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

by Linore Rose Burkard

  Sebastian was certain Frannie was hiding something of her history, something that seemed—incredible as it was—to have to do with his cousin. She wasnʼt telling him what it was, and it perplexed him. Her sensibilities had seemed heightened since theyʼd left King Street. She was never a gad-pie, but her silence during the journey was greater than her usual reticence. Perhaps it was only this—the tiresome journey—that wore upon her senses. Not all could withstand the rigors of travel. But he recalled Sir Hugo’s countenance upon seeing Frannie on both occasions and felt surely there was something more afoot. He must find it out.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Frannie did not join the family until a maid fetched her for dinner. Clarice had joined her in her chamber, filled with raptures for the stately dwelling. While she put away Frannieʼs things, she chattered on about the size of the kitchens, the staff, even the cavernous servantsʼ hall. Frannie listened with gradually growing amusement. Sheʼd given the meeting with Sir Hugo some thought, and came away with good reason, she felt, for hope. The baronet seemed downright alarmed at the sight of her, which meant he was no more pleased with the notion of marriage to her than she was to him. If he did not desire it, she was safe.

  Nevertheless, after Clarice had done her hair up and put a tortoiseshell comb in place, she had her remove it in favor of a thin tiara to which sheʼd attached a lace veil. Pulling the veil down, Clarice clucked her tongue. “A veil at table, miss? In the way of yer food?”

  Frannie sighed. The veil was precariously close to her mouth. She removed the tiara, folded the lace twice round the rim, and replaced it. Now the veil reached the tip of her nose but no lower. She caught Clariceʼs reproving eyes in the looking glass. The maid immediately vented her thoughts.

  “ʼTis fetching, to be sure, miss.” Her face creased as if in pain. “But for a cheerful dinner afore Christmas? Why, miss? Why hide yer pretty face?”

  “It isn’t Christmas yet,” Frannie said defensively. But she thought back to Sebastian’s asking her if she wore the veil to avoid recognition. With a deep sigh, she removed the tiara with its offending lace, and pursed her lips. “A turban, then. The one with tassels. And the largest tassel must drape over my face.”

  Clarice’s expression of satisfaction lasted while she changed the headdress, arranged Frannieʼs curls again so they framed her face, and then stood back, allowing Frannie to judge her handiwork. The tassels hung to one side, just as Clarice thought any self-respecting tassels of a turban ought to. Frannie frowned, adjusted the turban, and then nodded with satisfaction as her face became half-obscured by the tassels. She felt less tragic since realizing the baronet did not welcome the match, but one could never be too careful.

  Clarice frowned. “The mistress wonʼt like it.” She shook her head. “Will ye play Snapdragon?”

  “Dear me, no!” Frannie had to laugh. The childʼs game was often played at Christmas festivities, but not since early days in the village had she participated in such a thing. With no children in Bartlett Hall at present, the idea of bending over the flaming pan of raisins and flaming rum made a ridiculous scene in her mind.

  “Thatʼs well, or yeʼd end up afire from your ʼead down,” said Clarice, still frowning with disapproval. “Sure, there will be some festivities,” the maid went on, “and that tassel will block your view.”

  Frannie thanked her for her concern. And wore the turban as she liked it.

  Sebastian was standing outside the large dining hall when she arrived. She gave a short, polite curtsey and he leaned forward in a bow, but he stared at her. When she would have entered the room, he put out a hand. “Frannie, dearest, forgive me, but your maid was neglectful.” He reached up and with both hands gently adjusted her turban so that the largest tassel now hung just in front of her right ear. Afterward, his hands lingered for a few seconds while he studied her face. They were no more than inches apart. Her heart fluttered.

  “Thatʼs better,” he said, his gaze fastened upon hers. Something flitted across his eyes. “Or were you still attempting to hide?” She could not tell if he was annoyed or amused. She stared at him, but no response came to her lips. Her only thought was, Sebastian is a beautiful man. And then he dropped his hands and nodded his head, motioning her into the room. She halted long enough only to flick open her fan and put it before her face as she entered.

