Page 17 of Rescuing the Runaway Heiress

T he scream Miss Gordon let out was like nothing Samuel had ever heard in his life. Even above the din of the port it rang out, a high-pitched yet feral, guttural sound. Part-banshee, part-bear. Across the quayside he saw her, a spectre of chaos in her dishevelled red cape, her arms flapping wildly, her hood falling down to reveal a veritable bird’s nest of dark hair. Yet it was neither the sight of her nor the sound she made which horrified him the most. It was the smaller woman standing in front of her, clad in cream, her wide-brimmed bonnet insufficient to shield her face from all the attention which Miss Gordon’s scene was drawing. Hope.

Samuel dashed towards her, his heart racing and his hackles slowly rising. What on earth was she thinking, leaving the carriage? After all these weeks in hiding, why would she put herself in such danger?

As he drew nearer, he saw Charles had joined them now, his gestures suggesting he was trying, and failing, to calm his sister down. If anything, the sight of her brother seemed to make Miss Gordon more hysterical. Samuel ran faster, his agitation growing at the woman’s relentless cries. They needed to get her away from here. And, more to the point, he needed to get Hope back in that carriage and back to the safety of Hayton Hall.

‘Oh, Sammy, thank goodness!’ Charles called out as, finally, Samuel reached them. ‘Is there a physician nearby? I think we’re going to have to call upon the man and ask him to attend. Henrietta is unwell.’

Unwell? That was an understatement. Samuel’s gaze shifted from Miss Gordon to Hope, who stood in front of her, speaking softly and calmly, trying her best to reassure her. It seemed to work as slowly the woman’s wailing abated, replaced by quieter sobs. Around them he could sense the onlookers circling, their collective breath bated as they watched the scene unfold.

‘We need to get you away from here, Hope,’ Samuel said, not answering Charles. His thoughts were consumed now with only this—making sure Hope remained safe. ‘Now.’

Hope glanced up at him, her green eyes challenging, her jaw set hard. ‘I must help Miss Gordon,’ she insisted. ‘Besides, I dare say the damage has already been done.’

In breach of his usual calm temperament, Samuel felt his temper flare. How could she be so flippant about the threat she still faced? How could she be so obstinate when she was in such clear danger? For several moments he stared at her, her choice of words stinging him as though he’d been struck across his cheek. Words which could easily refer to more than her recognition, her discovery out here. The damage had indeed been done—by him, weeks ago, when he’d lied to her about who he was.

‘Please, Hope,’ he replied, swallowing down the fire which had risen in his throat. ‘Please, go back to the carriage.’

‘Not without Miss Gordon,’ she replied, her voice quiet but firm. ‘I am not yours to command, Samuel. I am not your sister, or your wife.’

Samuel blinked at her, those words ringing in his ears and whirling around his mind.

‘I am not...your wife.’

But what if she was—at least for now, in this moment? Would a new name and a husband be sufficient to throw any malevolent onlookers off the scent? Or, if she was recognised, would the news that she’d wed protect her, if it reached the ears of those who sought her?

No, he told himself, he could not countenance pretending that Hope was his wife, not under any circumstances. He’d quite finished with the business of telling lies, even for good and noble reasons. Even if he rather liked the idea of hearing the words Mrs Liddell fall from his lips...

Before he could say anything further, however, Hope turned away from him and back to Charles’s sister, who stood trembling and sobbing quietly at her side. ‘Come now, Miss Gordon,’ she said softly as she took the lady tentatively by the arm. ‘Let us return home. A little tea and cake, that’s what you need. Then you will feel much better.’

It was hard to discern whether Hope’s gentle words had the desired effect on Miss Gordon or whether she’d simply exhausted herself but, either way, Charles’s sister submitted to Hope’s coaxing without complaint. The audience which had gathered began to fall away as the four of them walked back towards the carriage, apparently losing interest now that it was clear that the scene Miss Gordon had made was over.

Inwardly, Samuel breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps all would be well, after all. Perhaps no one there had known Hope for who she really was; perhaps word of her presence in the docks today would not reach her uncle’s ears. Perhaps no damage had been done.

