The Resolute Runaway Read online

  THE RESOLUTE RUNAWAY

  Charlotte Louise Dolan

  Chapter 1

  Joanna Pettigrew set down the heavily laden basket, which had surely doubled its weight in the mile she had trudged from the village. It was such a relief to straighten her back and flex her arms that she yielded to the temptation to sit down and rest for a moment on the grassy verge in the shade provided by a single oak tree.

  She sighed tiredly. It was all Napoleon’s fault.

  If it were not for Bonaparte and his dreams of glory for France, her father would not have been killed at the Battle of Trafalgar, and her family would not have been forced to accept the charity of Uncle Nehemiah Alderthorpe, whose parsimonious ways had contributed directly to her mother’s death from pneumonia two years later.

  Joanna’s thoughts followed a familiar path, which over the years had become a veritable litany of condemnation for the little corporal who had crowned himself Emperor of France.

  If Napoleon had not invaded Spain, her older brother would have kept his promise to her that the two of them would set up their own household. But instead, on his eighteenth birthday, Mark had thought it best to spend every penny of their meager inheritance to purchase a commission, and he had immediately been posted to Portugal.

  As soon as Napoleon was defeated, Mark had assured her over and over in each of his infrequent letters, he would make a home for her in London, where his friendships with fellow officers would guarantee him a plum of a civil-service position. He would, he had promised, definitely be home in time for her eighteenth birthday, which was in October last.

  But thanks to Napoleon’s gluttony in swallowing up large chunks of Europe, even in defeat the Corsican upstart, as her uncle always referred to him, had continued to ruin her life. Instead of Mark coming home as promised, he had gone to Vienna as part of the English delegation—a very minor part, to be sure, but still it had been too good an opportunity to miss since his experience there would give him a head start in his career.

  She had hoped to see him before Christmas, but the peace talks in Vienna had dragged on and the yuletide season had come and gone, and nothing had arrived from Vienna but a letter from Mark, giving his word as an officer in His Majesty’s service, that he would be home by Easter. As a consolation he had offered her the unbelievable news that having met Lord This and Lady That, it was not outside the bounds of possibility that he would be able to procure several invitations for the two of them to attend some of the more modest entertainments during the London Season.

  Joanna leaned back against the trunk of the tree and stared out across the valley. It was a beautiful day in early May, the sky was blue, the clouds were white and flurry, and with only a little imagination she could see castles and dragons and giants floating above the rolling hills in a constantly changing panorama.

  None of the cloud fantasies were more impossible than the dreams that letter had inspired: dreams of being in London with her brother tall and straight beside her, handsome in his scarlet regimentals; dreams of herself wearing a beautiful silver dress, dancing the night away in the arms of a handsome lord who would cast his heart at her feet. Such foolish dreams.

  She had not, of course, related her brother’s plans to her aunt and uncle, whose Christian charity was but a thin veneer over their greedy desire to utilize her services as an unpaid servant, at their beck and call from first cock’s crow until long after the sun had set.

  Joanna had told no one about London except Belinda Dillon, her best and indeed her only friend. Belinda had been so enraptured with the idea of having a companion that she had coaxed her parents into formally inviting Mark and Joanna to stay with them in the elegant town house they had hired for the Season.

  But it was not to be. In Austria the diplomats had continued to intrigue and argue and bargain and debate endlessly, while one month of winter followed another, and Joanna had received no further word from her brother until the end of February, when a letter had come from Vienna explaining that as much as he hated disappointing her once again, he could not leave his position until the peace talks were concluded, or he would lose all his chance of patronage.

  So Belinda and her parents had departed for London and Joanna had been left behind, with nothing to look forward to except, perhaps, the Little Season in the fall, which might be more auspicious anyway, because that would give her brother all summer to become established in London, or so Mark assured her.

  She had scarcely repaired and rearranged her dreams, when in March Napoleon had once again interfered with her plans by escaping from the island of Elba. To Joanna’s amazement and horror, not only had the French foot soldiers flocked to him once again, but even the generals had thrown down the fleur-de-lis of the Bourbons and picked up the tricolor of their emperor.

  After six months of delay and postponements, Mark had finally left Vienna, but not to come home. He was now in Belgium, where the allied armies were gathering under the supreme command of the Duke of Wellington. Surely this time, with all of Europe united against him, Napoleon would be destroyed and her brother could finally redeem all the promises he had made her.

  Joanna’s eyes drifted shut and she slid effortlessly into dreams of her brother’s homecoming....

  Something tickled her nose, and she woke up with a sneeze. Opening her eyes, she decided she must still be dreaming, because beside her a dainty mare shifted its feet, and leaning down from its back was Belinda. She was dressed in a beautiful gold velvet riding habit, and her chestnut tresses exactly matched the flowing mane and tail of her mount. In her hand was her riding crop, which had evidently been the cause of the sneeze. Joanna blinked several times, but the vision refused to dissolve.

  “I vow, I do not know how you can sleep at such a time. I have the most exciting news. You will never imagine.”

  “You are getting married. Oh, Belinda, who is he? An earl? A duke?”

