Miss Fanshawe's Fortune: Clean and Sweet Regency Romance (The Brides of Mayfair Book 2)

by Linore Rose Burkard

  Mrs. Arundell cried, “He is abominable, indeed! Thank you, Frannie! Is this not monstrous?”

  Sebastian could only smile and shake his head. To Frannie he said, “The difficulty is that I’ve been far too easy on my mother. She is accustomed to not having to explain the matter, and so it rankles her when I ask for it.”

  Mrs. Arundell stared at him. Lifting her cup to her lips, she hesitated and said, “Plague or tease me all you like; you shan’t get another word from me on the subject.”

  Sebastian removed his spectacles and smiled. His eyes never looked weak without the glasses, and Frannie admired his still surprisingly noble features while he said, “But why the deep, dark, secret, ma’am? Surely you see how your silence must lead only to speculation and imaginings, the likes of which are no doubt ten times more full of devilry and dishonour than the account could ever be.” He spread his hands to her. “Do you not see that if you force us to solve the riddle ourselves, we can only contrive situations that cast either my cousin, or you, or the both of you, into villainous roles, infamous actions!”

  “Dishonour might be appropriate, but devilry! Indeed, Beau, you needn’t imagine anything of the sort. What happened between us, your cousin and me, was a long time ago, and as we have now put the past behind us, I see no reason to dredge it up. No reason at all.”

  When he saw how firm she was on the matter, he said, “So be it.”

  Mrs. Arundell’s face softened.

  But he added, “I shall apply to my cousin for an explanation. I’ll ask him as we stroll the grounds at Vauxhall.”

  Mrs. Arundell came abruptly to her feet. “No, Beau, you must not! You will oblige me not to invite him. I am resigned to Christmas at Bartlett Hall, but until that time, I do not wish to see your cousin’s face!”

  She turned to leave and Frannie rose hurriedly to join her. But Sebastian said, “Miss Fanshawe, pray you, spare me a minute.” She stopped and gave him an expectant look. He waited until his affronted parent had quite gone from the room, then turned mild eyes upon her. “My mother confides in you, I think. Could I perhaps call upon you to tease the story from her? To worm it out?”

  Frannie’s eyes widened and then grew troubled. She wished to oblige Mr. Arundell, but she felt equal loyalty to his mama. “I could not, sir!” she cried, though her eyes spoke regret. “Your mother trusts me as a—a friend. She has been all kindness to me, as you yourself must appreciate more than anyone, for you know—indeed, you alone of this household know best—that I have little but my word to recommend me as a proper houseguest. Yet she keeps me on, and not as a companion but an equal.” The colour in Frannie’s cheeks grew warm.

  Sebastian’s heart swelled with surprising approval at the picture of lovely distress. He had expected she would do anything he asked, but her noble refusal was more pleasing than compliance, her sense of honour, refreshing. Somehow though, he felt compelled to test her further. Call it the devil in him, call it pride or flat out mischief, but he said, “You are aware, of course, that she approves of you because I allow her to. I could disabuse her of the notion that you are respectable with merely the right word.”

  Frannie looked bereft. Speechless for a moment, she fought within herself how to proceed. She knew of course how precarious her situation was. Why Sebastian had mysteriously refrained thus far from disabusing Mrs. Arundell of the notion of Frannie’s respectability, was a mystery. She wished very much to please him, but coming to a resolve, she shook her head, blinking. “You must do as you see fit, sir. I am sorry; but I cannot betray Mrs. Arundell!” With that, she turned and strode with more emotion than dignity from the room.

  CHAPTER TEN

  In half an hour Frannie ventured from her chamber in walking-out dress, but wondered if her refusal to do Sebastianʼs bidding would have repercussions. Would he now disavow any further help for her dilemma? Worse, would he wish to send her from the house?

  As she approached the staircase, she was smoothing out her gown when he stepped into her path. She hadnʼt noticed his presence until now and looked up with trepidation. Sebastian flashed a smile at her. He wasnʼt miffed! Offering his arm, he said, “Iʼve sent for the carriage. Mama waits in the hall. Come.” Frannie gladly took his arm.