Except the damage he’d caused by lying to Hope, he thought glumly. He was not sure if that could ever be repaired.

Charles strode up beside Samuel, emitting a heavy sigh. ‘Thank goodness that is over. I suppose I should be grateful that Henrietta’s hysterics were witnessed here and not in Blackburn. The damage to her reputation there would have been irrevocable. At least here, no one is likely to know us.’

Samuel gave his friend a stern look. ‘Frankly, Charles, I am more concerned about someone here recognising Hope, and about the danger that would place her in,’ he replied, his voice hushed.

‘Ah—of course. Indeed, Henrietta and I owe Miss Swynford an enormous debt for intercepting her like that, despite the risk to herself.’ Charles gave Samuel a pointed look. ‘Miss Swynford did not look delighted by your efforts to steer her away from danger, however,’ he whispered. ‘It’s clear she’s still angry with you. I presume you did not heed my advice about laying all your cards on the table.’

Samuel grimaced, watching Hope as she clambered into the carriage beside Miss Gordon a short distance away. This was a conversation he was not prepared to have—especially when Charles was partly correct. In the carriage, he’d begun to explain himself, but he’d not laid his cards on the table; he’d thrown them up in the air, leaving them to land wherever they might and leaving Hope to make of them what she would. And, of course, he kept one card hidden away—the one which told of the events of the summer, of his pain and humiliation. Of the hope he’d begun to harbour that, no matter who he really was, Hope might care for him too.

‘As you said, Charles, you owe Hope a considerable debt for her actions today. I think you can begin by explaining exactly what is amiss with your sister, the moment we return to Hayton.’

‘Ah...yes, of course,’ Charles replied, looking suitably chastened.

Samuel strode towards his carriage, his heart sinking when he climbed in and saw how steadfastly Hope avoided his eye as she sat beside Miss Gordon. After all that had happened today, Samuel was not sure what tortured him more—the irrevocable damage that his lies had caused between Hope and him, or the uncomfortable, unexpected knowledge that he’d rather liked the idea he’d fleetingly entertained, of calling her his wife.

Throughout the journey home, it was this latter thought which his mind kept returning to. Along with another thought—that even if by some miracle a woman like her would have ever considered him, his deceit now meant that she would never trust him again, never mind consider marrying him.

Hope sat quietly opposite Samuel, sipping her tea and wishing she was a million miles away as they waited for Mr Gordon to join them. Samuel had asked her to come to the parlour almost the moment they’d arrived back at Hayton and put the ashen-faced Miss Gordon safely into Maddie’s care.

‘Charles is going to explain everything,’ he’d said, leaning close and speaking in a hushed voice. ‘After what you did for his sister today, he owes that explanation to you most of all.’

Hope had nodded obligingly, a flustered heat growing in her cheeks at her awareness of his proximity. ‘Of course,’ she’d replied, unable to bring herself to meet his eye.

In truth, she’d wanted to slip away into her room, to put some distance between herself and everything that had happened today. Between herself and Samuel, and that maelstrom of emotions she felt whenever she so much as glanced at him. Her confusion, her upset, and her anger. Her niggling worry that she should not trust him, even as she wished with every fibre of her being that she could. Nonetheless, she was still curious to hear what Mr Gordon had to say about his sister’s behaviour. It was, it seemed, a day for honesty—from everyone else, at least.

What a strange day it had been. A strange and dangerous day. As Mr Gordon hurried in, looking flustered, Hope tried not to dwell on just how risky her actions at the docks had been. Neither did she allow herself to consider the sheer horror on Samuel’s face at the sight of her standing with Miss Gordon in the midst of the gathering crowd. How tinged with fear his words had been as he’d pleaded with her to return to the carriage. How he’d once again sought to honour that solemn promise he’d made to her weeks ago, to keep her safe.

Samuel rose from his seat, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Well, Charles?’ he prompted. ‘How is Miss Gordon?’

Mr Gordon gave a curt nod. ‘She is resting.’ His gaze flitted between Hope and Samuel, his agitation evident. ‘I hope that you appreciate that what I am about to tell you must be treated with the utmost discretion...’

