Surely the Arundells would despise her. Mr. Arundell, as pleasant as he seemed today, would come to his senses and renounce their acquaintance. Mrs. Arundell, a most amiable woman, would spurn her as a companion. What would become of her?
While these dreadful thoughts filled her breast, suddenly Sebastian was back. He climbed into the seat before her with an enigmatic look. Frannie hardly dared meet his eyes.
“Mrs. Fanshawe was not cooperative,” he said, turning to her. His mouth turned upwards into a little smile. “But she is rattled. I’ve given her to understand that you have powerful friends, a solicitor who will contact them shortly, and that we know about the trust fund and will not suffer its loss.”
She was almost breathless with relief. “Thank you!”
“She did not claim ignorance of the fund,” he said, “which is strongly indicative that your mama was right about its existence.” He looked about before slapping the reins to start the team. “I left my card. I expect Mr. Fanshawe will call upon me in King Street very soon; and then we shall untangle this hobble.”
Frannie nodded gratefully, but fear nibbled at her heart. If Mrs. Baxter and Mama were correct about the trust belonging to Frannie, why was it all shrouded in mystery? Surely a simple letter from a solicitor could prove everything to everyone’s satisfaction. What if it was all a mistake and it was indeed Charles Fanshawe’s daughter who held the proper claim to the fund? But why should her mama fill her with false hope? Why invent such a thing? No, it must be true.
There was a trust fund just as she had always been told. Elsewise, Mrs. Fanshawe would have claimed ignorance of it in the strongest terms. And it must follow then, that Mr. Fanshawe was concerned in the business. But how? Could it be he was her father? This is what Frannie most wished to know. And, if not he, who? Would she ever meet him? Would he desire to know her? She had so many questions! Oh, why had Mama not revealed her father’s name? How much vexation would thus have been spared her!
Mr. Withers said her father was a right honorable gentleman—and that he’d married her mother against his father’s wishes. This was news to Frannie. Defying one’s father was dire, indeed. But at least he had pronounced them to be married! Better a frowned upon union than an unholy one. And if they had indeed married, she had no fear of being branded as illegitimate. Her heart rose and sank as these succeeding thoughts made their way through her mind.
The rest of the drive she spent in a sad reverie, imagining herself quite without friends or hope in the world. Despite Sebastian’s efforts, it all might come to naught. He told Mrs. Fanshawe that she had powerful friends, but aside from his family, there were none. He had said she had a solicitor, but this was not true. And now, with Mrs. Arundell’s hearing problem solved (for she was certain it would be; she had that much faith in Mr. Withers’ device), her services would no longer be necessary. Had she been respectable, she might have hoped to be kept on. But if Mr. Withers was mistaken! A blow-by child! She did not expect they would consider keeping her.
As they neared the corner of King Street, Frannie said haltingly, “Sir—as your mother will no longer need me for a companion—and if Mr. Fanshawe does not call upon you shortly—may I ask? What is your best advice? Would Mrs. Arundell recommend me to another lady for a situation? I am sure I cannot apply without a recommendation—”
Sebastian glanced at her warmly. “If that little gadget cures her defect, my mother will not repay your kindness by throwing you to the street.” Keeping his eyes ahead, he added, “And neither will I.”
That gave Frannie a small lift to her spirits, but the stark reality of her situation in life still weighed heavily upon her, and once more her spirits sank accordingly. Oh, why hadn’t Mama made the situation plain! Why hadn’t Mrs. Baxter? Her birth was no doubt a mistake! They had shrouded her situation in mystery because she was not by rights a member of the gentry, as she’d always thought. Illegitimate children were a disgrace. That meant she was a disgrace.
She thought back to her first meeting with Edward, how she’d told him she was an heiress! He’d have reacted mighty differently, she was sure, had she realized then the truth about herself and presented herself differently. Her thought of someday meeting Princess Charlotte now seemed like the utmost presumption! It astonished her, in fact, that Sebastian hadn’t sent her packing the moment he heard her tale of woe. He, surely, had understood it at once, better than she. He knew her to be completely without consequence, without honour, without a shred of merit in society. That he was championing her cause seemed nothing short of a miracle.
