His mother turned to him. “We shall, dearest, but do not forget to ensure that the servants snuff out all the candle lamps in this room as soon as you vacate it. Last week I came home well after midnight and found two burning in the corridor and two more in the first parlour! We must not leave them unattended!”
“Am I to play butler tonight?” he asked, with a wan smile. Seeing her face fall, he hurriedly said, “Depend upon it, dearest, not a single candle will remain lit a moment longer than absolutely necessary. Now be off!” When they’d gone, he thought back to Sir Hugo’s reaction upon spying his mother. Something had drained the man’s colour. He did not think it likely that Sir Hugo could be in love with her, for they’d barely crossed paths in more than two decades. No doubt a romance was part of the history between them, a tragic romance to be sure, but that was long in the past. It could hardly account for the look of shock on Sir Hugo’s face. Thinking back on it, he remembered that Frannie had been in the doorway with Mama. But she, certainly, could have nothing to do with the baronet.
He had never sufficiently pressed his mother to explain the long-standing grudge that until now, had kept their family aloof from Sir Hugo. Sir Malcolm’s recalcitrant nature seemed a mere excuse, an easy thing to fall back on as her reason, but Sebastian knew it had more to do with the son than the father. Unfortunately, if he pressed his mama, she became exasperated and petulant, and so he’d let the matter lie. But the time had come. He must unearth the past.
Frannie hurried down the corridor after leaving Mrs. Arundell at the door of the blue saloon. Her quick glance into the room had taken in Sebastian, tall and elegant looking without his spectacles. She could not prevent the rush of color she felt infusing her cheeks simply at sight of him. She was glad to escape to the library where she knew he would leave her in peace. She thought wistfully of the ball and wondered if she would ever meet Princess Charlotte. But if she were to go to some great affair upon Sebastian’s arm, she feared she would never stop gazing at him, so noble he looked in evening wear. In any case, it was better this way, for her to remain out of society. Until she learned precisely who she was—who her father was, and whether she was legitimate—she had no wish to make new acquaintances that might later be denied her. She ought not make any attachments who might spurn her later, nor deepen those with the Arundells. Especially not Sebastian.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Frannie waited anxiously that evening for Mrs. Arundell’s return, despite Sebastian’s coaxing her not to miss her rest. At length, he’d come to the library, found her with no fire, clucked his tongue and told her she’d catch an ague if she wasn’t careful. He went to summon a servant to build a fire, but she wouldn’t hear of it, asking only for the usual one in her bedchamber. She thanked him and curtseyed, and would have fled to her room, there to continue reading by candlelight far from his unsettling presence. But Sebastian, after giving the bell pull a yank, leaned back against the mantel easily and asked her what she was reading.
A very happy hour ensued. A maid started a fire, while Sebastian took from a shelf his favorite book of verse, recommending it to her. He bade the servant remain in the room, no doubt to ensure Frannie’s comfort. She went off to one side and sat watching as Frannie and Sebastian went on to discuss the poetry.
Spying the prayer book beside her, a discussion of its cadences followed, the rise and fall of the words when read aloud. Soon they were discussing the Book of Psalms as poetry, which delighted Frannie for she hadn’t taken Sebastian for the type of man who added private devotion to his church-going. And yet it was not a complete surprise, for though Frannie had supposed that most of the upper class did not attend church or care for religion, to her joy the Arundells were an exception. They went faithfully to church upon a Sunday—even Edward—since her arrival. The only lapse was the first week when Mrs. Arundell claimed she could not hear the rector’s sermon, and moreover, hadn’t been attending church since her “deformity” had occurred.
As minutes ticked by, Frannie forgot to be shy of Sebastian, who welcomed her opinion on the Psalms and promised to read her favorites the following night aloud to the family as they sat in the parlour. She knew she must be ignorant of real scholarship in countless ways, but if he thought so, he hid it. As it grew late, he asked if he might escort her to her bedchamber.
Frannie hid a little yawn behind one hand, but then said, “I am determined to wait for your mama. I must know if Mr. Withersʼs device was a success for her.” What she did not say, but what was of even greater concern was if it meant her days with the Arundells were numbered. Indeed, after this lovely evening of easy companionship with Sebastian, she feared it more than ever. Sheʼd been careful, of course, in all she did or said, to keep her growing affection for him out of sight. He mustn’t be made uncomfortable.
