Lord Runthorne's Dilemma: A Regency Romance (10 page)

Elizabeth
’s eyes blurred again. “I do not think I would trust Lady Delphine if she told me I had a nose on my face,” she said. “Lady Delphine was the friend who so kindly told me that Lord Runthorne was marrying me for my money.”

Elizabeth
lifted her chin. “However,” she said, pleased that her voice did not shake, “you may reassure Lady Delphine that I have no interest in the Marquess of Runthorne.” She forced a calm smile. “Do excuse me, Aunt Edina, I must leave you now, but please believe me when I say that I wish them nothing but happiness.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“
May I have your attention, everyone?” Aurelia clapped her hands and the general conversation died.

Breakfast was over, but it was still early enough that most of the guests had not yet dispersed to their various amusements. Runthorne set his cup down and
gave her his full attention. Next to him Mr Lacey rustled his newspaper.

“
Many of you may be aware that, a few nights ago, Mrs Maybourne suggested it might be amusing to arrange some theatricals.” Aurelia beamed. “She has asked me to concoct a little play.”

“
Gosh, what a brilliant idea,” Mr Compton said.

Runthorne frowned.
“What the devil is he doing here? The man is haunting the place.”

Next to him, Mr Lacey simple grunted and buried his head further into his newspaper.

Aurelia shuffled the sheaf of paper in her hands. “Now, I hope you will all help me in this endeavour. I have roles for all of you. Rehearsals shall start in an hour at the folly. That will give you all sufficient time to read over your parts.”

There was no arguing with that tone of voice.

Lady Delphine smiled. “My dear Aurelia is so clever,” she said in a loud, yet conspiratorial voice. “She is always creating diversions like this.”

Aurelia handed out some pages and
Runthorne settled back in his chair, watching. She was quite ruthless with the other guests. Aurelia, like her mother, tended to get what she wanted.

“
I shall play the princess, of course,” Aurelia said. She circled the table to stand by his side. “Lord Runthorne shall play the prince.”

He
pushed back his chair. On this point Aurelia would have to be disappointed. “My regrets, my dear, but I have a prior engagement.”

Aurelia laughed.
“No date for the performance has been set.”

“
Nevertheless, you must excuse me.” He bowed and turned away.

“
Well really, Runthorne, you are being most unobliging.” Aurelia stamped her foot.

“
My deepest apologies,” he said, making his escape.

“
As Lord Runthorne is proving so ungallant,” she said, “perhaps I might prevail upon you, Mr Compton, to step into the breach.”

Runthorne
closed the door behind him cutting off Mr Compton’s courteous reply. He was conscious of a faint twinge of pity for the younger man but pushed it away. Mr Compton was an adult and if he chose to make an idiot of himself, that was his own concern.

He
strode along the corridor. The day was fine so Charles could already be outside, but he rather thought he would find his friend inside. The library was a decided possibility, given Charles’ unfashionable preoccupation with literature but some instinct directed is steps towards the billiard room.

He was rewarded by the sight of
the door slightly ajar and the murmur of voices.

Runthorne
pushed open the door. Had the gentleman been anyone other than Charles and had anyone else opened the door, the scene that met his eyes would have been enough to carry the participants to the nearest altar.

Miss Granger
was bent over the billiard table. The mace usually favoured by ladies lay discarded on a side table, its place taken in her small hands by the far more masculine billiard cue. Charles had his arm around her, guiding her hands on the stick. Oblivious to Runthorne’s presence, he murmured encouraging words into Miss Granger’s ear, helping her slide the cue smoothly through her fingers.

There was a satisfying crack of ivory on ivory and the red ball shot along the table.

Runthorne clapped. Miss Granger shot upright, her head connecting with Charles’ square jaw.

“Ouch!”

“Oh,” Miss Granger gasped, swaying a little. Charles reached out to steady her with one hand, the other nursing his chin.

“
Runthorne,” he growled, “you know better than to distract a player.” Charles rubbed under his ear and the look he shot him was far less mild than his words. He guided Miss Granger to a seat with unloverlike haste, before turning his attention back to Runthorne. “What do you want?”

“
Nothing, my friend,” he said. “Merely a word or two, or perhaps a game and some company. That is if Miss Granger would excuse us?”

She
stood, still a little unsteady. “Oh, of course, if you will excuse me my lord, Captain Fitzalan?”

“
You do not have to go,” Charles said.

“
I think she does.”

Miss Granger
looked between them, obviously confused. Then a delicate rose tinted her cheeks as she took his meaning.

“
Oh, I assure you, my lord, Captain Fitzalan has been nothing but a gentleman. It was I who persuaded him to teach me the cue. There was really nothing, I mean…” She trailed off, the rose of her cheeks intensifying.

Runthorne
bowed a correct inch. “Forgive me, Miss Granger,” he said, “you misunderstand me. I merely meant that I desired private speech with Captain Fitzalan.”

“
Of course.” She dropped a small curtsey. “If you will excuse me,” she said. He held the door open for her and she almost ran from the room. He closed the door behind her and frowned at Charles.

“
That was not well done, Charles,” he said. “Miss Granger is more than half in love with you. You have no right to encourage her.”

“
Miss Granger is a kind, sweet, innocent girl,” Charles said, which was, Runthorne thought, no answer at all.

“
All the more reason you should not flirt with her. You know as well as I what would have happened to her reputation if anyone else had walked in on you.”

Charles folded his arms.
“I hardly think you are in a position to criticise my behaviour,” he said.

Runthorne
turned away and selected a cue with more care than the action warranted.

“
Spot or plain,” he said, offering Charles the choice of cue ball.