  Spying Sir Hugo at one end of the long table, she contrived also to bow her head so that the tassel might at least partially fall over her face. She would keep her head down as much as possible, she thought. But chancing to meet Edwardʼs eyes, she saw him studying her with a look of slight perplexity. When Sebastian took his seat across from her, she refused to look up at all. Could they not see, could not the Arundells see, that she had no wish to be a spectacle in front of Sir Hugo?

  But from the moment of her entrance, Sir Hugo stared at her. Mrs. Arundell said, “Hugo, upon my soul! You look at dear Frannie as though youʼd seen a ghost!”

  Frannie was forced to look up then, with quite the most tragic look upon her countenance.

  Sir Hugo wiped his face with a napkin. “I beg your pardon. She does indeed remind me of—of an old acquaintance,” he said. “Pray, where did you find Miss Baxter?”

  Mrs. Arundellʼs face grew curious. “Of whom does she remind you?” She turned and gave Frannie a meaningful look, as if to say, Imagine if Sir Hugo can shed light upon your situation!

  He said only, “Where is her family from?” looking at Frannie for the answer.

  “Lincolnshire, sir,” she said as if admitting to a crime. Her face grew rosy. This was the very circumstance she did not want scrutinized! She darted a look of consternation at Sebastian, hoping he would rescue her from further scrutiny.

  In a cheerful tone Sebastian said, “Sir Hugo, as the founder of our feast, do you care to do us the favour of opening our meal with a dinner blessing? Or whom shall we call upon, sir? It is, after all, two nights before Christmas. ’Tis fitting to be in mind of the Giver of all good things, do you not think?”

  Sir Hugo stared for a moment. “Oh, er, thank you, sir, certainly, certainly.” He cleared his throat and folded his hands, and the rest of the table closed their eyes and folded hands. Sir Hugo prayed in a surprisingly firm tone, “Blessed are you, O Lord God, King of the Universe, for you give us food to sustain our lives and make our hearts glad; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

  Frannie and the others said, “Amen.” She looked up with surprise at Sir Hugo. His customary timidity was wholly absent when he prayed. Indeed, he might easily give a sermon with such a tone, she thought. She recognized the prayer from the prayer book, but knew it was not the shortest mealtime prayer in it. And Sebastianʼs instinct was right on the mark, for now the scrutiny upon her was forgotten as covers were removed and the food admired. Footmen circled the table to spoon helpings onto plates, and the conversation moved on. Her eyes met Sebastianʼs—he sat across from her—and she shone a small smile of gratitude at him. That he only nodded gravely at her did not seem very curious; Sebastian was often serious or deep in thought.

  Sebastian caught Frannie’s look of relief, but he was determined that he would later get to the bottom of it all. Seeing his cousinʼs reaction to Frannie yet again convinced him more than ever that there was a shared history between the two. The idea vexed him, though he did not know why.

  The ladies retired after dinner to the best parlour, where a roaring fire and hot negus awaited. The men lingered at table over port for only a short while, but it was illuminating for Sebastian. He asked the baronet, “Sir, I could not but notice that you seem to have had a previous acquaintance with Miss Baxter?”

  His cousin reddened and gripped his glass. “No, sir, but as I said to your mother, she puts me strongly in mind of a previous acquaintance.” He paused. “I should like very much to know her history, if you could see your way to enlightening me.” He shot a furtive glance at Sebastian. “What is her motherʼs name?”

  Edward spoke up. �
�Sheʼs an heiress, sir!”

  Sebastian cautioned him with a look.

  “An heiress!” said their cousin, rubbing his chin. “Indeed. Who is her father?”

  Sebastian cleared his throat. “May I ask, first, sir, the name of the woman she reminds you of?”