After he left, she continued reading but dozed off. It was near four o’clock in the morning when she awoke with a start upon hearing stirrings in the house. Surely it signified Mrs. Arundellʼs return. She picked up the candle sconce that was still lit, though burning low, and hurried to greet her.
Mrs. Arundell was astonished to find her up, told her not to think of waiting up for her again, and then fell into her manner of easy chatting. She had a delightful evening and claimed her “odious deformity” was cured! Indeed, she was filled with raptures, for she was able to curtsey to Her Royal Highness Princess Charlotte and exchange a word even with the Prince Regent! “Of course we all know the prince would hardly be respectable were he not royalty, but he is royalty, you know, and that makes it exciting, doesn’t it?” she asked, as if Frannie might have had exciting opportunities to curtsey to the prince any number of times. To Frannie’s question about whether she would still be wanted as a companion, Mrs. Arundell reacted with raised brows and momentary silence. Finally she replied in the sweetest terms that she had no wish, no wish at all, to lose Frannie, and she must not even think of such a thing.
Frannie was filled with relief and gratitude. Sebastian was right, thank heavens. She accompanied the lady to her bedchamber as she continued to glowingly describe the evening. About Sir Hugo, she said only that she had seen no evidence of his exerting himself with the opposite sex. “Indeed, he failed to put himself forward at all,” she said, shaking her head, “though many eligible ladies were present. Miss Latham, with her ten thousand, and others, many others.” She paused while Betsey, her lady’s maid, lifted off her gown, leaving her in a chemise, stockings, and stays. “If he indeed wishes to find a wife,” she continued, as all but the chemise was removed, “he is not going about it properly.”
A frilly mobcap replaced the turban and Mrs. Arundell climbed into bed. As her maid settled the blankets about her, she turned to Frannie. “My word! I’m keeping you from your rest!” She removed the little hearing device from her ear and placed it lovingly upon her night table. “We’ll talk in the morning, for the boys will wish to hear about the ladies with their fortunes who were utterly ignored by their cousin.” She sighed and looked up at Frannie, blinking. Suddenly her eyes filled with a thought. “Why, my dear, you would make Sir Hugo an excellent wife! Your fortune merely caps it!”
“Oh, ma’am!” Frannie exclaimed, blushing. “A poor orphan?” she said, forgetting for a moment that her father might be alive, and falling back into her long-standing belief that he had died while she was an infant. As soon as she spoke she remembered he was said to be alive, but she merely added, “I think Sir Hugo must set his sights higher.”
Upon hearing that, Betsey, the lady’s maid, gave Frannie a dark look before curtseying to her mistress to leave. Imagine it! A poor orphan, she thought. In the Arundell household!
But Mrs. Arundell would have none of it. “My dear, Edward told me all about the mishmash, but you are not a poor orphan! First, there’s nothing disrespectable about losing your parents. And second, your fortune is far above that of Miss Latham. Indeed, I daresay she has little else to recommend her, possessing nothing in the way of looks or bearin
g except what is in the common way.” She glanced appraisingly at Frannie. “Fortune aside, your looks are uncommonly fine, your large eyes alone quite striking. Any gentleman must see that.”
Frannie winced inwardly, for she knew the truth about herself now. “But ma’am,” she said, at which Mrs. Arundell quickly reclaimed her hearing aid and held it to her ear, listening.
“I am not, perhaps, a poor orphan, but as to that, my parentage is yet—”
Here she was cut off. “My dear, your family history needs only the smallest embellishment to pass muster, and £30,000, I maintain, is the greatest embellishment a body can have among the haut ton. Even to a baronet, ‘tis no small sum. Indeed, such a dowry makes you a good deal more respectable than many who move in the highest circles. Certainly, ‘tis enough for Sir Hugo! And, do you know,” she said, putting a hand to her cap and patting it, “I nearly forgot—Sir Hugo inquired about you. You see you cannot hide a genteel upbringing.” She let out a titter of laughter. “I said you were ‘my dear cousin Frannie.’ He wanted your full name, and that made me tease him, so that he changed the subject. But now that I think on it, you must be introduced.”
