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

by Linore Rose Burkard

  “Oh, but I had to!” cried the other. “As soon as I learned your name, I knew there was nothing I wanted more than to know you!”

  “Because you are good and kind,” said Frannie. “I know only too well that you might have refused to know me.” She glanced at the door, hoping Edward wasn’t endeavouring to eavesdrop. “And you might have fought for the trust, especially since your marriage may depend upon it.” She frowned. “Indeed, I do not wish to be responsible for coming between you and your future hope—”

  Catherine shook her head. “If Lord Whitby cares for me, I am sure he will do what he can to preserve the betrothal, no matter what his papa wishes.” She stared ahead unseeingly. “And if he does not, ‘tis better I know that now, isn’t it?” She shook her head again. “I cannot fault a man who wants a wife with a good dowry. Whitby is agreeable and I had no horror at the prospect of marrying him. But I will learn what his feelings are now, shan’t I?”

  She looked so melancholy that Frannie vowed silently that she would do whatever lay in her power to ensure Catherine’s marriage. Though if this Lord Whitby’s interest in the match was purely mercenary, perhaps her cousin would do better to look elsewhere. But that was hers to decide. Not every woman, like Frannie, dreamed of marrying for love.

  But suddenly her cousin looked up, smiling. “My father is the 1st Officer of a ship. Though my prospects without the expectation of the trust may not be of the aristocracy, I may be introduced to a bright young sea captain, yet! Many take prizes and do quite well for their families, you know.”

  Frannie smiled back. Catherine had an infectious, bright air, but it was by no means without sense. “If my father returns tomorrow as expected,” Catherine said now, leaning forward in her seat as Frannie was, “We will shortly undo this mystery. Depend upon it, dear Miss Fanshawe—dear cousin—my father will confirm our connexion, and we shall know each other henceforth and have coses together and dinners and whatever you like! Now I have found a near relation, I’ll not lose you!”

  Frannie’s lips curved into a grin, and she stood up to take the hands of the other girl. “I pray it is all just as you say! Dear cousin!”

  “All your worries will be past,” she said, smiling. “You will wonder no longer about your parentage.” She paused. “How does it go? The crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The following morning Frannie arose before the sun, determined to accompany Sebastian to meet Mr. Fanshawe’s ship. Any ship by name of Golden Sovereign must be dignified. She imagined the sight of it on the horizon, growing bigger as it approached, its masts and riggings coming proudly to a halt like a fashionable lady ready to accept a dance at a ball. But more thrilling yet was to think that the mystery of her parentage, of her whole life, was about to be solved!

  A peek at the street from a window assured her Sebastian hadn’t left yet. The coach was at the ready, a groom holding the reins. But as she approached the morning room to see if he was having a quick breakfast before leaving, he came from it and met her in the corridor. He looked her quickly up and down, put his hands on her shoulders gently and said, standing only inches from her, “I see you’ve risen early and are in walking out dress. I’m afraid you cannot accompany me to the docks.”

  Surprised by his nearness, by his touching her, assured by the spectacles that this was gentle Sebastian only behaving brotherly toward her, she tried to quell the strong pull she felt for him. With a shock, she realized she wanted to be closer still, to feel his arms about her. She couldn’t help but search his peculiarly sensitive eyes, looking sweetly earnest, into hers. She dropped her gaze, afraid that her longing would reveal itself.

  He mistook her reaction for disappointment not to meet the ship. Lifting her face gently by the chin, he said, “I have only your best interest in mind. Ships are often delayed at sea and may even be days late. If it does come to port, Mr. Harley and I and a land agent will be there to meet Mr. Fanshawe the moment he steps off the plank.” She nodded, still mesmerized by her face being only inches from his. “By the time you see me next,” he added, “the mystery surrounding the trust and your parentage will be solved.”

