she had ever suffered, but she had hidden her distress before, and she would not show it now. But it was taking all the resolution she had.
‘You needn’t feel too badly,’ she said finally. ‘I knew you were staying at Witham Court, after all, but I still let you kiss me. That’s only what rakes are expected to do, isn’t it?’
‘Rakes!’
Francesca hardly heard the interruption. She continued, ‘You needn’t feel sorry for me—I enjoyed it. And they were only kisses. I daresay I shall have many more before I am too old to enjoy them. When…when I make my come-out and go to London.’ She had even managed a brilliant smile. ‘My father will fetch me quite soon, I expect. He said so just the other day in one of his letters.’
‘Francesca.’ He said her name with such tenderness that she was almost undone.
‘So you can kiss me again, if you like. Just to show that it doesn’t mean very much.’
‘Oh, Francesca, my lovely, courageous girl! I know just how much it meant to you. God help me, but how could I not know? Come here!’
He kissed her, at first gently, as he had the first time. But then he held her so tightly that she could hardly breathe, kissing her again and again, murmuring her name over and over again. But gradually the fit of passion died and he thrust her away from him.
‘It’s no use,’ he said, and there was finality in his voice. ‘My uncle is right—I have nothing to offer you. And even if I had, you are too young. We both have our way to make. It’s no use!’
Then he kissed her hand. ‘Goodbye, Francesca. Think of me sometimes.’ He strode off down the hill, but Francesca could not see him. Her eyes were burning with tears she would not allow to fall.
But that was not the end. Hard though it was, she could have borne that much, could have cherished the memory of his care and concern for her, the thought that someone had once found her beautiful enough to love. But this consolation had not been for her.
Some days later she was standing on the bridge, looking down at the stream, when Freddie’s voice interrupted her unhappy thoughts. ‘You must be the little goddess Marcus spent the morning with the other day,’ he said. ‘He was very taken with you, give you my word! Wished I’d seen you first. Missing him, are you?’
Something inside Francesca curled up. She hated the thought of being a subject of conversation at Witham Court. Surely Marcus couldn’t have done such a thing?
‘I don’t know what you mean, sir,’ she said coldly, not looking at him.
‘Don’t you? Marcus seemed to know what he was talking about. Never seen him so much on the go, and he’s known a few girls in his time, I can tell you. Very good-looking fellow. But he did seem taken with you. We were all no end intrigued, but he wouldn’t tell us who you were. It was Charlie who said you must be the Shelwood girl. Are you? Marcus was right about the figure, though I can’t see your face. Why don’t you turn round, sweetheart?’
Francesca shut her eyes, bowed her head and prayed he would go away.
‘Don’t be sad, my dear! Ain’t worth it! It wouldn’t have lasted long, you know, even if he hadn’t had to leave with Jack and his father. It never does with these army chaps. Off and away before you can wink your eye. And if you cast an eye around you, there’s plenty more where he came from.’
She would have left the bridge, but he was blocking the way.
‘Cheer up, sweetheart! It’s always the same with the army. Rave about one woman, make you green with envy, and then before you know it they’re over the hill and far away, making love to another! Seen it m’self time and again. Mind you, I’m surprised at Marcus—leaving Jack lying there in misery while he pursues his own little game. And a very nice little bit of game, too, from what I can see. Come on, sweetheart, let’s see your face.’
When Francesca shook her head and turned to run back to the Manor, he ran after her, caught her hand and pulled her to him. ‘You shan’t escape without giving me a kiss. You were free enough with them the other day, from all accounts. One kiss, that’s all, then I’ll let you go, give you my word. Give me a kiss, there’s a good girl.’
‘Fanny!’ For the first time in her life, Francesca was glad to hear her aunt’s voice. Miss Shelwood was standing a few yards away, with Silas, her groom, close behind. Her face was a mask of fury. Francesca’s tormentor let her go with a start, and took a step back.
‘Come here this instant, you…trollop!’ With relief, Francesca complied. Her aunt turned to Freddie. ‘I assume you are from Witham Court, sir. How dare you trespass on my land! Silas!’ The groom came forward, fingering his whip.
Freddie grew pale and stammered, ‘There’s no need for any violence, ma’am. No need at all. I was just passing the time of day with the little lady. No harm done.’ And, within a trice, he disappeared in the direction of Witham Court.
‘Take my niece’s arm, Silas, and bring her to the Manor.’ Miss Shelwood strode off without looking in Francesca’s direction. Silas looked uncomfortable but obeyed.
Francesca hardly noticed or cared what was happening to her. All her energies were concentrated in a desperate effort to endure her feelings of anguish and betrayal. She had believed Marcus! She had been taken in by his air of sincere regret, had thought he had been truly distressed to be leaving her! And while she had lain awake, holding the thought of his love and concern close to her like some precious jewel in a dark world, a talisman against a bleak future, he had been joking and laughing at Witham Court, boasting about her, making her an object of interest to men like Freddie. It was clear what they all thought of her.
Oh, what a fool she had been! What an unsuspecting dupe! She had fallen into his hands like a…like a ripe plum! Her aunt could not despise her more than she already despised herself. She had been ready to give Marcus everything of herself, holding nothing back. Only Freddie’s timely interruption had prevented it. She had indeed behaved like the trollop her aunt had called her. Occupied with these and other bitter thoughts Francesca hardly noticed that they were back at the Manor.
Miss Shelwood swept into the library, then turned and said coldly, ‘How often have you met that man before?’
Never. Francesca said the word, but no sound came.
‘Answer me at once, you wicked girl!’
‘I…’ Francesca swallowed to clear the constriction in her throat. ‘I have never seen him before.’
‘A liar as well as a wanton. Truly your mother’s daughter!’
‘That’s not true! You must not say such things of my mother!’
‘Like mother, like daughter!’ Miss Shelwood continued implacably, ignoring Francesca’s impassioned cry. ‘Richard Beaudon was at Witham Court when he first met your mother. Now her daughter goes looking for her entertainment there. Where is the difference? No, I will hear no more! Go to your room, and do not leave it until I give you permission.’
Exhausted with her effort to control her feelings, Francesca ran to her room and threw herself on her bed. She did not cry. The bitter tears were locked up inside, choking her, but she could not release them.
In the weeks that followed, she castigated