  Soon the threesome were en route for Vauxhall in the Arundell carriage. If Sebastian eyed Frannie with something more than the usual benign expression—for he admired her mettle—she did not see it. She was too busy taking in the sights of town, especially the hustle and bustle along the Strand. So many shops! Mrs. Arundell pointed out those she favoured, and then Scotland Yard, the Admiralty, and the Horse Guards along Whitehall. Progress was slow, and now and then Frannie’s eyes would stray to Sebastian, sitting across from her and his mama. He wore his spectacles only at home, she now knew, meaning that the whole world saw him at his noble best. That so handsome a man hadn’t taken a wife seemed marvellous.

  When forced to sit for minutes on end in traffic after turning onto New Vauxhall Road, Sebastian peered impatiently out the window. “I believe this crush extends all the way to the bridge! I should have told Sykes to cross at Westminster.”

  Mrs. Arundell said, “Gilley would have known.”

  Frannie knew that Mr. Gilley was the usual coachman called upon by the Arundells, but he hadn’t been available.

  “Why is there such traffic?” the lady continued. “Only a soiree at one of our town mansions usually causes such a muddle.”

  “A carriage accident, I fear. They are all too common.”

  “Perhaps, Frannie dear,” Mrs. Arundell ventured, peering at the line of carriages ahead, “we should tour the quieter sections of Mayfair today, show you our mansions, instead of waiting for this frightful crush to clear. I do not think we will cross the river for an age at this rate.”

  Frannie said, “That’s a lovely alternative. May we go by Carlton House? I’ve never seen it except in newspaper illustrations.”

  “The regent’s home isn’t the imposing palace you might expect,” said Sebastian, “on its exterior. But inside—”

  “Oh, every extravagance known to man!” put in Mrs. Arundell. “I was there only once, but ‘twas unforgettable in its brilliance and richness, everything in satin and gilt, tapestries and paintings of enormous sizes, architecture you’ve never seen the likes of!” She looked earnestly at Frannie, her eyes alight. “One could hardly take it in!” Then, to Sebastian, “Let us go past, by all means.”

  Sebastian hit the wall of the carriage. When a footman soon appeared, he was told to inform Sykes of the change in plans. They continued to crawl ahead for an interminable period, as there were few intersections at this edge of town between them and Vauxhall Bridge. At length, they achieved a left onto Rochester Row. A number of circuitous turns brought them to James Street, a wide avenue, but it came to an end and they were forced to turn left again onto Stafford. Sebastian cried, “Good heavens! He’ll have us traversing every side lane and dubious inch of this town before finding his way to the mansion!” They turned onto a street called Arabella, then onto the scenic Grosvenor Place, finally passing St. George’s Hospital and Hyde Park Corner onto Piccadilly.

  “Now it won’t be long,” said Sebastian, looking chiefly to Frannie.

  “I assure you, no drive in town is unwelcome to me,” she said. “Every scene, every street, whether mean and narrow or spacious, holds its own fascination. I never saw the like except when we visited Mr. Withers.” Soon town mansions brought all due effusions of praise from both ladies. St. James’s Palace, and Marlborough House , only seen from a distance, were duly admired. One side of Carlton House was passed, but they continued along St. James’s Street—while Sebastian swore beneath his breath—only to turn and traverse the beautiful tree-lined St. James’s Square. Frannie craned her neck for a better view. They then admired the impressive rows of town homes of light-coloured Portman Brick along Jermyn and Mount Street. It was as if Sykes knew to travel every surrounding back street just for Frannie’s benefit be
fore coming back to Pall Mall and Carlton House.

  Finally, there it was, a wide, handsome residence of cut stone and understated dignity that ran the length of the street. Surely Mrs. Arundell had said rightly that it housed untold opulence, Frannie thought. A portico of Greek columns with corresponding arched entrances faced the street, appropriately imposing for a prince. How she wished she could see inside! And then they were past it. Despite her admiration, she told Sebastian she agreed with him that the royal residence wasn’t nearly as magnificent as European palaces and castles she had seen in illustrations.

  From Pall Mall, they turned left onto Market Street. Minutes later, when they were just crossing Old Bond Street, they were stopped again. A noisy crowd was massed in front of a nondescript shop in such numbers that the street was partially blocked. While a few carriages moving in the opposite direction crawled past, they had no choice but to wait until a lane cleared. But Sebastian suddenly came sharply to attention, raising both brows. With a hardened jaw he exclaimed, “By Jove! I’ve caught him!”

