Regency Masquerade

Chapter Fifteen

Carleton had surprised himself as well as Frances when he had called her his betrothed. His thoughts and feelings were still in turmoil, but when he had seen her gaily confronting the Squire he had not wanted her treated with any less respect than she deserved. As soon as the word was out, he realised how right it sounded. All vague lingering thoughts about Rosamond withered on the spot. How could he ever have imagined spending more than a few hours with her?

Frances had burst into his life, shocking him, entertaining him and oversetting every notion he had ever had of a well brought up young lady and now he wanted her. He reached out again to her but she drew back awkwardly rushing into hasty speech, her eyes not meeting his.

"Frances!" he repeated. "It is alright, I won't embarrass you with a declaration now. But the sooner you return to being a woman, and I can call on you properly, the better. It may be easier for you to be a man but it's been downright disastrous for me!" He laughed.

She smiled woodenly and murmured, "We will see. I must go to my room for a moment, my lord."

"I will see you at dinner then," he announced with a smile. "I have to ride over to Selby this afternoon to finalise some business matters, we will talk more when I return."

Frances escaped to the safety of her room and stood staring blindly out the window. What a disaster! She had achieved the last thing she had ever intended, to trick Richard into making an offer for her. Who would believe it had not been her intention all along? How could she have served him such a turn? She was suddenly furious with herself, she should have left as soon as Richard knew she was a woman, instead of indulging herself by staying on, pretending to be his friend, while falling further in love with him every day.

Yes, she admitted to herself, she had fallen head over heels in love with him. How could she not? And now she had been offered what she longed for most in the world but could not take it, she would have to leave and never see him again.

Tears were trickling down her cheeks as she packed her bags again. She could not stay a moment longer. I cannot face him again, thought Frances, I will have to leave now, while he is away in Selby. I'll borrow the roan and ride to Guildford, then I can leave the horse at the inn and take the stage from there.

She would have to leave a letter. What reason could she give for her abrupt departure? She tore up three attempts before she managed a brief note which said simply,

"My lord,

Forgive me but I cannot stay any longer. It is time for the masquerade to end. Please do not try to find me.

I wish you well,

F"

She folded it twice, wrote his name on it and left it propped on the mantelpiece of her room. Then it was time to leave.

Picking up her two heavy bags, she realised for the first time that it might not be quite so simple to walk out of the house and leave with her luggage while her host was absent. If a servant challenged her, what could she say?

As if her very thoughts had conjured her up, Mrs Madden appeared at the top of the stairs, her face a picture of virtuous disapproval. She stared at Frances, taking in the travelling cloak and the two bags, "I heard you in the study. You'll be leaving him then?"

Frances stared back. "'Tis for the best," was all she could think to say.

"You should never have come at all!" the housekeeper stated fiercely, "But I will help you leave. How were you planning to get away?"

"I thought to borrow the roan, and leave it at the inn at Guildford," she replied, startled into telling the truth.

Mrs Madden thought quickly. "I said I will help you - give the bags to me and I will arrange for them to be carried to the front gate. You can pick them up from there. Then it will look as if you are just going for a ride. Well? The sooner you are gone the better!"

"Here they are. I cannot thank you enough!"

"I am not doing it for you!" she interrupted, taking the bags. "I will put them in a basket and get the kitchen boy to take it down to the gatehouse, he won't need to know what is inside."

Without another word, the housekeeper turned and went downstairs, carrying Frances' possessions.

Frances swallowed silently and followed her down to the hall, then went out the door to the stables. It seemed to take forever until the groom had the roan saddled, "It is a grand day for a ride," he commented cheerfully.

Frances agreed, then mounted up and walked her horse slowly down the drive to the gate, keeping an anxious eye out for anyone else around. Where was the basket? Had the housekeeper changed her mind? No, there it was! Quickly she dismounted and it was the work of a moment to tie the bags onto the saddle and climb back up. She took a last look back towards the house then trotted off in the direction of Guildford, with any luck it would be several hours before Richard returned and discovered her flight.

Twelve miles later, she reached Guildford and soon found the inn. It was bustling with horses and carriages, much more than usual surely? "What has been happening here?" she asked an ostler, as she made arrangements for the roan to be stabled until Lord Carleton was able to send his groom for him.

"It's the fight, sir. There was a mill between Gentleman Joe and the Guildford champion. Did you miss it then?"

"I am afraid so," confessed Frances. "Can you tell me when the stage to London is due?"

"Well you've missed the one today, sir. The next is not 'til tomorrow at midday."

Before she could decide what to do, she heard her name.

"Francis? Is that you?" called a familiar voice. Frances looked up and saw Jack Lambert and Harry Belmont coming across the yard towards her. She walked towards them, moving quickly out of the ostler's hearing.

"Great turn up wasn't it? No mere flourishing." cried Harry, beaming with enthusiasm.

"I feel a fool but I missed the whole show! I arrived just as it finished!" she complained, laughing. "I was staying with a friend at Bristow and he dropped me off but we got the time wrong between us and now I hear the stage is not due until tomorrow!"

"Come with us," offered Lambert. "We've got room haven't we, Harry?"

"Are you sure?" asked Frances, picking up her baggage. In no time at all she was seated in the post chaise, barrelling along the road to London, encouraging her companions to talk about the mill they had just witnessed so that they did not think to ask her too many questions about her own activities.