Choice made they
both simultaneously hit their cue balls. Charles’ ricocheted off the top cushion and came to rest at the bottom of the table. Runthorne’s slowed to a smooth finish a few inches from the bottom cushion.

Charles took his cue ball in silence
, a silence that was strained. Runthorne placed the red ball on its spot and settled his cue ball. He sighted along his cue and drew it back smoothly.

“
Damnit, Runthorne, say something.”

Runthorne
’s cue struck the ball a touch off centre making it jump off the table. He sighed. “Well, I may well call you out for fouling my shot,” he said, hoping to make Charles chuckle.

The joke fell flat.

“
Talk to me, Charles,” he said, leaning his cue against the table.

Charles
placed his cue ball carefully on the table and concentrated on chalking the end of his cue as he spoke. “Do you realise what you are doing? You accuse me of trifling with Miss Granger, but I have been completely honest with her. She will have nothing to complain of. I wonder if Elizabeth would be able to say the same of you.”

Runthorne rolled his cue ball in his fingers. “Would you care to elaborate?”

Charles blew residue dust from the end of his cue.
“You flirt with her, talk to her alone, ride with her. You treat her as though she was your future marchioness, not Miss Lacey. If I didn’t know you better, I would think you were trying to hurt her. Punish her, perhaps.” He bent over the table and potted the red.

“
Of course I am not.”

“
Are you sure?”

“
Yes.” Runthorne took the red from the pocket and placed it on its spot. “I admit that I enjoy her company, but that is all.”

Charles crossed his arms.
“Do you know how strange that sounds? Damnit, James,” he said, dropping all formality. “I care deeply for Elizabeth, but she left you at the altar.”

Runthorne frowned. Had Charles
implied that he loved Elizabeth?

“
I cannot comprehend it myself, Charles, but it does not matter.” He paused, searching for a way to make his friend understand. “She makes me feel comfortable,” he said, at last.

“
Comfortable? You make her sound like an old sofa.”

Runthorne shrugged.
“Yet that is the best way I can describe it. She makes me laugh.”

But it was more than that.
He could not imagine needing to escape from her, in the way he had fled Aurelia. It was inexplicable but, for all the hurt she had done him, he felt that on the deepest level she was his friend. She knew him as well as he did her.

“
No, Charles, I am not punishing her. I do not know why she ran away, but I would wager my title that she had a good reason.”

He
took up his cue and looked at the configuration on the table without really seeing it. Instead he saw himself and Elizabeth.

And Charles.

Was there something between them? Aurelia had said as much. But she was wrong.

She must be.

“
You are betrothed,” Charles said, as though from a great distance. “I do not want to see Elizabeth hurt.”

Runthorne
bent over the table, keeping his face averted so Charles would not see his expression. He felt sick. Dear God, was Aurelia right? Was his best friend in love with Elizabeth? Perhaps Charles always had been. How had he not seen it before? Hot on the heels of that thought was the scalding realisation that he too was still hopelessly in love with her.

Barely able to see,
he sent his cue ball speeding down the table to smash Charles’ ball into the corner.

“
You are quite right, Charles,” he said, pleased at how calm he sounded. “I have been thoughtless in my dealings with Miss Hampton.”

“
James?”

Runthorne
made himself smile. “Don’t worry, Charles, you have brought me to my senses. I am, as you so rightly pointed out, engaged to Aurelia, and I am also,” he hesitated before continuing, “happy with that situation.”

He
racked his cue, with extreme care. “If you will excuse me, Charles, I find I have things I must do.”

***

Runthorne strode along the corridor. Guilt warred with anger. On the one hand he knew he had behaved appallingly to Charles but on the other the man deserved it. How dare he even look at Elizabeth let alone love her.

He flexed his shoulders.
It was a large house, but it now felt too small, too enclosed. He needed air. Without changing his footwear, Runthorne stepped outside.

He paused on the gracious terrace that fronted the
house. The air was warm, but a gentle breeze prevented it from being heavy. His tension eased as the heat of the sun caressed his face and he closed his eyes to more deeply appreciate it. He could almost imagine it was the touch of warm fingers. In the distance a bird called and he snapped open his eyes.

He walked down the
steps, more slowly now, and onto the long driveway. Stones crunched under his feet and the sharp edges seemed to bruise him through the thin soles of his shoes. For a moment he wavered, wondering if he should go back, perhaps change into boots, but somehow he felt drawn on. With a tiny shrug at his own indecisiveness he stepped off the drive onto the velvet smoothness of the lawn.

The ground was
summer dry, but the short grass was springy enough that walking was easy. Too easy, as it allowed Runthorne to return to his thoughts.

He had behaved unforgivably, he knew that, and the knowledge did not sit well.
He had always considered himself a man of honour, but he had acted like blackguard.

He did not love Aurelia, indeed he had never pretended to, nor did he think she loved him.
However she had accepted his proposal in good faith and she did not deserve to be insulted.

The going was becoming harder now, the grass a little longer, tangling slightly over his shoes.
Aurelia would make him a good wife he argued silently. She knew how to behave, would be undemanding, not expecting him to dance attendance on her.

Elizabeth
, on the other hand had always seemed to enjoy his company.

He rather thought Aurelia would create her own court, leaving him free to pursue his own interests.

H
ad he married Elizabeth, she would have objected quite vocally to those other ‘interests’.

He gave Aurelia enough credit to
trust his heir, at least, would be his own child, which was more than some men could claim. He was sure that any dalliances would be conducted with discretion. He would have nothing with which to reproach her.

They
would have an ordinary, conventional marriage, no different to those he saw around him every day.