk to Lad Lane and the Swan with Two Necks.

‘How do you know where to catch the stage?’ Emma asked.

‘It is how I arrived when I came back after my mother’s last lying-in. There is nothing to it. We buy our tickets and climb aboard. I know it is not what you are used to, but think of it as an adventure. As long as no one perceives you for a lady, you should be safe enough. You will not mind if I treat you as an equal? It will look odd if I do not.’

‘No, of course I shall not mind. From this minute on, there is no Lady Emma, only a woman called Fanny.’

The Swan with Two Necks was a very busy inn, with coaches coming and going all the time, disgorging and taking on passengers. There was a small ticket office to one side of the building where the two girls were obliged to stand in line for their turn to be served. Waiting was torture and Emma began to worry that there would not be seats for them. And the longer they had to wait, the more likely it was that Sir George would discover her absence and send people out searching for her. The first place he would check would be the coaching inns.

She let Rose do the talking when they reached the little window. ‘Two inside seats to Kendal,’ she said.

‘No inside seats, miss. There’s two going on top. Three pounds ten shillings each and that takes you only as far as Manchester. You need another carrier to take you the rest of the way.’

Adventurous as she was, Emma could not view the prospect of travelling outside with equilibrium. ‘Oh dear, Rose, what are we to do? Is there another coach?’

‘Not to Manchester,’ the man said. ‘You can go to Chester from the Golden Cross.’

‘But we cannot be sure of getting to Kendal from there, can we?’ she whispered to Rose.

‘No. Perhaps if we take the outside seats, we will be able to change them later when we have gone a little way.’

‘Change them now.’

Emma swung round at the sound of the male voice, ready to take to her heels if he should prove to be an emissary of her stepfather’s. The man who faced her was at least a head taller than she was, but the rest of him was in perfect proportion: broad shoulders in a burgundy-coloured coat, slim hips, muscular legs in well-fitting pantaloons tucked into shining Hessians. She looked up into his face. His expression was proud, almost arrogant, and his startlingly blue eyes had a steely depth which indicated he was not used to being crossed. Or perhaps it was sadness; she could not be sure. He smiled and doffed his hat, revealing fair curly hair.

‘I beg your pardon.’ It was said haughtily. Ladies simply did not speak to men who had not been formally introduced.

‘Oh, no need to beg my pardon,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I can as easily ride outside as in.’

‘But, sir, there are two of us and only one of you.’

‘My man is travelling with me. We will both climb on top.’ He turned to a man who was supervising the stowing of luggage in the boot of the coach which was just then being loaded. ‘Joe, what have you done with our tickets?’

The man reached up to his hat where two tickets were stuck in the ribbon around the crown. ‘Here, my lord.’

Alex took them and handed them to Emma. ‘There, with my compliments. I will take the outside tickets offered to you.’

‘I am most grateful, sir.’

‘My pleasure. The passengers are being called to their seats. Is this your luggage?’ He pointed at Emma’s carpet bag and Rosie’s bundle.

‘Yes.’

‘Joe, stow them safely, will you? And then climb aboard. We are going to see the countryside from on high.’ He bowed to the girls, settled his hat back on his head and held the door for them to enter. ‘Perhaps we shall have an opportunity to speak when the coach stops for refreshments.’ He shut the door, took the outside tickets Rose had hurriedly paid for with the money Emma had given her earlier, and hardly had time to climb up beside his man before they were away.

Emma leaned back in her seat and shut her eyes. She had never felt less like sleeping, but she wanted to collect her scattered wits. It was a little over two hours since her mother had woken her and here she was on the greatest adventure of her life. If she had not been so worried about Mama and what might be happening back at Lindsay House, she might have been looking forward to it.