  “Do not be a goose. I have no intention of tying myself down to one man, not for many years and years. It is ever so much more fun to have suitors by the score. No, what I have to tell you is even better than marriage. My parents have agreed to take me to the Continent. London is almost devoid of company now. All the really important people are gathering in Brussels, where they are having elegant parties every evening and where I am sure dozens of handsome young officers are just waiting to fall at my feet.” She giggled mischievously.

  Rising quickly to her feet, Joanna reached up to clasp her friend’s hand. “Oh, please, you must take a message to my brother for me.”

  To her surprise, Belinda shook her head and pouted. “No, I absolutely refuse to do that.” Her sulky look lasted only a moment before delightful dimples once more peeked out. “Because the best part I have not even told you yet. My parents have agreed you should come with us. There, what do you think of that? I was just on my way to your uncle’s house to invite you when I spotted you sleeping here by the side of the road like a veritable gypsy. Really, my dear, it is not at all the thing to do.”

  Joanna’s heart, which had leapt at the idea of seeing her brother again after all the lonely years, plummeted at the mention of her uncle.

  “What is wrong? Do you not wish to go to Brussels with us? I thought it would be a treat for you.”

  “Of course I want to go with you, but my uncle will never give his permission.”

  “Oh, pooh, as if that mattered. The worst he can do is say no. After all, he cannot very well beat you just for asking.”

  Belinda laughed merrily, but it was all Joanna could do to force a smile. Her uncle could beat her, and very well indeed. Much more efficiently than Aunt Zerelda, whose arm usually tired after only a few strokes of the birch.

  “Your
problem, Joanna, is that you are not resolute. Simply tell the old grouch you are going; do not even ask him if you may. Run away if you have to. I need only inform my parents that your uncle has given his permission, and by the time they find out otherwise, if indeed they ever do, we shall be together in Belgium, and they cannot possibly send you back to England alone. So you see, there is nothing at all to stop you. Do say you will come. You do want to, do you not? We are leaving this very afternoon, so you must hurry and make up your mind. There is no time for shillyshallying.”

  “I am a-f-fraid”—Joanna stumbled over the words but forced herself to say what she knew had to be said—”that it would be b-better for me to remain here. If there were time to write and get my brother’s permission, it would be different, but—”

  Belinda’s mood, which was always rather volatile, shifted immediately when she realized she was not going to get her own way, and it was with a very cross voice that she had the last word. “I dislike arguing. If you wish to go with us, then be at my house by two of the clock, or I shall simply go without you. And if you do not come with me, I do not think I will even speak to your brother when I am in Brussels because I will be very angry with you for being such a coward.”

  With that threat she struck the mare sharply with her riding crop and galloped away, leaving Joanna choking in the cloud of dust raised by the horse’s hooves.

  It was indeed fortunate that her dress was dun-colored, she thought, else she would earn a scold from her aunt for being so disheveled.

  Wearily she picked up the heavy basket and trudged on down the lane, her thoughts determinedly toying with the possibility of seeing her brother again.

  The impossibility, she tried to insist to herself, but no matter what stratagems she employed, she could not dispel the image of her brother’s face, his smile welcoming her, his arms holding her safely...

  Safe ... ah, that was the problem. It was all very well for Belinda to go careening off to Brussels on the shortest of notice, because she would be in the company of a fond mother and a doting father. But for Joanna to do such a thing would be foolhardy in the extreme. Anything might go wrong, and then where would she be?

  She might arrive in the Belgian capital only to find her brother had been posted back to Vienna. Even worse, knowing Mark’s opinion of officers who let their womenfolk follow the drum, he might be angry with her for not waiting patiently in England for his return.

  And there was no deluding herself that her aunt and uncle would give her permission to go off on a pleasure trip, much less welcome her back with open arms should something go amiss.

  Joanna turned through the gate and paused to stare up the short drive that led to her uncle’s residence. Somber and still, it did nothing to welcome her, nor would a stranded traveler see anything about the smallish manor house that would induce him to believe he might find aid and assistance within its walls.

  No, if she left her uncle’s protection, she could never return, and she was too much the coward to take such an enormous risk.

  For a moment she wished with all her heart that she had just the tiniest portion of her friend’s courage, but she had not, and that was that.

  Skirting the main entrance, Joanna lugged the basket directly to the side door and into the kitchen. With an effort she hoisted it up onto the plank table, then realized with dismay that she was the center of attention.

  Mr. Hagers, the butler, was staring at her, his gaze shuttered; Polly and Patsy, the two maids, were slyly watching her out of the corners of their eyes; and Joseph, the groom, who never missed an opportunity to brush up against her, snickered out loud. She felt heat flood her face, but she could do nothing to lessen her embarrassment.

  Only Nan, the scullery maid, showed any sign of compassion when Mrs. Hagers, the cook, said in a rough voice, “You’re two hours late, my girl. They’ve been wanting you in the parlor this hour or more.”

  Two hours! She could not have slept that long. She had paused on her return from the village only for a minute to rest her arms. Surely ...