  What he did not tell Frannie was that he was endeavouring to spare her in case Fanshawe had the worst sort of news. Perchance Frannie’s mother, as he feared, had never married; perhaps the trust fund, despite Mrs. Fanshawe’s hopes, was non-existent. Nothing was certain, and if only bad news was forthcoming, Sebastian would rather break it to her himself with all the gentleness he could muster, than let it crash upon her at the cold and bustling water’s edge like an icy, wind-swept wave. No, he could not risk letting her hear it in the coarse language of a seaman, or of finding Mr. Fanshawe as implacable and unfriendly to her cause as his wife. Sebastian would be the first bearer of the news, the breaker, so to speak, between the harsh ocean and the shore of Frannie’s heart.

  Frannie was disappointed, but she saw the wisdom in staying home, and felt Sebastian’s kindness in requiring it. She hadn’t considered how uncomfortable and long might be the wait at the dirty and busy London docks; and what if Mr. Fanshawe was much like his wife? Imagine the scene if he met her with the anger and resentment of his spouse. She would be publicly humiliated, mortified beyond her present mortification. It was more than she wished to bear.

  She thanked him for taking such trouble on her behalf.

  Sebastian said, “But of course. You are part of our home now, dear Frannie. Your concerns must be ours as well.” She held her breath. Sebastian had never called her by her Christian name before. She had heard him refer to her by name when speaking to his mother or Edward about her, but never had he used her name in conversation with her. And he had said, dear Frannie.

  And then something unexpected and breathless and astonishing happened. He leaned in toward her and his mouth hovered for two seconds near her own. He moved slightly and planted a small kiss—on her cheek. Her heart soared. He bowed, and, after reassuring her that her troubles were nearly at an end, he strode quickly off. She was left in the corridor, stunned with joy.

  She returned to her bedchamber replaying the scene over and over. Had he almost kissed her on the mouth? Had he wanted to? She thought at first that he had. But it happened very quickly and in the end he’d only kissed her cheek. Like a brother. Or like any affectionate relation. What had he said? “You are part of our home now.” He might have meant it the way a servant becomes part of the household, a trusted, much- liked servant—but not an equal.

  She tried to replay the scene with a different interpretation but could not convince herself the gesture was anything more than detached affection, perhaps even pity. He was too familiar with the ways of humanity to expect a completely felicitous ending to Frannie’s dilemma, and felt sorry for her. He expected she was to face a crushing blow to all her hopes. Indeed, she realized now that was probably the motive for his keeping her home. He wanted to spare her for as long as possible, the poor, baseborn child!

  On an impulse she fled her room, rushing into the corridor and down its carpeted length to a window overlooking the street. She watched while Sebastian’s coach pulled away. With a pang, she realized another disappointment about not accompanying him to meet the ship. She could not yet set eyes upon Mr. Fanshawe—her uncle. He, more than any human being on earth, possessed the information she wanted more than any fortune—the identity of her father. And even if he proved to be ignorant of the circumstances of her birth or—horrors!—resentful of her appearing, he was nevertheless her mother’s brother and nearest relation. She had such curiosity about him. Did he look like Mama? Did he share her mannerisms? Oh, Mama! How I miss you! A tear slid from one eye and made its way down her cheek. She did not wipe it away. It was the one that Sebastian had kissed.

  But why, why, Mama, did you leave me such a tangle?

  Frannie could not return to sleep amidst all her musings and anxieties of the coming day. She resigned herself to an early breakfast
alone in the morning room, for Edward and Mrs. Arundell had not yet risen. While she waited for coffee, Tipps placed the Morning Chronicle before her. She didn’t often get to read it first, as it went from Sebastian to Mrs. Arundell to Edward, if he were interested, before reaching her hands. But she went straight in search for the maritime news. Sure enough, The Golden Sovereign, a mercantile clipper ship, was expected to dock, and with holds filled with carpets and spices, China tea and Indian silks.

  Next to the listing of arrivals was an article enumerating the numerous sea hazards that must be skirted by the captains of such ships. Their treasures were tempting prizes for enemy military vessels and privateers if, by bad luck, they crossed paths at sea. The newspaper assured its readers that Britain had lost fortunes during the war, and that no ship set sail without the horror of capture hovering about its masts. Even in peacetime, pirates roamed the ocean waters in search of civilian vessels to commandeer and strip clean. Frannie sent up a prayer that no such disaster had waylaid Golden Sovereign.