‘Of course,’ Samuel replied. ‘I am not one to meddle in the affairs of others, Charles. But this is my family’s home and until my brother returns I am its master. I have a duty to know what goes on under Hayton’s roof but, more importantly, as your friend I am concerned. Your sister’s behaviour today was as alarming as it was reckless. It cannot be left unexplained.’

Mr Gordon gave his friend a pained look. ‘I know,’ he said in a tight, strangled voice. ‘God, Sammy, if only you knew...’ He paused, pressing his lips together in a clear effort to collect himself.

‘Take your time, Mr Gordon,’ Hope interjected, leaning forward and gesturing for him to sit. It was hard to see this usually jovial giant of a man so evidently perturbed. ‘Did Miss Gordon go to the port today to try to procure more laudanum? I did see her talking to some of the men around the docks.’

Mr Gordon let out a bitter laugh as he slumped down in a chair. ‘Worse than that, I’m afraid, Miss Swynford. It turns out that she was trying to buy herself passage on a ship.’

‘A ship?’ Samuel repeated. ‘What ship? Going where?’

‘Any ship, going anywhere,’ Mr Gordon replied. ‘Ireland, the Isle of Man, the Caribbean—it appears my sister cares not. Such is the strength of her desire not to return to Shawdale that she is willing to go anywhere in the world on any vessel which will take her.’

Hope’s mouth fell open. The sea was a dangerous, often lawless place; she knew from bitter experience just what sort of rapscallions sailed its rough tides. A woman like Miss Gordon would have no idea if she was throwing herself upon the mercy of legitimate merchants or a crew engaged in far more nefarious activities. As desperate as Hope had been to escape her father’s clutches—not once but twice now—she’d never even contemplated going to sea. Whatever had led Miss Gordon in that dark and potentially deadly direction must have been grave indeed.

‘What happened to your sister, sir?’ she asked.

Mr Gordon drew a deep, shuddering breath. ‘She fell in love, Miss Swynford. A love which my parents forbade. That love is at the root of all that ails her.’

Hope listened as Mr Gordon finally told his sister’s sorry tale. Several years earlier, he explained, his sister had become involved with a worker in one of their father’s calico printworks. The young man had been about her age, and was known to be decent and hardworking. Miss Gordon, it seemed, had fallen head over heels in love with him, and by all accounts those feelings were reciprocated as the young man had proposed marriage. The pair had planned to run away and elope. However, before they could do so, word of their relationship and their plans reached Miss Gordon’s father’s ears. Mr Gordon senior had reacted furiously, effectively locking Miss Gordon away in Shawdale and dismissing the young man from his employment. Unable to find work because of the scandal, the young man had been forced to leave Blackburn, and Miss Gordon’s heart had been broken. She’d not been the same since.

‘I left for the Continent not long after the scandal broke. I hoped by the time I returned that Henrietta would have recovered from it. Unfortunately, she was worse than ever,’ Mr Gordon concluded. ‘She complained constantly of headaches, chest pains, stomach pains—pains of every sort. She was given laudanum by our physician but, as you know, that has only made matters worse. I’ve tried everything to help her, getting her away from Shawdale as much as I can. That was why I took her to Buxton to take the waters, and why I jumped at your invitation to come here. But I fear now that she is lost—if no longer to her tinctures, then to her despair.’

‘Oh, dear, Charles,’ Samuel said. ‘You never breathed a word of any of this during our travels.’

‘I confess, I was content to be far from my family’s woes,’ he replied glumly. ‘I proved very capable of putting it all out of my mind.’

Hope, meanwhile, found herself overcome with sympathy for the lady who lay in bed upstairs. Little wonder that she was so prickly, so sombre, so prone to drowning her sorrows in the bottom of a laudanum bottle.

‘Poor Miss Gordon,’ she interjected, shaking her head sadly. ‘To have been denied love like that... Really, could they not just have been allowed to marry?’

‘What?’ Mr Gordon just about leapt out of his seat. ‘I am sorry for Henrietta’s pain, Miss Swynford, but are you honestly proposing that my father should have consented to the match? With one of his workers?’