Looking at the profile beside her she was filled with sudden admiration. Indeed, it bordered upon affection. As he handled the team, she had a full minute to watch him and decided that Sebastian had not the sort of face that appeared beautiful upon first inspection, but that it was a noble, pleasant face upon closer examination. How had she found him frightful at first? His sober expression wasn’t sternness, but thoughtfulness. His quiet manner of dress was not without elegance, and indeed made Edward’s exuberant modishness appear ostentatious. Overall, there was something decidedly tasteful about Mr. Arundell’s appearance. And vastly reassuring.
If only she weren’t so wholly without merit to recommend her to such a man! But now that she knew her place, she would never plague him with the slightest indication that she admired him. She would adhere to her station, such as it was. If, in time, her fortune were found and proved to be substantial, perhaps then…but no! What had he said? The Arundell name has never been attached to a scandal, and I wish to keep it that way. Sebastian Arundell would no more look at a hired companion than a scullery maid. To do otherwise would be scandalous. She must not forget it.
Mrs. Arundell received her new device eagerly, exclaiming, “Upon my word, how small ‘tis! Nothing at all like Earl Brest’s ponderous monstrosity. And he must hold it continually to his ear, at great inconvenience. Nobody can overlook it. And it did not remove the necessity of raising one’s voice to be heard by him. I own, I had a dread of using such a thing. I had rather give up society—which, you know,” she added, looking earnestly at Frannie—“I nearly did. I daresay I haven’t been out in an age!” Placing the little metal piece in one ear, she said, “Now say something, Beau, in your usual tone.”
Sebastian said, “How do you do, ma’am?”
She responded with a shriek of excitement. “I hear you! I hear you perfectly well!” She turned to Frannie and grasped both her hands. “My dear, God bless you! This answers all my prayers!” Turning to Beau, though keeping Frannie’s hands in her own, she said, “Beau, darling, I must bring Frannie to the ball. She has done me such a service!”
But he said firmly, “No, ma’am, you must not. Until we know for a certainty how to introduce her, she would be grilled mercilessly by the ape leaders. They never fail to plague a new face if it be pretty. One glimpse of Miss Fanshawe will have them arrayed for battle, and we have not the defense at present to rout it. You must not subject her to it.”
Frannie’s cheeks flushed rosily. Sebastian was telling his mama in the kindest words possible that Frannie wasn’t acceptable for the upper class. Though she knew it to be true, it stung. A week ago, no, a day ago, she had thought herself respectable. A fatherless girl was not without honour. But a child of sin—a child who knew not her father’s name—that was a different story.
Mrs. Arundell nodded with reluctant agreement. “Well, I hope you shall sort out the muddle then, dearest; for if Frannie indeed possesses a fortune, all else can be forgiven, even by the ape leaders.” Frannie comprehended instantly that her mistress must have possession of the details of her dilemma. Edward no doubt, had laid it out for her, how the winds blew, what a sinking ship was Frannie’s life unless the treasure were found. Oh, how she hoped Sebastian could indeed sort it out! The money was hardly important; only inasmuch as she could repay Mrs. Baxter’s remaining debts, buy back the house, and live independently. But even these worthy aims now paled in comparison with on
e that surmounted all else: to be respectable. Not so she could meet Princess Charlotte, but to be on equal footing with Sebastian—that is what her heart most desired.
That is what her heart told her she would never, ever, possess.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The following morning only the brothers appeared at breakfast. Mrs. Arundell preferred a late meal, and Frannie must accompany her mistress. Edward soon learned that Sebastian had reasonable assurance of Miss Fanshawe’s claim to a fortune, a morsel of knowledge that sent him into a silent reverie. He wore a look of contemplating most earnestly a weighty matter for a young mind. Finally he exclaimed, in a challenging tone, “I daresay, if she is an heiress, a second son might do very well by her!” His face scrunched in thought. He got as far as saying, “But we had ought to do away with this companion business. My mother can hear perfectly well with the help of that little device, and Miss Fanshawe is thoroughly genteel—”
But here he was punctiliously cut off. “Don’t be a gudgeon. Miss Fanshawe must be my mother’s companion, unless you prefer to put her up at an inn.”
