Mrs. Arundell said, “Thank you, Frannie dear, but I could never use that monstrous hearing trumpet, such as the one Earl Brent goes about with. I have a horror of such a device!”
Frannie said, “No, ma’am, the one I have in mind is quite small.”
“You know of a small instrument that can help a hearing defect?” Sebastian inquired.
She nodded. “I do, sir. I have seen it work for someone who is similarly afflicted with the impairment. Mrs. Baxter’s brother, one Mr. Withers, is something of an inventor, sir. If he is still making the devices, your mama can safely keep her engagement….” In a low tone, she added, “without me.”
Sebastian eyed her keenly, but Edward cried, “Impairment! I daresay, that answers better than defect! We must only call it only an impairment, Mama!”
But Sebastian’s attention was still on Frannie. “You know where to find Mr. Withers?”
She nodded. “I know the street name.”
He surveyed her with cautious optimism. “Very well. I think we must acquire this marvel.”
“Mama,” put in Edward, “you could allow me the honour of taking you to the ball. I can translate conversation for you. Sebastian cares nothing for society, for it always welcomes him. He can rub shoulders with anyone he likes, all the ton, any blue blood, whilst I am completely ignored and overlooked. A younger son must have some right to society, and if you will go upon my arm it will raise my consequence.”
“You have no consequence,” said Sebastian, with an arched brow, “None to begin with, and you will not prevent my mother from extending this olive leaf to Sir Hugo. It hasn’t come betimes!”
Frannie’s brows rose. The lack of accord between the brothers surprised her, though she had no experience of siblings other than in the families of her acquaintance from the village where she’d grown up.
Mrs. Arundell smiled fondly at Edward. “Do not take it to heart, dear. Your brother is to inherit a baronetcy. He is considered good ton on that account.” All this while the four adults had been standing at the table, ever since Mrs. Arundell had risen to leave. She now turned once more to go but stopped and said to Frannie, “In the morning, Beau will take you to town.” To Sebastian’s knit brows, she added, “Your curricle is open, my love; there’s no need for a chaperon. And if Miss Fanshawe knows of anything that can ameliorate this dreadful deformity”—Sebastian ground his teeth—“then we must have it!” she finished, smiling upon first Frannie and then her son.
“I could take her,” muttered Edward, giving his brother a look of some resentment.
“I wouldn’t dream of putting Miss Fanshawe’s life in such danger as that,” returned Sebastian instantly. Frannie’s heart went out for the younger brother, but she said nothing. It was not her place; and she could not dislike the thought of Mr. Sebastian Arundell accompanying her.
CHAPTER FIVE
The following morning found Frannie with an unsettled stomach. She was acutely conscious that she was to spend time in Sebastian’s company. She’d prayed thoroughly that morning for the success of the mission, but hadn’t thought to pray for her own poor nerves. When she was seated on the board beside him, she could not help but notice the understated elegance of his figure and dress; or his manners, which were so fine as to make her think he had forgot that she was not perfectly respectable. Was it mere condescension? He’d handed her up to the seat with gentle assiduity. He’d checked to be sure she was ready before giving the reins a slap. He’d inquired if her redingote was sufficiently warm, or would she like a carriage blanket?
En route to the shopping district and the particular street she remembered, she took the opportunity to inquire why the house was kept conspicuously dim in the evenings, for it seemed so to her the prior evening when she had sat in the parlour with Mrs. Arundell. The lady busily worked a tapestry with thread by the barest candlelight, though she chatted companionably about the running of the household, telling Frannie about the usual coming and going of its inhabitants.
“My mother has a dread of fires,” Sebastian explained with a little smile. “When she was a child, a tragical blaze broke out on Upper Grosvenor Street and burned itself, you might say, into her brain. Lady Molesworth and much of her family, besides servants, perished in it. My mother cannot forget the horror.”
He turned a corner onto a wide avenue and said, “But let me inquire of you; what evidence do you have, or can you recall, that proves the existence of your noble benefactor?”