“Ma’am, I daresay he is old enough to be my father, and the fortune is not secured yet.” Frannie spoke patiently but was hoping to snuff this idea of her being suitable for Sir Hugo. Moreover, she needed to be perfectly honest with her mistress.
“Oh, but Beau will see to that! And really, Frannie dear, though I hate to say it, if you are in any doubt of your fortune, an arranged marriage with a baronet would be the best thing that could happen for you. Sir Hugo is a bumbler, I grant, but he is kind-hearted.” And to the look of downcast confusion upon Frannie’s face, she waved a hand and said, “To your bedchamber! Sleep, sleep, my dear. Nothing helps low spirits like sleep.” She covered her mouth for a small yawn. “And Frannie dear; you must no longer consider yourself a companion, not in the way of a servant, at any rate. You are my guest! I need a lady friend nearby, for I have only the boys, you know. And so for the next ball, wherever it is, you will accompany me.”
They said their goodnights, and Frannie picked up her candle to make her way back to her bedchamber. As she left, she heard Mrs. Arundellʼs plaintive call. “Frannie, dear, do have a care with your light! Do blow it out before you sleep!”
Frannie’s heart was in a jumble. She could hardly sort her feelings, so tumbled they were. Relief that she was not to be dismissed; joy at the thought of staying on in the house (which seemed primarily to have to do with Sebastian Arundell’s inhabiting it); amazement that she was not to be considered a paid companion; and yet a foreboding she could not dismiss. Mrs. Arundell and the family treated her as though she were respectable, but Frannie knew only too well that her claim to respectability had shattered the moment she learned she might be illegitimate. Sebastian would soon enlighten his mama on that point. The younger Mr. Arundell did not realize what Sebastian knew and therefore had not told his mother: that Frannie had no proof her parents had married other than a simple ring. She had no proof that she was entitled to a trust fund. And she had no one to name, moreover, as the benefactor of that trust.
The next morning, Frannie wished to speak to Sebastian as soon as possible. Despite getting few hours sleep, therefore, she made it a point to take breakfast by 10:00 o’clock, hoping to catch him. She needed to make him understand that his mother had a misconception about her (alas, that it was so!) but that she must be instructed as soon as possible, so that no more notions of Frannie making a good wife for any baronets would be put forth. She could not live a lie. But she met Edward in the corridor, who, upon spying her, bowed most politely.
“Miss Fanshawe,” he said. “My compliments, I’m sure.” His eyes were fixed on her in a curiously thoughtful way, an admiring way, and Frannie wasn’t certain what to make of it. He even offered his arm, which she smiled at, but shook her head. “No such formality is necessary, if you please, Mr. Arundell,” she said.
“Oh, you must call me Edward,” he said with large eyes. “Or even dear Edward, as Mama does, if you like.”
Frannie blushed. To accept such an invitation would mean that Edward would, in turn, be free to use her Christian name. Frannie was not sure she wished to have Edward calling her by her first name, but when she hesitated, he added, leaning in conspiratorially, “No formalities are necessary, eh? Not between us.”
She stared at him strangely, and then reluctantly said, “I—I suppose not. Very well, thank you, Edward.”
“My pleasure, Frannie.” He leaned in again. “That is what I may call you, isn’t it?”
She nodded, while lengthening the space between them and keeping her eyes ahead. Why was Edward cosing up to her? Then she remembered that he, like his mama, had the wrong idea about her. Was he actually thinking—oh, what direction were his thoughts? She must disabuse him of any false notions.
When they were seated at table with no servants about, she said, “You must understand, Mr. Arundell—that is, Edward. My fortune is most uncertain, much more so than I knew when we first became acquainted.”
Edward made a dismissive sound. “No worries at all! Sebastian’ll secure it. He said you are entitled to it, and he’s seldom wrong in matters of blunt, you know.”
“He said that?” Hope dawned in her breast. Somehow it was reassuring if Sebastian believed in her cause enough to have stated it thus. Edward nodded vigorously, taking in a spoonful of egg and sausage pie. In truth, Sebastian only said he had “reasonable cause” to think she might be entitled to a trust fund, but for Edward, it was all the same.
