The Reluctant Escort. Mary Nichols
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The reality had been very different. Coming home and finding her married to his brother had shaken him to the core. He had been angry and miserable and then anxious only to get away, to leave them to their happiness with each other. He had told them he did not care for the settled life, had not really wanted to be the Earl, that he was a soldier and would remain one. He would not bother them again; they might continue to believe him dead.
He had given a harsh laugh. ‘You may even continue to mourn me,’ he had said.
Hugh, though clearly discomfited, had not tried to dissuade him, but had offered him an income from the estate, saying it was the least he could do. He had refused it, being more concerned with salvaging his pride. He had wished them happy and reported to the War Office for further service. Napoleon’s escape from Elba and the second phase of the war was fortuitous in that respect.
‘What else was Hugh to do?’ she demanded. ‘He truly believed he had become the new heir and was entitled to inherit. We all did. And Beth had expected to marry the Stacey heir ever since she was a child; it was what both families wanted. You can hardly blame her for turning to your brother.’
Logic told him that Hugh and Beth were not at fault, but his heart was still sore. Beth had been so quick to change her allegiance that he began to wonder if, after all, it was Hugh she had wanted all the time and his reported demise had been a blessing. ‘Oh, I can quite see how it happened. My return was an acute embarrassment to everyone. It were better I had stayed dead. I returned to my regiment to give Napoleon another chance to finish me off at Waterloo. ‘Tis a pity he did not.’
‘Don’t be bitter about it, my boy,’ she said softly. ‘You chose to renounce your inheritance for the sake of Beth and their son, so now you must put it behind you and make a fresh start. Careering about the countryside getting into scrapes will not do. It just will not do.’
‘How do you know I have been getting into scrapes?’
‘Why else would you come here? And in the state you were in. I am not a fool, Duncan, even if you take me for one.’
‘Oh, Grandmama, I know you are no fool, but it is better you do not know…’
‘Running from the law, I shouldn’t wonder, or your creditors. Using Stacey Manor as a bolt-hole…’
‘Grandmama…’
‘Enough. You are right—I do not want to know. But what about settling down? What about Molly?’ She laughed lightly. ‘Scapegrace and madcap, it might be the making of you both.’
‘You are surely not in earnest?’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s out of the question. You said yourself, I am a rakeshame, always on the move, getting into one scrape after another…’
‘Precisely.’
‘I cannot change into a fan-carrier overnight. We should both be miserable. And what do you suppose Miss Martineau would think of the matter?’
‘She will be guided by her elders.’
‘Her mother! I hardly think she would provide wise guidance with three husbands already dead and buried.’
‘No, but as Harriet has left Molly in my care and Molly is an obedient girl she will listen to me…’
‘Then she would be lacking in spirit and that would not commend her to me. Besides, it would mean taking Harriet Benbright as a mother-in-law and I do not think I could stomach that. Such pretensions I never did see in a woman of no consequence.’
‘Harriet’s father was a baronet and I hardly think you are in a position to talk of consequence now, my boy.’
‘No, which is why Harriet would not entertain an offer from me for her daughter. I have nothing to commend me. And any children we had would have no prospects of inheriting the title. I could not go back on my word to Hugh. That alone would exclude me in Harriet’s eyes.’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘Grandmama, I thank you for your concern, but I must continue to live my life in the way that suits me. I have a small pension from a grateful country and Hugh has been kind enough to make me an allowance from the income of the estate.’ He did not want her to think ill of his brother, nor intervene on his behalf, and so he told the lie.
‘So he should! It is yours, after all. Where are you off to tomorrow?’
He smiled, concluding she had not been serious or she would not have capitulated so easily. ‘Wherever the fancy takes me.’
‘But I collect it must be done under cover of darkness.’
‘I am afraid so. I shall be gone long before you wake, so I will say my farewell now and retire.’
She sighed. ‘Very well. But you know you are always welcome here, no matter what.’
‘Yes, I know, but I would be grateful if no one knew of my presence here tonight. In fact, I should deem it a favour if you were to say, if asked, that you were unaware that I had survived the second war and returned to England.’
‘That I will do, but I shall also pray that you come to your senses before you find yourself preaching at Tyburn Cross.’
‘Oh, I do not think it will come to that,’ he said lightly. ‘Hanging is certainly not part of my plan for the future.’
‘Then what is?’
‘I do not know. Not yet. But undoubtedly something will occur to me. Now, if you will excuse me.’ He bowed over her hand, putting it to his lips. ‘Goodnight and God bless you, Grandmother. Tell Molly…No, tell her nothing, for there is nothing good you could say of me.’
He strode from the room and made his way upstairs to bed, though he did not intend to sleep for more than an hour or two. Long before dawn, he was up and creeping down to the back door, from where he crossed the cobbled yard to saddle his horse.
Molly’s room overlooked the stables, and as she had stayed up reading Don Quixote by the light of a candle she heard him leave the house. Going to the window, she watched him enter the stables. He was escaping, getting away on that beautiful black horse of his, and she was sure he would have many fine adventures and his life would not be at all boring, as hers was.
There was something a little mysterious about him; he had talked all through dinner without giving away a single thing about himself, not even why he had chosen to come to Stacey Manor in the first place, nor how he knew her mother. Until a few months ago, she had not heard of her mother’s Stacey connections. And she was curious as to why it was necessary to creep away in the dead of night.
Without stopping to think of the consequences, she scrambled into her riding habit and hurried downstairs. She was in the kitchen, pulling on her boots, when she heard the quiet clop of a horse walking across the cobbles of the yard. By the time she had let herself out of the house, the sound of the horse was fading in the distance. She ran out to the stables to saddle her mare, Jenny. Lady Connaught had long since given up riding and there were only a couple of men’s saddles belonging to the groom, who rode pillion when her ladyship went out in the carriage. Molly had used the smaller of these on many occasions and had become proficient at riding astride.
Two minutes later she