Frannie’s face scrunched into thought. “Besides my mother’s assurances?” She reflected on it a moment. “Mrs. Baxter revealed to me, sir, as she lay dying—” here she had to stop and conquer the now familiar streak of sorrow that rose in her breast for the losses of both her dearest mama and dear Mrs. Baxter—”that what sustained us all my life were interest payments from a trust set aside by my father. She said there was a family feud of some kind; that he was alive but my mother insisted upon the separation.” She turned to him with earnest eyes. “This was the first I ever heard of his being alive, I assure you; my history as my mama gave it, was that my papa died at sea when I was an infant. I had always believed the trust provided only for the smallest part of our upkeep, and that Mrs. Baxter was to be thanked for the better part of it. Indeed, I considered myself so deeply obliged to her that I felt duty-bound to cover her debts when they were presented to me.”
He nodded, listening as he handled the team. “What precisely did she say of your father?”
Frannie shook her head. “All that she knew. But unfortunately my mother, for reasons known only to herself, never disclosed the details of her marriage or separation. All Mrs. Baxter could tell me for certain is that my father is very much alive; and has a title. This much she had from my mother, but no more.” Her face crumpled. “But she assured me, oh, in the strongest terms!”— She gave him a look of utmost earnestness—”that just as my mother said, there was a trust in my name, guaranteed upon my majority! Mrs. Baxter was exceedingly devout, a strict adherent of our faith, I assure you, and would never have invented such things!”
“Sebastian had fallen silent, but now he said, “His supporting you all your life speaks well of his character, but there is no nobleman with the name of Fanshawe, and your mother, I presume, did not style herself Lady Fanshawe, or Lady something or other?”
“She did not,” Frannie admitted, shaking her head.
“Why would a woman not use every honour her marriage afforded?”
Frannie thought hard and remembered something. “Mrs. Baxter said there must exist between my parents an agreement; one that guaranteed our income only so long as she waived the use of her title and all other marital rights.”
“Would she agree so far as to keep secret the very name of the father of her child, when to do so must surely give an appearance of a disrespectable nature?”
“As for that, Mrs. Baxter said my mother feared I should take it into my head to seek out my father. She—she must have had a dread of him! Mrs. Baxter said I ought to follow my mother’s example, for we know not what manner of man he is, except that his generosity was most uncharacteristic, as many men separated from a wife give no such support or notice.”
“You are certain they were legally married?” asked Sebastian.
Frannie stared at him, momentarily bereft of speech. “Thunder!” she said lightly. “If they were not—God forbid, sir! But—but—of course they were!” she cried, finally. The idea of their not being married had not occurred to Frannie. But suddenly she had a thought and undid the top frog fastener of her redingote. She felt beneath the ruff of her gown and presently pulled out a chain bearing a gold ring. “What a goose I am!” she said, greatly relieved. “This was my mother’s wedding ring.” She held it out for Sebastian to see, though he could take only a passing look, as he was driving. It appeared to be of gold.
“But if they were married,” Sebastian said, endeavouring to sound merely sensible and not judgmental, “would you not know, at the ve
ry least, your father’s name? And why did they live apart?”
Flustered, she gripped the seat, staring ahead. “My mother did not wish me to know him—I think we must surmise this much—though I have not the slightest knowledge why.” A worse suspicion suddenly interposed itself onto her brain. What if it was her father who did not wish to be known? What if, for some unsavoury reason, he was willing to send support, but required absolute anonymity? She felt an awful horror as the implications played in her mind. Her father might be furious if she found him out. Perhaps he would somehow rescind the trust.
And what if the direction of Mr. Arundell’s thoughts, that she was illegitimate, had any bearing in truth? He doubted the marriage had taken place. Suddenly it seemed reasonable to doubt it. Dread and confusion filled her breast as she realized that the implication was not his, but embedded in her circumstances. Why didn’t she know the name of her father? Why, if he and her mother were married, had they not lived as man and wife? Suddenly it seemed absurdly obvious that Mr. Arundell’s thought must be correct. Oh, thunder! Was it true? Why hadn’t she realized it? Why hadn’t Mama or Mrs. Baxter told her?
