VIscount Besieged (33 page)

Syderstone’s
eyes narrowed. ‘Coercing? Come, come, my dear Miss
Alvescot.’

She gazed at
him, injecting a world of tragedy into her expression. ‘I see you
do not know him well. He is a hard man, sir. Why, do you not know
that he is selling our home from under us? As for repaying you from
the proceeds, he has vowed that he will die first.’

‘
Has
he indeed?’ said Syderstone softly, but with an edge to his
voice.

Isadora seized
one of his hands, holding it between both of her own. ‘Oh, Mr
Syderstone, dare I trust you? I have conceived such a notion—a way
to enable us both to escape—well, perhaps that is not a word for
you. But I, alas, have only that option before me.’ Her eyes
brimmed. ‘Except that I cannot do so alone
.’

He was eyeing
her, she thought, with a good deal of misgiving, a little of his
habitual urbanity deserting him.

‘
You
are proposing that I should aid you to run away, Miss
Alvescot?’

She nodded
vehemently. ‘That is it exactly. Well, not entirely.’ Releasing his
hand, Isadora turned a little away, embarrassment in her tone. ‘I—I
hardly know how to say this. Nothing could be more forward,
more—more unladylike, but—’ she turned eyes she hoped were drowned
in dread back upon him ‘—I am desperate, Mr Syderstone.’

For a moment he
stared at her in a horrified sort of way. It was working. He had
taken her meaning. There could be no other way open to a chivalrous
man than to offer for her at once. Was this man chivalrous? She
watched him anxiously. Disappointingly, the expression of lively
apprehension gave way to another look. One of—yes, calculation, as
if he was weighing her words.

‘
Miss
Alvescot,’ he said, more in his usual manner, but with his eyes
firmly on her countenance, ‘if you do not wish to marry Roborough,
why do you not refuse him? It is not so easy in these enlightened
days to force a female into wedlock.’

‘
It
is,’ said Isadora mournfully, ‘if she has a family wholly at the
mercy of her suitor.’

A frown creased
his brow. ‘There is a threat there?’

‘
A
very real one, sir. We are all dependent upon the viscount. He
gives me two choices—either I marry him or he turns the lot of us
out.’

‘
You
shock me infinitely, Miss Alvescot.’

Isadora was not
surprised. She was shocked herself by the dreadful things she was
saying of the man she loved. It hurt her to speak of him so. Only
if she was to convince Syderstone to rescue her she must do so. She
sighed dramatically.

‘
You
can scarce believe it of him, I dare say. Then you will be even
more dismayed to learn that his determination to wed me is for his
convenience only. He may thus dispose of me suitably, without being
obliged to expend one penny on either dowry or settlements, and at
the same time provide himself with the means to supply an heir to
his name.’

‘
My
dear Miss Alvescot,’ said Syderstone in accents of disgust, ‘I
protest this is callous beyond belief.’

‘
You
see now why I turn to you, sir.’

She groped for
her pocket handkerchief and made play with it, sniffing and dabbing
at the corners of her eyes. Peeping through her lashes, she saw
that Syderstone was now frowning heavily. It seemed as if he was
convinced. But would he commit himself?

Abruptly, he
reached for one of her hands and drew it to his lips. ‘You did
quite right to turn to me. I trust I may prove a more honourable
man than Roborough.’

That, thought
Isadora, was quite impossible. But she gave his fingers a grateful
squeeze and smiled tremulously up at him. ‘I knew you would not
fail me. I promise you I will give you no cause for
regret.’

‘
Oh,
I won’t regret anything,’ he said on a cynical note that gave
Isadora an instant’s pause.

Had she
misunderstood? She rushed into the clinching argument. ‘You will
not lose by it, Mr Syderstone. For do you not see that if I am
married to you—?’

‘
Married?’ He sounded almost amused. Then he smiled. ‘But of
course. Gretna, do you think?’

‘
Oh
yes, for we must do it all in the greatest secrecy,’ Isadora
agreed. ‘You need not concern yourself. I have thought it all out.
We must take the main road which runs from Stockbridge to
Basingstoke, and from there we can take the post road
north.’

‘
That
seems a sensible route,’ he conceded.

‘
And
when we are married you will be in a position to force Roborough
into paying your debt. For he dare not refuse when he knows that
you may blacken his name with a tale of his wrongs to
me.’

‘
Now
why had I not thought of that? But of course you are perfectly
correct. He will most certainly agree to my terms.’

He sounded so
confident that Isadora was shaken by doubt. Had he given in to her
rather too easily? But next instant he was smiling
again.

‘
Now
we must plan the details of our escape. How soon would you wish to
elope?’

***

The escape was
effected with no difficulty at all. Summoning a footman to her
bedchamber, Isadora instructed him to take her packed portmanteau
down to the stables and place it in Mr Syderstone’s
curricle.

‘
The
gentleman is passing by our previous home, and has very kindly
agreed to take some items that Mr Thornbury, our man of business,
has requested me to send as gifts for the servants who are leaving
us.’

The Barton
Stacey domestic staff being, like all servants everywhere,
conversant with every detail of the family business, including the
facts of the Alvescot inheritance, the footman took this without a
blink. All that remained was for Isadora to rise at an early hour
upon the following morning and slip off through the gardens to the
road where Mr Syderstone picked her up outside the gates to the
mansion.

It was with a
heavy heart that she climbed up into the curricle. It was bad
enough that she had not been able to say a fond farewell to Mama,
worse—infinitely worse—that she had seen Roborough only in company
at dinner last night, and then he and the Ursula female had had
their heads together at the top of the table.

Fearing her
emotions would get the better of her if she stayed, Isadora had
pleaded tiredness after the meal and retired before the gentlemen
had come in from their wine. Tears had been shed into her pillows.
Useless, stupid tears. For what was the point in crying when, if
she did not do what she had decided to do, she had only despair
before her? But that was all in the past.