  Mrs. Arundell and Frannie exchanged mystified glances, and then sat forward so all three faces peered out the left-side window. From what glimpses they could catch through openings in the crowd, it seemed a street brawl was afoot. Sebastian rose, but Mrs. Arundell grasped his arm. “Do not go, Beau! What do you hope to accomplish? I daresay ‘tis mischief for the constable or sheriff! This mob seems unruly, dearest.”

  “Dear heart, the crowd is no threat. I warrant the excitement is due to placing wagers on the fight. I’ll only be a minute.”

  “But, but—” She wished to object further, but he jumped out of the coach. After speaking a word to Sykes, Sebastian quickly joined the hobble of bodies pressing in to watch the contest.

  “My word,” murmured Mrs. Arundell, shaking her head. “I knew Edward enjoys a rousing match of boxing, but I would not have thought it of Sebastian. He has ever spoken against displays of brute strength.”

  “Might he have gone to lay a wager?” suggested Frannie, who also believed Sebastian’s abhorrence of brawling to be too strong for him to have mere entertainment in mind. She reflected that although he did not enjoy the spectacle of a fight—indeed, he disapproved of it—he might nevertheless take advantage of an opportunity to multiply a crown or a pound. Gentlemen seemed prone to enjoy these opportunities. She tore her eyes from where he’d disappeared into the crowd to look at his mother. Mrs. Arundell’s pretty face was creased in concern. “Beau isn’t a betting man! What could have possessed him?”

  Suddenly a roar from the crowd went up, followed by groans of disappointment and then raucous laughter. Sebastian emerged, leading Edward along by an ear. Edward, bleeding from the brow and lip, his fashionable hair gone flat, coat grasped in his hands, shirt sleeves rolled up, and his cravat and leather gloves nowhere in sight.

  Mrs. Arundell gasped.

  Frannie’s amazement was equal to the mother’s, for she recalled how vehemently Edward decried having anything more to do with street boxing. Mrs. Arundell swiftly produced a handkerchief from a reticule and motioned Frannie away from the window. As the men approached, they heard Edward. “You have no notion of what you’ve done!” he complained. “They’ll call me a white-livered milksop now! Not to mention you’ve lost me a fortune! I was on top of it. Ready to darken his daylights, sir!”

  “You were getting thrashed. I merely saved you from further humiliation.”

  “A man’s not beaten until he’s down! I was upon my feet! Saved me!” he grumbled, as a footman opened the vehicle’s door. “Ruined me, more like!”

  As he stepped into the coach, Edward spied his mother and Frannie and froze, momentarily, in horror. Sebastian nudged him from behind. He finished his entrance, sitting down across from the women in sudden meekness. Spying his wounds, Mrs. Arundell cried, “Oh, my dear boy! Poor, poor Edward!” She rushed to his side to nurse him, dabbing her handkerchief across his brow and then his mouth tenderly. “Did you have a disagreement with someone, dearest?”

  “Not at all, Mama,” he replied. “‘Twas merely a diversion, a contest of skill, winner take the prize. Gentlemen often compete in such sport.”

  With his mother beside Edward, Sebastian had no choice but to sit beside Frannie. This put him directly in Edward’s line of sight, however, so that the injured young man cast belligerent eyes his way whenever he could see past his mother’s ministrations.

  “You might have driven past and taken no notice. Leave it to you to distress my mother!” With a glance at Frannie he added, “And Miss Fanshawe. Boxing isn’t fit for ladies’ eyes.”

  “Do you call that boxing?” Sebastian returned calmly. “Brawling like tomcats, more like.”

  “Pugilism, sir! Have you forgot I took lessons on Bond Street with Jackson? He called me quite the fancy, if you must know!”

  “Of course I know. I paid for those lessons and studied with him myself—strictly as an exercise for optimal health. But I didn’t afford you lessons to make you a street brawler. This was no sponsored fight with the Pugilistic Club. That sort of boxing is permissible, but for us, street fights are strictly for self-defence when or if the need arises.”

  “A challenge was issued, sir! I had no choice but to accept, or where’s our family honour? And I employed Jackson’s scientific style.”

  “I saw you scrapping—you butted your head at him. Did not Jackson instruct that a well-aimed fist was of more effect than all the brawn and bulk in the world?”