Frannie swallowed as a hollow thud resounded in her being. Sebastian was right. Her mother would surely have kept the title of ‘lady,’ even separated from her husband. What Englishwoman would not? Agreeing to keep wide of the man was one thing; but to dispense with every right of marriage—that seemed too fantastic a possibility.
Sebastian gave her a sideways, dubious look. “If there was a marriage and a subsequent separation, your father could not legally marry again and sire an heir.” Frannie nodded, miserably aware that he was perfectly right. A nobleman would sooner pursue a divorce, no matter how difficult to obtain, than support a wife secretly when the estrangement left him without an heir. Suddenly a remarkable thought filled her breast. “Sir!” she cried, turning to Sebastian, her face alight.
He looked over and almost smiled at the lovely vision.
“I wonder if I have a brother!” she cried. “Perhaps my parents’ falling out occurred after his birth. Or perhaps we are—twins! Separated when they parted ways. My mother took me, and he got his heir! It would answer as to why he would not seek a divorce!”
Sebastian’s brow creased. “I’ll make some inquiries,” he said. Secretly he thought the idea too fantastical to hold any real merit, but somehow he was not averse to investigating the matter for this lovely, gentle creature. She was earnest and hopeful and young. She was already a blessing to his mama. He must help her if he could.
He said, “If interest payments are still forthcoming, and the agreement was for you to keep yourself scarce, it may not be advantageous to seek out this man.”
“But recall, sir, that I used all I had to pay Mrs. Baxter’s debts, and it is just December. The interest will not come until the end of March, if I am not mistaken. And now, when the duns have taken everything from me, I have no choice but to find my father!”
Frannie remembered nearly word for word the terrible bills of indictment she’d been served, saying “the penalties and forfeitures of the departed are to be recovered by the distress and sale of the offender’s goods and chattels…” She swallowed and continued, “They would not heed my assurance that I would, as soon as I had it in my power, pay all. Dear Mrs. Baxter assured me so vehemently that I am to inherit a fortune that I could in good conscience promise repayment. But they heeded me not. So you see I must seek him out. I find myself quite homeless—except for the kindness of your family, sir.”
Sebastian considered it propitiously fortunate for Miss Fanshawe’s sake, that Edward had championed her cause. He had saved her, perhaps, from starvation, for she was an absolute pauper! And on his hands. They drove without speaking for some minutes while he thought it over. The fortune, he was certain, could not exist; to attempt to track it would mean following a vale of tears. It could only bring heartache to his young companion and put him in the unenviable position of making delicate inquiries among the ton about a blow-by child no nobleman of his acquaintance would desire to have known.
“How do you receive the annual payment?”
“That is precisely the dilemma, sir. Mrs. Baxter knew only that my mother received it by post. I have no means of receiving it now that our home is lost to me. I left word with the postmaster, of course, that I would furnish a new direction at the soonest possible time, for it must come.” She paused and added with a determined nod of her head, “Anything that comes my way, I will of course turn over to you.”
Sebastian looked faintly horrified and hurriedly said, “That will not be necessary, Miss Fanshawe.”
She swallowed and added, “That does relieve my mind, I own, sir; for I still consider Mrs. Baxter’s debts to be mine; they are debts of—of honour!” she said, nobly. “I must repay them and redeem what’s been lost.”
Sebastian could not help but smile at that. But he said, “If they’ve taken possession of the house and furnishings, you might honourably and in good conscience consider her debts paid.”
“But I want to buy it back!” Frannie said earnestly. “I grew up in that house; all my memories are there.” She clung to those of her mama, which to her seemed inextricable from the house.
“I find it difficult to fathom that your Mrs. Baxter never extricated the name of your father from your mama. You lived with her for years, you said.”
“All my life,” nodded Frannie. After a moment she said, “Perhaps she believed he was dead, too. I wonder if my mother told her when she died—that was a year ago August—that he was alive.”
“I wonder she didn’t pass on the information to you at that time.”