  Eventually the others joined her. The whole household, it seemed, had risen early. Frannie could not help glancing often at the clock, thinking of whether or not the ship had come in. At length Mrs. Arundell said, while buttering a slice of toasted bread, “Watching the time won’t bring your news back any sooner, dearest. Why do you not amuse yourself in the library as you like to do? I’ll see you have a nice fire and perhaps I’ll join you shortly.”

  Frannie thanked her and was soon in her favourite room with a book, but the morning crept by with excruciating slowness. She might have enjoyed knowing that the library was completely hers for the day with no worry about keeping Sebastian from it. But she continued to check the clock often. Mrs. Arundell came in after an hour with a sewing basket, claiming she had the headache and would make no morning calls that day. “I’ve had one of my prodigious inklings!” she announced at length, her eyes intently upon her sewing. She turned and looked at Frannie with bright eyes.

  “Indeed, ma’am?” asked Frannie politely.

  The lady smiled. “I was reading this morning’s collect—you do recall that I am fond of the prayer book of a morning?”

  Frannie nodded and smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I admire that in you.”

  Mrs. Arundell said, “Of course; because you, too, read it, do you not?”

  Frannie nodded. The little black book with its wispy, delicate pages, was a cherished keepsake of any devout Anglican, and she was no exception. In the past she had attended chapel with her mother and Mrs. Baxter, and was happy to find that Mrs. Arundell and Sebastian were church-goers.

  “Well, as I was reading, I had a prodigious inkling,” she said, jabbing a needle into the seam of a cast-off chemise, destined for the poor box. “You know I have remarkably accurate inklings. Things are going to turn up trumps for you, my dear. When Beau returns—or perhaps soon afterward—he will have the best of news for you, I am certain!”

  Frannie’s eyes lit with hope. “Was that your inkling? About me?”

  Mrs. Arundell nodded. “You could not be so sweet and genteel for nothing, and such a blessing to me with my hearing device! You must be the daughter of a nobleman just as your mama said, and a fortune awaits you, I am sure.”

  Frannie thanked her, swallowed, and returned to her book. Mrs. Arundell would be disappointed indeed if things did not turn out so felicitously. But the older lady continued to chat of what she’d read in the morning paper, the Regent’s recent scandalous expenditures, how shamefully cruel he was to his estranged wife, and even his daughter. Any mention of Princess Charlotte always got Frannie’s attention, so that the chatter proved an effective distraction to stop the flow of worries that eddied around her soul like water bubbling over stones in a riverbed, ceaseless and unrelenting. But soon the older lady left the library saying she must lie down in her bedchamber until her horrid headache passed, and that no, there was nothing Frannie could do for her.

  In minutes, Frannie’s earlier apprehensions returned in force, clouded about her brain like a flock of noisy birds settling all in one tree. By late afternoon she was on tenterhooks, and almost considered that she too, had the headache.

  Finally, she heard the sounds of an arrival and, knowing it must be Sebastian, hurried to meet him in the corridor. She stood at the top of the stairs and waited as he gave Sykes his things, her face a picture of tragic certainty that only bad news was to come. Mrs. Arundell’s “prodigious inkling,” had lost its reassuring sound in the midst of her fears. Sebastian saw her, stopped for a second, then lowered his head and quickly ascended the steps. At the top, he took her hand and said, “I’m afraid we failed you. We never laid eyes on Mr. Fanshawe.”

  He motioned her into the parlour. Frannie sat across from him, now looking breathless as well as tragic. Sebastian sighed, and suddenly she realized he looked weary. She rang for a servant to order refreshments. She was about to hear of an adventure, she was sure, for he must have put forth a deal of energy having it. When a maid appeared, she ordered tea, but then glanced at Sebastian and added, “And a glass of Madeira for Mr. Arundell.”

  The maid curtseyed. “Tea for two, mum?”

  “Yes, for both of us, but the Madeira for Mr. Arundell only.” When she turned back to Sebastian he had a raised brow and a little smile. “Thank you.”

