Sylvia Andrew (11 page)

Charlotte turned round and looked fearfully back down the road. ‘I can’t see anyone yet,’ she said. ‘Oh, please drive faster, ma’am! He mustn’t catch me again.’

‘I’ll do my best. What is your name, child?’

There was a slight pause. ‘Charlotte…Johnson, ma’am.’

Francesca glanced down. The dark blue eyes were guileless, but the girl was lying. She decided to let it pass for the moment. No doubt the child was shaken by her experience—her hands were trembling. What a fiend Marcus was! ‘I think you may relax a little now, Charlotte,’ she said calmly. ‘My home is not far away. I shall take you there and then we shall decide what to do with you. Where do you live?’

Another pause. ‘In London. I was waiting to take the stage coach to London. But he took all my money away from me and now I can’t pay the fare.’

‘You were travelling
stage
to London?’ Francesca’s hands tightened on the reins, but she spoke calmly. ‘Forgive me, but I find that hard to credit. You mustn’t be frightened of me, my dear. I shall help you all I can, but I must know the truth. Now tell me where you really live.’

‘But if I do, you’ll send me back! I can’t go home again, I can’t! I won’t!’ The childish voice rose in panic.

‘Will your family not be worried about you?’ asked Francesca.

‘They won’t care! They want to send me away, anyway.’

‘Send you away? Where?’

‘Back to the seminary. That’s why I ran away.’

Francesca began to fear that this affair was not quite as simple as she had thought. Had Marcus encouraged the girl to run off with him? Or had she asked him to help her and then changed her mind when faced with the consequences—in which case Marcus might not be quite as villainous as she had thought? She shook her head impatiently—what was wrong with her? She was mad to try to find excuses for him! Whichever way it was, that scene in the forest had been very ugly. But…there was something odd about the affair. She drew up and turned to face her protégée.

‘Charlotte—’

‘Why have you stopped?’ the girl cried, her voice shrill with fear. ‘They’ll catch up with us!’ She reached over to take the reins, but Francesca took them firmly into her own hands again.

‘Before we go on, I should like some answers, Charlotte. I would like to know your real name. I would like to know why you were on your way to London on a stage coach. And I would like to know the part played in all this by the man back there.’

‘But he’s coming! I can hear the carriage!’

‘I have been thinking—he can’t harm you while I am here. I know him, you see. He won’t dare try to take you away again.’

‘He will! Mama asked him. Oh, you don’t
understand
—’

‘You are quite right. I don’t,’ said Francesca, and watched with foreboding as the bays swept to a halt alongside the phaeton. Marcus handed the reins to the groom with a word, and strode over.

‘G
et down, Charlotte,’ Marcus said grimly. ‘Or, by God, I’ll give you the hiding you deserve.’

Francesca rallied at these threatening words. ‘One moment, sir!’

Marcus turned his attention to her. ‘Good God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Francesca! Francesca Shelwood! What the
devil
are you doing here? And what the hell do you mean by racing off with this brat? Are you mad?’

Francesca did not allow herself to be intimidated by the outrage in his voice. She said coldly, ‘I understand your annoyance at having your plans frustrated, sir, but surely your language is immoderate? Is this the manner in which you usually address ladies of your acquaintance?’

‘Ladies of my acquaintance do not usually romp about the countryside unattended, interfering in matters which do not concern them. Now, I have better things to do than to bandy words with a madwoman, so if you will kindly remain quiet while Charlotte transfers to my carriage…’

Francesca was rapidly losing her temper. He was so dismissive, so coolly confident that she would do just what he asked! A madwoman indeed! She strove to keep calm as she
said, ‘I shall do nothing of the kind! The matter concerns me deeply, indeed it does. You forget that I know you for what you are, sir! How could I stand by and listen to this child’s screams, watch while you dragged her to your carriage, and do nothing about it? I will most certainly not remain quiet…nor am I a madwoman!’ In spite of herself, her voice rose on this last sentence.

She took a deep breath and went on, ‘In fact, I fully intend to take her to my home and, after she has recovered from the fright she has suffered at your hands, I shall restore her to her family. You will now allow us to drive on, if you please.’

Marcus looked at her incredulously. He seemed ready to give her a blistering response, then his face suddenly softened and he burst out laughing. ‘I see now what you think…Oh, Francesca, Francesca! Still leaping in where angels fear to tread? How refreshing to discover that the years have not changed you, after all!’

Puzzled by this extraordinary response, Francesca stared at him. The warmth of his tone, the memory evoked by these words transported her back to the day on the hill above Shelwood, to a world of sunshine and hope, of love and laughter. She gazed in fascination at Marcus, his face transformed into that of the young man of long ago. She began to smile in return, but then she remembered his betrayal so soon after, of her misery and disillusion in the weeks and years that followed, culminating in that cynical proposal at Shelwood.