Frannie sighed. “I wish she had. But it was only as Mrs. Baxter lay dying and could hardly speak at all that she told me, and then she gave only the name of Charles Fanshawe. She was quite sure he was not my father, but an uncle. This must be true, for as you pointed out, there is no title.” Again she sighed, this time deeply. “When I found his home, I had hoped to explain my predicament, and—foolishly, you will say!—thought he might look favourably upon me and welcome me as a relation; at least until the trust is secured. But as I told young Mr. Arundell your brother, his wife took an instant horror when I appeared, and told me I was—an—an impostor!” Here Frannie’s voice broke and she continued only with some difficulty. “She said the only Miss Fanshawe they would acknowledge was her d—dear child, and I should never receive aught at their hands!”
Sebastian stared at her strangely for a moment at this revelation. Unthinkingly, he took the reins in one gloved hand so he could pat hers, which were folded upon her lap. “Is that what she said?” he asked, mildly.
“Yes, sir. I know it seems a muddle! And perhaps too deep for you to unravel…!” Sebastian frowned, but kept his eyes upon the road. Frannie continued, “She also said that if I had the cheek—the p-pluck—to return, she would summon a magistrate or Charley to haul me to King’s Bench!” She blinked back tears. “It is a terrible thing, sir, to find yourself friendless on the streets of London.” She turned her large, chocolate eyes up to his, and Sebastian found himself saying, “Poor child.” But something in her account had given him second thoughts. “Did you say anything at all about a trust fund to Mrs. Fanshawe?”
Frannie thought for a moment. “No. Only that I was a relation and hoped to know them. I asked if I might have an audience with Mr. Fanshawe.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “In that case, methinks the lady doth protest too much.” He turned to Frannie’s puzzled eyes. “She knew what you were after, or supposed she did. That is, she must be aware of some prize, the trust, let us say; and hopes her own daughter will receive it.”
Frannie gasped. Suddenly Mrs. Fanshawe’s cold antipathy made sense. “Thunder! I fear you are right. She said the only Miss Fanshawe they would acknowledge was her own child.”
“Precisely. But acknowledge to whom?” Sebastian asked. “If this Charles Fanshawe is your father, he would know of a cer
tainty that their daughter is not meant to be the recipient of a fund he put aside for the illegitimate child.” He glanced over. “Begging your pardon, Miss Fanshawe.”
She nodded, lips pursed, at the odious words. Illegitimate child. Since her mother’s death she had believed herself to be an orphan, but the truth, this reminded her, might be far, far worse! She might be the result of a union outside of marriage! Her face coloured rosily.
But now it seemed to Sebastian that Miss Fanshawe’s case might have merit. She was still illegitimate, to be sure, but that she might indeed be entitled to a fortune of some substantial amount seemed probable. Why else would Mrs. Fanshawe have been so hostile? Unless she hoped to secure it for her own daughter? There were cases where men had treated their illegitimate offspring with largesse, sometimes granting them lesser titles, even. If Frannie’s sire was extremely wealthy, he might indeed be liberal enough to grant her some fortune of her own.
He turned to his companion with fresh energy. “I suspect this man, as you yourself surmised, must have full knowledge of the trust and is involved in the business, though I have yet to ascertain what his role is, or has been.”
As they turned a busy corner, he said, “Tell me again what you said to Mrs. Fanshawe when you arrived at her doorstep. Word for word, if you please.” He listened closely, as they had reached the bustling warehouse district and had to speak above the din of street vendors, besides much traffic of other carriages, wagons and carts.
Frannie thought back to the horrible encounter. She took a shuddering breath. “I told her my name, Frances Fanshawe, and claimed to be a relation. I trusted that when my name was given to Mr. Fanshawe, he would grant me an audience so I could plead my case. At the very least I hoped to ascertain, with his help, temporary lodging whose direction I could furnish to the postmaster.”
Miss Fanshawe's Fortune: Clean and Sweet Regency Romance (The Brides of Mayfair Book 2) Page 5