The future,
while it might not include Mama and the viscount, would be bright
enough. For, little though he knew it, it did not include her
escort. The letter she had left for Roborough—to be delivered by
her maid, along with a note for Mama, once she was safely at a
distance—would ensure that Syderstone troubled none of them
again.

Dear
Roborough,

I have persuaded Syderstone to elope with me to
Gretna Green. He believes that marriage with me will enable him
to blackmail you into paying his debt. But of course I will not
marry him at all. You may then challenge him to dare to claim his
debt, as you must say you believe he has ruined me. Pray don’t
concern yourself over my future. I shall be doing that which I have
always desired.

Isadora.

If that did not
bring the viscount haring after them, then she was entirely
mistaken in his character. He would be intent upon preventing her
from going to Gretna. But it would avail him nothing, for when he
caught up with them he would find only Syderstone. That would
baffle him. He would not know where to look, and he would be
looking for Isadora Alvescot. There was not going to be any Isadora
Alvescot.

He would no
doubt deal with Syderstone as he saw fit. She could guess how that
might be, but of one thing she was certain: the man could not
possibly have the effrontery to demand to be paid when he had run
off with the viscount’s cousin.

As for
Roborough, this time Isadora flattered herself that she had
out-generalled him
.
He would think she was ruining herself
one way, when in fact she would be busy ruining herself in quite
another. That would fox him. And there would be nothing he could do
about it, because by the time he did catch up with her—if he
managed to do so at all—it would be too late to do anything to save
her. Not, she reminded herself, that he had said he would save her.
Quite the contrary.

Here a tiny
voice at the back of her mind informed her that she was dreaming if
she supposed for a moment that he would carry out his threat. Of
course he would not set up as her protector. He had no desire to do
so. He had only said it, and kissed her, to make her aware of the
dangers of following her ambition. Instead, his kiss had
precipitated her into taking the step that would push her into
doing so—because she would rather die than live with the agony of
seeing him married to another.

She had so much
on her mind that the journey to Basingstoke hardly seemed to take
any time at all. Syderstone being equally silent—was he perhaps
having some doubts?—there was no difficulty at all in introducing
her final ploy.

As soon as they
were driving north out of Basingstoke, she began to moan softly now
and then, putting a hand to her stomach. It was not long before
Syderstone noticed.

‘
What
is the matter?’

Isadora hoped
she was pale enough from lack of sleep to lend credence to what she
replied. ‘Forgive me. I am a trifle queasy. The rocking—’ she
snatched at her mouth as if she were indeed about to be sick ‘—I
have never been a good traveller.’

‘
Lord!’ exclaimed Syderstone, with all the horror of a man
faced with such a domestic crisis. ‘Just how nauseous are
you?’

Isadora allowed
her head to fall back, saying faintly, ‘Don’t concern yourself. I
shall be—’ Then, in a panicky tone, she cried, ‘Oh no, I shall not!
Do you think we might stop? If I could just lie down for a
space…’

Pulling on the
reins, Syderstone slowed the curricle, calling on his groom to keep
his eyes peeled for a likely inn. A small tavern came into sight in
a few moments, its swinging sign unmistakable.

In a remarkably
short time, Isadora had been escorted up to a little room on the
first floor, with the landlady fussing over her and offering all
manner of remedies.

‘
I
want nothing, thank you,’ Isadora said, collapsing on to the bed.
‘Only, pray would you ask the gentleman to have my portmanteau
brought in? I have some powders with me that will greatly reduce my
sickness. I recall packing them.’

The portmanteau
was duly brought up, and Isadora, waving away all offers of
refreshment bar a glass of water, and pleading only for quiet, soon
found herself left alone. She was up at once, darting to the door.
Stealthily she opened it, but there was no one about. Breathing a
sigh of relief, she closed the door and swiftly turned the key in
the lock. Then she seized her portmanteau, hefting it on to the
bed.

Ten minutes
later, Isadora Alvescot had disappeared. In her place stood a young
man, his long black curls drawn back and tied at the neck with a
ribbon, and largely concealed by the round felt hat that partly
shaded his face. Breeches of blue cloth adorned his slim thighs,
and a waistcoat and frock in contrasting greys, although a trifle
ill-fitting at the front, sat finely across his
shoulders.

Isadora had not
forgotten the necessary smallclothes, and only wished she’d had
more practice in tying a cravat. She had secretly filched the
entire costume for one of her performances, more than a year ago,
from Papa’s wardrobe. So amused had he been by his daughter’s
unexpected appearance that he had permitted her to keep it for the
future. Little had he supposed it would be used for this
adventure.

Now it only
remained to remove herself from the inn without being noticed.
Which did not mean without being seen. It was a small place, but
there were still people about. The thing was to step out boldly. No
one would expect her, and therefore it was probable that no one
would challenge her. Or so she devoutly hoped.

Once she was
outside the chamber, she took the precaution of locking the door
from the outside and pushing the key under it. That would hold
them. Then she squared her shoulders, took a firm grip of the
portmanteau, and trod in a leisurely way down the
stairs.

As she expected,
neither the landlady nor Syderstone, who must have been refreshing
himself in the taproom, was present in the little hall. A lad was
engaged in polishing some brasses that adorned the walls, but he
merely glanced about to see who had come down, and then went on
with his work.

Isadora
sauntered out of the inn, her heart hammering painfully the while,
and struck out back towards Basingstoke. She had gone barely half a
mile before she was able to get a lift with a passing farmer,
spinning him a tale about her horse having gone lame. The farmer, a
man of few words, merely nodded, asked where in Basingstoke the
gentleman wished to be set down, and calmly besought his horse to
proceed.