“No need for that. We can say she’s a distant cousin,” Edward rejoined. “I warrant it’s been done before!”
“Miss Fanshawe is not a distant cousin,” countered Sebastian with meticulous precision. “And if she is entitled to a fortune, it does not remove the fact that she may well be a blow by! The natural child of nobody knows whom. That is hardly the type of woman an Arundell can align himself to. And even were she perfectly legitimate, which I doubt, you are a puppy, and not in a position to align yourself with any self-respecting female.”
Edward’s face flushed. “Are you not to be a baronet? A second son is next in line. Not every pup can make that claim.”
“Your brother may inherit a baronetcy if your cousin does not remarry and have his own son; and your being next in line answers nothing unless said brother is so amiable as to fail with regard to having his own son, or does you the service of dropping dead.”
“Which you seem intent on doing!” Edward shot in.
“Eh? What’s that?” Sebastian asked, scowling.
“Not dying, but I mean, the matter of an heir—you haven’t made a single offer to any of the eager young women, the eligible ones that is, who harken well enough to your side! How often my mother tells me that Miss So-and So has set her cap at you.” With a look of disdain, he added, “You seem quite impervious, sir, to marriage.”
Sebastian shook out his newspaper. “We are discussing your marriage prospects, not mine. And as things stand, you have precious little. Your stipend is hardly enough to live upon in style, as you are a slave to being modish; you must allow that.”
Edward longed to rebuff this assertion, but as he was wearing a yellow cravat in the latest style, and had only just bespoken, the day before, new breeches of white satin, and got his hair trimmed and curled into the Brutus style, he said nothing.
“I offered you a commission many times—” began Sebastian.
“I’m not cut for the military!” Edward cried. “I’m only fit to be a gentleman, and you well know it.”
“Then you must needs learn to invest—or you will indeed be forced to seek a wealthy bride.”
“Which is precisely my point!” exclaimed Edward, slamming a hand upon the table. “Miss Fanshawe!” He stared triumphantly at his brother.
Sebastian’s face hardened. He lay his paper down with careful, measured movements. Looking into Edward’s eyes he said in an even tone laced with ice, “You will not marry my mother’s companion.”
“If she owns a fortune, she won’t be any lady’s companion. She’ll be hiring servants of her own.”
But this only caused a flash of ire in Sebastian’s eyes. “You worthless whelp! Keep your eyes off that child. We don’t know anything for certain, least of all what constitutes her fortune, whether it be small or great. In any case until we find out, stay wide of her.”
Edward shrank into his seat with a sigh. “As you wish, big brother. But when we find out, then I’ll make my move.”
“You’ll do no such thing without my permission,” Sebastian spat out.
Edward eyed him sullenly. “She ain’t a child, you know. She’s nineteen. A year older than I.”
“As I said,” Sebastian returned, rather severely. “A child. As are you.”
Sir Hugo sent notice from the Royal Crown Inn of his arrival in London on Wednesday. On Thursday evening, he appeared for Mrs. Arundell promptly at eight-thirty to escort her to Lady Merrillton’s ball. A rotund sort of person, he was dressed in meticulous evening wear which had the effect of making him look exceedingly uncomfortable. His neckcloth and collar were neat but tight, judging by the redness of his face, giving it a mildly strangled look. His wide girth seemed severely restricted by a tight coat; the breeches skintight and stretched; even his black shoes looked tight.
Sebastian received him in the parlour while they awaited Mrs. Arundell’s appearance and thanked him again for his kind invitation for the family to spend the Christmas holidays at Bartlett Hall. His words were no sooner heard than met with equally gracious thanks on Sir Hugo’s part, who was “deeply obliged, and humbly gratified.” Small talk, polite chit chat, followed.
Sir Hugo was all graciousness but Sebastian could not help but notice he seemed ill at ease, his manners bordering upon timid. The nephew attributed this to the man’s penchant for solitude, as he eschewed society more often than not. But perhaps it was due to the long-standing feud which existed between Sir Hugo and his mother. Or that he had scarcely laid eyes upon Mrs. Arundell for most of Sebastian’s life. With a hand upon his chin, Sebastian said, “You must allow me to express how grateful I am that you are come to escort my mother; this will heal the family breach. I have never understood, sir—I’ll be frank with you,” he said, extending a hand. “What the discord was, between you.”