  With startling clarity Joanna remembered that the cool shade she had sat down in had entirely vanished by the time Belinda found her. She was, indeed, very late, and she could only regret that her uncle was presently in residence and not off on one of his innumerable business trips. It was not that Aunt Zerelda was kinder, just that she was lazier and less inclined to exert herself, not even to chastise her niece properly.

  But nothing would be gained by waiting. Even the slightest attempt to postpone the confrontation would merely increase her punishment. Her knees threatening to buckle under her and her stomach in revolt, Joanna made her way through the maze of dark hallways to the room preferred by her aunt. Scratching softly on the door, she received permission to enter.

  Aunt Zerelda reached out one plump hand and selected a bonbon. “So, you have decided to return. I was sure that you had taken it into your head to run away with the butcher’s brat.” After inspecting the sweet carefully, she popped it into her mouth, then fastidiously wiped her fingers on a lace handkerchief.

  “I must say, you look as if you have been dragged through a hedge backward,” Uncle Nehemiah said crossly, and it seemed to Joanna as if she were already feeling the sting of his cane across her back.

  “I... I was tired,” she stammered without thinking. “The basket was heavy—”

  “Silence,” her uncle said without raising his voice. “What have we come to, that you dare attempt to excuse your errant behavior, you ungrateful gel?”

  Remembering too late that meekness was her only defense, Joanna folded her hands tightly together and bent her head in submission.

  “Come here and sit down, my child,” her aunt said calmly.

  Joanna looked up in amazement. This was totally out of character for her aunt, who usually delayed only until the exact number of lashes had been mutually decided upon before excusing herself.

  “Are you waiting for a second invitation?” There was a touch of frost in her aunt’s voice this time, and Joanna hurried to do as she was bidden.

  “A letter has come for you, my dear,” her aunt said, pulling an envelope out from between the cushions of the settee.

  With a burst of joy, Joanna recognized the scrawling handwriting. “Oh, it’s from Mark. He has written at last,” she blurted out, forgetting entirely that she was in disgrace.

  Instead of handing the missive to Joanna, Aunt Zerelda held it out of reach, then with a sly smile passed it to her husband, who turned it over and back, inspecting it as carefully as he would a counterfeit five-pound note.

  “I fail to see any reason to reward unpunctuality,” he finally announced dispassionately, and before Joanna could react, he cast her letter onto the small fire that her aunt kept burning year-round in the grate.

  “No!” Joanna wailed, springing to her feet. “Oh, no—please, no!” Struggling past her uncle, she reached for the envelope, but just before she could touch it, the paper burst into flames, and she barely had time to jerk her hand away.

  “I do not believe my ears,” her uncle said, and for the first time in her life Joanna heard him raise his voice. “Do you have the impertinence to correct me? The audacity to tell me what I may and may not do in my own house?”

  Her uncle’s voice boomed behind her, and automatically she paused, her hand resting on the door latch.

  “If you set one foot outside this house without my permission, which you do not have, then you will never be permitted entrance again. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.” Defiantly she opened the door, and an errant breeze slipped in to tug gently at her skirt.

  “If you do not come back into the parlor this instant, then you are no longer part of my family, is that quite clear?” His voice echoed behind her back.

  Joanna turned to look at him, but the light from the doorway did not quite reach where he stood in the shadowed hallway. It didn’t matter. She knew what the expression on his face would be, but she
no longer cared. She was angrier than she had ever been in her life, and her voice shook with the strength of her feelings. “Yes, you have made yourself perfectly clear.” With no more hesitation, she turned away from him and stepped through the doorway.

  Her anger carried her half the way to her friend’s house, but then her footsteps lagged as the enormity of what she had done hit her. She had rushed away from the only place she could legitimately call home, taking not so much as a spare handkerchief with her, leaving all her possessions, meager as they were, behind her, where they would doubtless end their days on the rubbish heap behind the stables.

  And she could not even blame her present predicament on Napoleon—she had gotten into this deplorable situation all by herself.

  Suppose Belinda had exaggerated slightly, and her parents had not yet actually invited Joanna to accompany them? Suppose Belinda was still angry and had changed her mind about wanting a companion? Suppose the Dillons had already made their departure?

  Joanna felt tears gather in the back of her eyes—tears caused not only by the cruel loss of her brother’s letter but also by the knowledge that she was now completely alone in the world. And as everyone knew, the world showed no mercy to young female orphans such as herself.

  She tried to console herself that at least she had one friend, but she failed to find comfort in the thought. Belinda was beautiful, Belinda was carelessly kind, Belinda was spoiled, but—most important—Belinda was fickle.

  Shortly after Mr. Dillon had purchased Riverside Manor, only a year and a half previously, the two girls had met accidentally in the village, and Belinda had instantly decided that she and Joanna were destined to be the best of friends. And so it had turned out.

  For Joanna it had been like a miracle, but in spite of her pleasure in having someone to talk to, she could not keep from noticing over the months that Belinda’s passions, intense while they lasted, seldom were of long duration.

  Her eyes blinded with tears at her own folly, Joanna could scarcely see where she was putting her feet, so when someone touched her arm, she leapt sideways with a shriek.