  She smiled shyly, still startled by the absence of spectacles on him. She mostly saw him at home when he wore them more often than not, and the difference in his bearing and air was not possible to ignore. Unbidden, her mother’s words crossed her mind, handsome devil! Her pulse quickened. Sebastian sat directly opposite her giving her his full attention and looking far too handsome. The memory of that kiss to her cheek brought heat to them now. She must focus on the matter at hand! She was about to learn what transpired that day, what misadventure had taken so many hours and brought him home in a state of weariness.

  While the maid brought in the tea service and his glass of wine, Sebastian explained what happened. “Mr. Harley’s land agent got on board as soon as the gangplank was clear enough for him to snake past the passengers disembarking with their trunks and bandboxes. He was told where to find the 1st Officer (Mr. Fanshawe, that is) but the man had already packed his belongings and left. The cabin was empty.” He paused to take a sip from his glass and waited while Frannie poured tea into her cup. She glanced at him to see why he paused and found him studying her. He continued his tale. “Mr. Harley and I never left the dock and kept a keen eye, watching for his exit, but we saw no officer. Upon making inquiries, all we got was Grub Street news.” To her questioning look, he said, “Lies.” He grimaced. “Seamen will cover for their own, you know. He no doubt stripped off his officer’s garb and passed for a member of the crew. We might have spoken to him directly for all I know, but no one gave him away.”

  He took a breath and continued. “We made our way to the Customs House, for ‘tis the responsibility of the first mate to settle accounts there. But that office was backlogged, and kept us waiting an incomprehensible amount of time, before informing us that Mr. Fanshawe had long since been there and left.” He rubbed his chin, “I daresay that having a land agent with us must have given the impression that we were out to nab the man for debt. If I had to do it over, I’d inquire about him at the office alone, or send Mr. Harley. A land agent is a plague for debtors; they’re all well known. Fanshawe was no doubt alerted to his presence and ran like a rabbit.”

  “He is in debt, then,” said Frannie.

  Sebastian nodded. “Very likely.”

  “Shall we call upon him at his house?” she asked. “Without a land agent?”

  He gave her an indecipherable look. “Ah. Now we come to the matter. This was yet the biggest disappointment. What should have been an easily accomplished meeting at the dock turned into a convoluted chase that has yet to find success. Not only was he not at home with his wife and daughter,” he said, shaking his head, “which any sea-faring man must be eager for, but a servant assured us the w
hole family had gone off to an unknown destination! We know not to whom they ran, or where.”

  Frannie’s brows furrowed. “But recall, Miss Fanshawe came to see me only yesterday! She said nothing of their going away and was most agreeable!”

  Sebastian drew spectacles from a pocket and absently wiped them with a handkerchief. “She may not have known. I suppose it was Mr. Fanshawe’s doing entirely.”

  “But why should he avoid you when he knows not your mission?”

  He sniffed and stared at his spectacles before leveling his gaze upon her. “Harley’s looking into it. We’ll see what his debts are.” He gave her a bracing look. “I almost hope he is indeed in the duns, for that would answer as to his eagerness to avoid us. If he is not, if his affairs are in order, it can only look suspicious, and I fear, must have to do with the trust. In which case we must think him a blackguard.”

  “How could he have known about your coming?”

  “Harley and I discussed that. No doubt his wife got word to him before the ship reached port. She is cunning and desperate for that fortune.” He put on the spectacles and became the mild-looking bookish gentleman. “She might have sent a note by an outgoing ship—for one sea captain is always pleased to deliver messages or letters to another—or by smuggling a word to him even while we waited on the dock.”

  His lips firmed into a line. “Depend upon it, we will find the man. He cannot evade us forever.” While she watched, he tipped his head and emptied his glass. After putting it down, he said, “We took the precaution of calling upon the captain at his home, Captain Jennings, his name is. We had first to discover his direction, but that was easily accomplished once the home office understood we were not endeavouring to arrest one of theirs.”

  Frannieʼs eyes glowed. “You did all that on my account?”

  A glimmer of mirth shone from his gaze. “I believe I am almost as eager to understand your mysterious history as you are.”