Hope felt her hackles begin to rise. ‘I am proposing that Miss Gordon should have been permitted happiness, sir,’ she replied, standing too. ‘I am proposing that she should have been allowed to make her own choice.’

‘Are you really?’ he scoffed. ‘Well, I suppose that having an uncle who tries to sell you off to anyone willing to split the proceeds would affect your judgement on these matters.’

‘Come now, Charles,’ Samuel intervened, getting to his feet now and standing close beside her. ‘That isn’t fair on Hope...’

‘I’m merely pointing out that your mysterious heiress here might be as embittered by her experiences as my sister is. Not that any of us know much about what those experiences were. Indeed, Miss Swynford, it is odd that you have so much to say about my sister’s story, and so little to say about your own.’

Hope’s heart sank like a stone at Mr Gordon’s pointed observation. The truth, as ever, bubbled not far from the surface.

‘You are right,’ she said, changing tack. ‘I have said too much. It is not fair to discuss this when your sister is not present to talk about it herself. Indeed, with hindsight, I should have liked to have heard her story in her own words rather than yours, sir.’

Mr Gordon’s nostrils flared. ‘I suppose you think her wicked family has deprived her of those too,’ he replied. ‘Just as you clearly think we deprived her of the chance to marry so far beneath her.’

Hope sighed, wishing now that she’d held her tongue. It was clear that she’d provoked Mr Gordon and he was spoiling for a fight. She glanced at Samuel, noticing how he remained at her side, watching his friend carefully, every muscle in his body apparently tense. She knew she ought to back down, apologise meekly and extricate herself from this conversation. And yet, as she stood here, she felt the fire of indignation burning in her gut. Indignation for that young man and indignation for herself, her true self, and the way others looked down upon them when their rank in life was nothing more than an accident of birth. Who they were—who they truly were—was a matter of words and deeds, not wealth and titles.

‘I just... I find it sad that people are considered above or beneath each other at all,’ she said in the end. ‘Surely, we love who we love and that should be all that matters. You said yourself that this young man was hardworking and decent, yet such traits meant nothing because he was not wealthy and therefore your sister marrying him would be viewed as an embarrassment or a scandal. Never mind that it might have made her happy.’

‘Outrageous, revolutionary nonsense.’ Mr Gordon’s face grew a rather unbecoming shade of scarlet as he turned to address Samuel. ‘Are you going to tolerate such talk under your roof, Sammy? Or are you going to tell us that you’d quite happily wed one of Hayton’s servants?’

Hope watched as Samuel studied his friend, his expression unreadable. ‘As a gentleman, I’d never presume to tell you your business, Charles. However, as your friend I sincerely hope that you and your family can find a way to ease Miss Gordon’s suffering.’ His blue-grey eyes shifted from Mr Gordon to Hope, growing serious as they locked with hers. ‘If you are asking me my personal opinion, then I am sympathetic to Miss Swynford’s view. I wish to marry for love, and nothing else. Frankly, I do not care if the lady in question is a maid or a marquess’s daughter.’

‘And yet, until recently you were pretending to be a baronet,’ Mr Gordon countered.

Still Samuel held Hope’s gaze, his eyes at once searching and sincere. She was in no doubt that his words, whatever they would be, were meant for her.

‘I was,’ he said after a moment, ‘because even I, for all the many advantages life has bestowed upon me, know what it is like to be looked upon as less than someone else. To have the wind knocked so thoroughly from your sails that you wonder if your pride will ever recover. However, that is no excuse. I should never have deceived you, Hope, and I am deeply, sincerely sorry that I did.’

The hurt and the shame which clouded his expression was palpable. Before she could stop herself, before she could remember that Mr Gordon was still in the room, Hope reached out and took Samuel’s hand in hers. Surprise flickered across his handsome features in response to her touch, before melting into such an affectionate smile that it caught Hope thoroughly off-guard even while it seemed to warm every part of her. She wanted to place her trust in Samuel, and she wanted to understand the nature of what pained him. Of who or what had cut him down and caused him to feel so thoroughly diminished.

In spite of everything, she realised, she wanted his affection. She wanted Samuel to look at Hope Sloane the way he’d just looked at Hope Swynford. And above all she wanted to find the strength to tell him the truth.