Sir Hugo shifted uneasily in his chair, but his eyes held a gleam of interest that hadn’t been there earlier. He cleared his throat. “It seems, my boy, that your mother has finally seen fit to lay aside her complaint, which, I assure you, no one can be more gratified at, than I.”
“Do you mind my asking—what was her complaint, sir? You’ll pardon my curiosity, but you must allow that an ancient grudge which has been guarded and kept secret for all my life must hold some fascination.” He smiled wryly. “‘Twas on account of it that we hardly know you.”
Sir Hugo seemed surprised. “I was not aware, sir, that your mama would grant me enough notice to constitute an ancient grudge; do you indeed call it that?”
Sebastian shook his head. “It has been my impression; I beg your pardon if I am mistaken. My mother has ever been reticent on that head, but I did indeed have the understanding there was ill will on some account between you.” Sir Hugo frowned and lapsed into silent thoughts but offered no further comment on the matter. Sebastian understood he was not to be enlightened. He rubbed his hands together. “No matter; as she has accepted your escort this evening, I have every hope that bygones are now bygones, and our two families can enjoy as much felicitous accord and mutual society as any who are related.”
Sir Hugo said, “Hear, hear! My hope exactly, sir.”
Sebastian wondered if he might broach the matter of Sir Hugo’s wife seeking, but just then the door opened to reveal his mother. The men came to their feet while she stopped in the doorway so that Frannie, moving in front of her with her back to the room, adjusted something in the region of Mrs. Arundell’s turban. “There you are, ma’am, I’ve fixed it into place,” Frannie said in a low tone.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Arundell. Beneath her breath she added, “I hear you perfectly!” Then, gently, “Perhaps next time you will accompany us.” Frannie nodded, gave a small curtsey and then, after turning her head just enough to steal a glance at Sebastian, she turned away and disappeared from sight. Her face had been visible for no more than a second, her profile for another. Sebastian was about to greet his mot
her but the words, “Good evening Mama, here is Sir Hugo,” froze on his tongue. Sir Hugo was staring in consternation toward the doorway, the color wholly drained from his face. Sebastian did not know what to make of it. His mother, surely, was not so changed as to cause such a reaction in the man. Indeed, she had a remarkable youthfulness about her.
As Mrs. Arundell entered with a light step and a smile, Sir Hugo recovered himself and made a deep bow. Sebastian said with real pride after making his own bow, “You look splendid, Mama!”
“Thank you, dearest,” she murmured, still moving towards the estranged cousin-in-law with an outstretched hand, the smile still upon her lips. And she did look exquisite in deep blue cotton velvet with short, puffed sleeves, and a contrasting gold-embroidered sash with gold tassels circling the high waist. A bejeweled hem with a design in rich gold thread, and a gold brooch centered upon the bodice were striking. The matching turban not only set off light, feminine curls about her face, but served ingeniously to keep her hearing device securely in place.
“My word!” said Sir Hugo, deeply impressed. He extended a hand to take one of hers. “My word, Penelope! You don’t look changed at all!” His eyes beamed approval.
Sebastian noted with relief that he no longer seemed flummoxed.
Mrs. Arundell blushed faintly, but smiling, said, “Nonsense, Hugo! You know we are both quite ancient now.”
“Ancient?” he asked, amused. “Not yet, Penelope. Not quite yet.” Keeping his eyes steadily upon hers, he added, with quiet emphasis, “‘Tis good indeed to see you, my dear.”
Mrs. Arundell met his eyes. “And you, sir,” she said in an equally sober tone. Watching the pair, Sebastian’s mind did a cartwheel. Of course! Why had he never guessed it? There was something of a tragic romance in their past, he’d swear upon it! While the two still surveyed each other, he said heartily, “Neither of you are Methuselahs. Now go and enjoy the ball.”
Miss Fanshawe's Fortune: Clean and Sweet Regency Romance (The Brides of Mayfair Book 2) Page 7