‘Nor have they changed you, Marcus,’ she said bitterly. ‘If I remember correctly, I was about this girl’s age when I was unfortunate enough to meet you. But, unlike her, I had no one to protect me.’

He reddened, but said, ‘Charlotte needs no protection from me.’

‘That is a matter of opinion, sir! But I have no wish to
waste any more time on a villain such as you. Make way, if you please!’ And Francesca raised her whip.

Marcus leapt forward and took a firm hold of her wrist. They stared at one another in silence. Then he said softly, ‘Charlotte, tell Miss Shelwood who you are.’

Charlotte had been gazing at them in wonderment, too interested in what was being said to attempt to run away. She said accusingly, ‘She said her name was Beaudon!’

Francesca looked down at her. ‘And you said your name was Johnson.’ Charlotte was silenced.

‘Are you going to tell Miss…Beaudon who you are, or shall I?’

Subdued, the girl said, ‘Charlotte Chelford, ma’am.’

Marcus, still clasping Francesca’s wrist, looked at her with scorn. ‘Are you ashamed of your name, Charlotte Chelford? You have no reason to be. And, my girl, unless you mend your ways, it will be the Chelfords who won’t wish to acknowledge
you
!’ He turned his attention to Francesca. ‘As for you, ma’am, I suggest you return to Packards—for that is where you must be staying if you’re claiming the name of Beaudon—and be content that I don’t pursue the matter further.’ He dropped her wrist and turned back to Charlotte.

Francesca was bewildered. Marcus was certainly not behaving as a man discovered in a criminal act might be expected to behave. Had she indeed made a terrible mistake?

She looked at Charlotte, who suddenly clasped her hands together and exclaimed, ‘Please, Uncle Marcus,
please
don’t take me back to the seminary.’ The expression in her eyes would have melted a heart of stone, but Francesca was too shocked to notice.

‘Uncle!’
she exclaimed.
‘Uncle
Marcus?’

‘Yes, madam busybody, I have the misfortune to be Charlotte’s uncle.’

‘Her uncle! Oh, heavens, I thought…’

‘You thought…?’

‘I was under the impression that you were…’ Francesca paused, then she said miserably, ‘It looked as if you were abducting her.’

‘I thought as much.’ He looked at her with a wry smile. ‘You must tell me some time, Francesca, what I did to give you such a very low opinion of my character. Nine years is a long time to carry such a grudge, wouldn’t you say?’

Francesca bit her lip and said nothing.

Marcus sighed, then looked at Charlotte, who was regarding them both with fascination. He went on, ‘I would like to pursue the matter with you, but this isn’t the time. My first concern must be to deliver Charlotte to her long-suffering mother—’

‘To Mama? Not back to the seminary?’

‘I shall see if I can persuade your mama to keep you at home—perhaps with yet another governess. You must promise to treat this one better than the others.’

‘I can really go home again to stay? You’re not sending me back to the seminary?’

‘A ladies’ seminary, however famous, is obviously even less able to deal with you than your family, you wretched child,’ said Marcus severely. Then he spoilt the effect by adding, ‘And I am sure your mama doesn’t wish you to be unhappy. But you must promise me that there will be no more escapades, Carrie. Your mother has had enough to bear.’ He waited until Charlotte nodded, and then he smiled. ‘Now, get into the carriage and I’ll take you home. Er…are you going to take your leave of Miss Beaudon?’

Charlotte took Francesca’s hand and said earnestly, ‘I do thank you, Miss Beaudon. Even though my uncle laughed at you, I think you were a heroine!’

Marcus laughed again. ‘Things that might have been better put! Now get into the carriage, you minx!’ Charlotte got down and went quietly enough across to her uncle’s carriage.
Marcus looked up at Francesca. ‘Will you give me your hand, Francesca?’ Almost without volition she extended her hand. He took it and held it while he went on, ‘I apologise for my harsh words. You thought something was wrong, and you, being you, had to do something about it. Will you forgive me?’

She nodded, unable to say a word. He took a breath, hesitated, then said, ‘Can’t we be friends, Francesca? You are at Packards, I take it? May I call on you there?’

Francesca snatched her hand away. ‘No!’ she said violently. His face darkened, and she strove to speak more calmly. ‘That is to say…I think it is better if we do not meet again. I have nothing to say to you. I may have been mistaken on this occasion, but my opinion of you remains the same.’

‘This is ridiculous!’

‘Good day, sir.’

He took hold of her wrist again, so tightly that it hurt. ‘Take care you do not become like your aunt, Miss Beaudon! This obstinate prejudice against me is absurd, and when you are accepted into society you will discover just how absurd it is!’

‘I do not expect to mix in the same circles as you, sir. Lady Forrest need expect no competition from me!’