Nevertheless, Frannie’s dejected spirits remained. Edward had yet to understand she was not respectable, with or without a trust fund. Mrs. Arundell’s words were meant kindly, but pedigree was of utmost importance to the upper class—even provincial Frannie understood that. Yet she had not the heart or the courage at the moment to enlighten Edward, to warn him about her shocking illegitimacy and make him know she was not at all the sort of woman he should admire. He would learn it soon enough.
When Sebastian appeared and greetings were exchanged, Edward was suddenly anxious to depart. He mumbled a hurried explanation of having business which “by heavens cannot wait,” with an acquaintance he had arranged to meet in Haymarket.
“Haymarket?” repeated Sebastian with a sardonic glance. “There’s no theatre at this time of year. I hope you’re not taking part in a boxing match. I had your word you’d refrain from boxing, and from wagering upon it.”
“I’m merely a spectator,” Edward assured him haughtily. He bowed deeply to Frannie. “Good day, Frannie,” he said with a parting, triumphant glance at his brother. Frannie blushed and pursed her lips as he left.
Now she was alone with Sebastian but knew not what to say. Sebastian’s look at the departing sibling was not one of approval, but when his gaze fell upon Frannie, the look softened. Something inside her joyfully noted the softened gaze, indeed, wrapped itself around it, wishing desperately to keep it. But she must remember herself. She was not worthy of an Arundell. “Sir, your mother has a mistaken notion about me.” The green-grey eyes pierced her soul. How clear and penetrating they were! They were arresting, long lashed, nothing short of beautiful. It struck her every time she met their scrutiny.
“How is that?” he asked.
Frannie shifted in her seat and glanced at her plate. Looking up again she said, “She thinks I am…respectable.” In a small voice, she continued, “You must tell her what you know. What I now know. That I am uncertain about my parentage.” Her voice grew jittery, for it filled her with shame to have to say the things she had to say. Sebastian leaned forward in concern as she continued, “That my fortune is uncertain… That I am, in short, utterly un-unworthy of th-that term, ‘respectable.’” She swallowed a sob, and dabbed her eyes with a napkin. Sebastian hastily drew a handkerchief from a pocket of his waistcoat and proffered it across the table, but his eyes clouded. Was he annoyed?
“Do not
fret over what Mama thinks,” he answered. “And do let us wait to draw conclusions until we hear from Mr. Fanshawe. You must not torture yourself with such notions.”
She blinked at him, surprised to find him so affable on the matter. “What if he does not call?”
“If he does not, I shall turn up at his doorstep.”
She gave him a little, watery smile. “I am greatly obliged,” was all she could say. He nodded and then asked how long she’d waited up for his mother the night before, listening with amusement while Frannie told him of the lady’s triumphant experience. She left out entirely his mother’s ridiculous notion of Frannie being a suitable wife for the baronet, and hadn’t quite done with other details when Mrs. Arundell appeared.
Standing to bow, Sebastian exclaimed, “Mama, I should have thought you’d take a tray in your bed this morning. I understand you came in shockingly late.”
She smiled and shooed a hand at him. “Nonsense. I’ve come home with the dawn in the past, as have you, sir. You know how ‘tis with society.” She allowed a footman to pour a cup of coffee and then said, “Your absence was noted, Beau. Miss Compton particularly asked about you. As did the Misses Beaufort, and two gentlemen, let me see…their names were…”
“No matter, Mama. I am eager to hear of only one gentleman.”
“The Regent?” she inquired, looking over her cup at him.
“Sir Hugo. How went it with him?”
She looked down at once, and said carefully, after swallowing, “He is very gentlemanly, though in his bumbling way, just as I remember him. He didn’t neglect me for a moment.” She looked up again and met his eyes. “But if he is in town to find a wife, I saw it not. He failed to put himself forward, not even to the most eligible ladies!” She took a sip of tea and then continued, saying with a laugh that bordered on a bitter note, “I own, if he hopes to marry, the lady will needs must make the offer!” She glanced at Frannie and said, “Which, by the by, should perhaps be made by you, on Frannie’s behalf, for she has no one else to speak for her.”
Miss Fanshawe's Fortune: Clean and Sweet Regency Romance (The Brides of Mayfair Book 2) Page 8