  Edward’s armour cracked. “I did what the case needed. I have an exceedingly hard head.”

  Mrs. Arundell clucked her tongue. “Not hard enough, my dear, to prevent injury!”

  Sebastian said, “You realize where you might have ended up if we hadn’t chanced by? In city college, no doubt, for disturbing the peace. The magistrates frown upon these brawls.”

  “Gaol? Good heavens!” cried Mrs. Arundell, looking to Sebastian. “Do you indeed think that likely? Edward, dearest, you must oblige me and promise never to engage in such a contest again!”

  “Gaol’s for criminals,” he responded haughtily to his brother. “Boxing’s no crime.” To his mother he added, “Ma’am, if my brother hadn’t interrupted, I might have made off with more blunt than six months’ stipends! Instead, I’m ruined.”

  “How, ruined?” she asked, perplexed.

  “Who will take me on, when they know my brother is like to come along and put an end to the business before ‘tis settled?”

  “But it was settled,” put in Sebastian comfortably. “You lost.”

  “You forced me to run like a coward!”

  “I saved your skin. And unless I’m mistaken, I should think you will be sought out more than ever for such contests.” A gleam of humour in his eyes accompanied his next words. “Who will avoid the man who abandons the fight before damaging his opponent?”

  Edward’s jaw hardened. “I gave him damage, by Jove, and would’ve done worse if you hadn’t interfered!” He said this whilst rubbing his sore right fist.

  Meanwhile, the carriage lumbered up to King Street.

  The following day Sebastian’s coach stopped in Mount Street to collect Mr. Harley, who joined him and Frannie to call upon the Fanshawes in Cheapside. Along the way, Mr. Harley expressed surprise that Frannie had come with them, adding, “You must expect opposition, Miss Fanshawe, and I’m afraid, some unpleasantness.”

  She nodded. “Indeed, sir, I understand.”

  He nodded and gave her an appraising look, as if he’d thought her constitution too weak for the challenge but now had to reconsider. After a moment, however, he said to Sebastian, “I wonder if Miss Fanshawe would be more comfortable waiting in the carriage while you and I speak to the family.”

  Frannie said, “Sir, I assure you, I am perfectly capable of facing my relation.” She gave Sebastian an imploring look, so that he too assured the solicitor that all would be well. For some reason Frannie felt it of paramount importance that she witness firstha
nd whatever would befall. Too, she had committed the matter earnestly to the Lord only that morning in her prayers. Mr. Harley eyed her in his businesslike fashion and added, “So be it. But allow me to speak for you, ma’am.”

  At the door, the butler took cards from Mr. Harley and Sebastian. To Mr. Harley he said, after perusing the card, “Ah, sir, you are expected.” To Sebastian and Frannie, however, he gave only a doubtful look and hesitated. Mr. Harley said with a touch of asperity, “We are all one party. Show us in, man.”

  They proceeded up a flight of steps and down a narrow corridor. Frannie suddenly felt the anxiety and distress that a now familiar train of dismal thoughts elicited in her. It would all end badly. She wasn’t entitled to a farthing; or, if she were, she would never gain access to it. She would be a cast out, her future nothing but the workhouse. She’d live with Mr. Withers before letting it come to that, she thought. She could be useful to him in his shop and a comfort in his old age. Sebastian must have read her thoughts or at least the morbid direction of them, for he said with a bracing look, “Chin up.”

  And then, no sooner had they taken their seats, Mrs. Fanshawe entered the room. A stout matron with a serviceably fashionable gown but a tight, stiff cap, she looked imperiously at the threesome. Mr. Harley had situated himself in a wing chair but now came heavily to his feet, as if the effort was cumbersome. He bowed lightly and sat back down. Sebastian rose with no hesitation from the sofa and bowed most gracefully before reclaiming his seat. In return, Mrs. Fanshawe glared at him. She gave Frannie an equally scathing glance, and said to Mr. Harley, still from the doorway of the room, “What is the meaning of this? Did I not warn you about this young woman trying to impose upon what is rightfully my child’s?”

  Mr. Harley cleared his throat. “I must warn you about making false statements, ma’am. If it is found you are attempting to take possession of what is rightfully this Miss Fanshawe’s, you will be guilty of attempted felonious theft.”