He looked at her inscrutably, then he released her and shrugged his shoulders. He moved towards his carriage, saying, ‘I do not intend to argue with you, but I must insist on one thing. We will go with you to the edge of the forest. You are not yet as familiar with this area as I am, and I assure you it is unwise for you to travel here alone. You should engage someone to accompany you if you intend to drive out much.’

Francesca did not bother to tell him that she already had a groom, nor that her father had already given her the same warning. She was desperate to escape from him. His
presence was working the same old magic and she wanted none of it. She said curtly, ‘Thank you. Good day, sir,’ and whipped up her horses. The carriage followed her till they came to the village near Packards, then it swept past and went on its way.

Francesca found it impossible to put this encounter with Marcus out of her mind in the weeks that followed. Furthering her acquaintance with Marcus had never seemed so desirable, nor so dangerous. One moment she congratulated herself on having turned him away, and the next found her passionately regretting having done so.

For some time she had been ashamed of her extraordinary outburst at their last meeting at Shelwood. It had been unworthy of her. Hurt and angry herself, she had been unpardonably rude, had insulted and enraged him. And in the forest she had given him further reason to be angry with her. But he had seemed willing to overlook it all, to be prepared to begin again, had offered her friendship…Had she misjudged him?

Then Francesca would scornfully revile herself for being so spineless. Of course she hadn’t! It was all perfectly simple. She had a fortune. Marcus had not. It wasn’t at all difficult to see why he had been willing to overlook her mistake, had smiled instead of frowning, had offered her friendship instead of expressing justifiable anger at her interference. Not at all difficult. He was still hoping to marry the Shelwood fortune.

But, under any circumstances, friendship was the last thing she wanted from him. She could hate him for what he had done. She could, if the circumstances had been different, have loved him with all her heart. But friendship? Never! She must obliterate the little scene in the forest from her mind, and forget him. And sometimes, in the bustle of preparations for her introduction to the great world, she even occasionally succeeded.

If Francesca’s introduction to Society was not quite as sensational as her fond father had prophesied, it was certainly very satisfactory. Mrs Canfield, true to her word, arranged several small gatherings during the early months of the year to give the girls some experience, and Society’s approval of Miss Beaudon and Miss Canfield was immediate. Some less charitable souls wondered aloud if Mrs Canfield had offered to sponsor tall, blonde, elegant Miss Beaudon because she knew what an effective contrast the girl provided for her own lively, dark-haired daughter, but Mrs Canfield was generally so respected that these remarks were ignored.

They were invited everywhere. Mrs Canfield had the entrée to even the highest circles, and, in addition, Society was highly intrigued that Richard Beaudon should reappear after so many years with a daughter in whom he clearly took so much pride. London’s hostesses were eager to learn all they could about the legendary Rake Beaudon, and Mrs Canfield was subjected to many an inquisition. She was her usual discreet self, merely saying enough to establish that Lord Beaudon was a reformed character, interested only in seeing his daughter take her rightful place in society.

‘I never thought I should live to see Rake Beaudon doing the pretty at an occasion like this,’ said an elderly dowager to Mrs Canfield one evening at Almack’s. ‘He would have died of boredom in the old days. And how he persuaded the patronesses to receive him, I cannot imagine.’

‘Come, Lady Clayton, you should show more charity,’ said Mrs Canfield with a teasing smile. ‘I can answer for the fact that he has reformed. It must be a good twenty-five years since Lord Beaudon scandalised London society.’

‘And what has he be doing since then, I’d like to know? I suppose the chit really is his daughter?’

‘Most certainly she is, ma’am!’

‘Well, there’s no need to get on your high horse. You’re too young to remember Rake Beaudon in his prime. There’s nothing he wouldn’t have dared. But I suppose you wouldn’t be sponsoring the girl if there was anything amiss—and she is remarkably like him. Where’s her mother? And who was she?’

‘Lady Beaudon died some time ago, but she was a Shelwood before she married.’

‘Shelwood? I’ve not heard of them.’

‘They’re quite a respectable Buckinghamshire family, but they always lived very quietly. I don’t think they ever came to London.’

‘Hmm. I expect the Shelwood girl was an heiress—Rake Beaudon wouldn’t have married her otherwise.’

‘On the contrary, I understand that Sir John Shelwood cut his daughter off without a penny when she married Lord Beaudon. He approved of his son-in-law even less than you.’

‘Oh, I didn’t disapprove of Beaudon, my dear. Like all the rest of us, I fell in love with him, but my mother had more sense than to let him near me. And it looks as if he hasn’t lost the art of pleasing even after all these years—just look at Sally Jersey, she’s positively flirting with him! He is still very handsome, of course. So is the girl—pity the Beaudon fortune is so small.’

Mrs Canfield smiled but did not contradict Lady Clayton. The world would eventually learn that Francesca’s fortune was not limited to what her father could give her, but meanwhile she should be given time to find the man of consideration and honour she desired to marry. Once the extent of her fortune was known, she would be pursued by other, less noble characters.