  The baronet stared at his nephew. “I warrant we should join the ladies,” he said, making a move as if to rise. Sebastian nearly choked on his sip of port. He lowered his glass and, sputtering, cried, “My dear sir! Was this lady’s friendship so loathsome to you that you cannot speak of it? I daresay you appear vexed whenever you see Miss Baxter.”

  Sir Hugo sat back with a sigh. “She brings me to mind of a sad chapter of life, sirs.” His broad chest heaved as another sigh escaped him. “ʼTis a chapter I do not wish to open tonight. If you would enlighten me on her family history, however…”

  Edward looked at Sebastian expectantly, leaving it to him.

  “Her history is obscured by strange circumstances,” Sebastian said. “There is reason to believe she is entitled to a large fortune in the form of a trust, left to her, we believe, by her father.”

  Sir Hugoʼs eyes bulged. “What is the name of her father, sir?”

  Sebastian hesitated. He pressed his lips together. “That, sir, is the point of obscurity. Her parents were separated when she was quite young, and—”

  Sir Hugo exclaimed, “Separated, you say? On what account?”

  Sebastian said calmly, “The reason is uncertain.”

  “That, sirs, is strange indeed!” He seemed to deliberate upon his next words for a moment. Then, levelling a direct stare upon Sebastian, asked, “How are you acquainted with Miss Baxter?”

  Edwardʼs brows rose. He looked to his brother as if he thought, how will you get out of this one?

  Sebastian said, “I am shortly to discover all the circumstances of Miss Baxterʼs history that at present seem befuddling. Our solicitor is on the case, I assure you. We have located a relation who will clear any doubts regarding the trust. When ’tis settled, you shall have that history in its entirety.”

  Sir Hugo sighed, nodding and lifted his glass to his lips. Draining it, he nodded again and then rose heavily from the table.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The evening was spent at whist. Since the company made an odd number, Frannie volunteered to sit out, and indeed insisted upon it, though both Sebastian and Mrs. Arundell offered to give her place after the first game. Nor would she even join them at the table despite entreaties to the contrary, for she could not ignore the unsettling gaze of the baronet. She determined to remain, as much as was possible, out of his line of sight, having lost count of how many times she chanced to look up to find his eyes upon her. His look was no longer one of alarm, nor did he grow white when he studied her. In fact, he twice attempted a small smile, but Frannie looked hurriedly away both times. She hoped he wasnʼt becoming agreeable to the idea of a match between them. Such a thought made her retire early.

  The company regretted her going, Sebastian saying that were he not in the midst of a rubber, he should insist upon escorting her. All three men rose and bowed politely, though she kept her eyes down when curtseying in Sir Hugoʼs direction.

  Had she stayed, she might have seen that Sir Hugo twice forfeited a trick, much to Edwardʼs chagrin, to give it to his mother, who was partnered with Sebastian. Both times the eyes of the baronet and the matriarch met above the cards, Sir Hugo with a little smile, and Mrs. Arundell returning the gesture.

  The next day was Christmas Eve. The servants were in a bustle, scurrying to and fro in hasty last-minute preparations for the open Hall that day for the townsfolk. When Clarice did not come to wake Frannie or respond to the bell pull, Frannie realized her maid had been conscripted to help the house servants. That meant Frannie could not take breakfast in her room, though she had taken advantage of that option the day before. A meal in her room was one less over which she must face the baronet. Having scarcely said a word to him since their arrival, nor he to her, she wished to keep it that way.

  She slipped into a morning gown, put on a veil with a wide head band, and arranged her hair. She grabbed her prayer book in hopes of reading the morning’s collect at breakfast, for most of the company, she felt sure, would still be abed. With any luck, she could be in and out of the morning room before the baronet would make an appearance.

  When she reached the room, she was surprised to find both Sebastian and Edward already there, though not, to her relief, Sir Hugo. Mrs. Arundell too, was absent. Sebastian was reading the paper as usual, and Edward pouring himself coffee from the sideboard when she entered.

  “Pray, do not rise,” she said to Sebastian, who had started to rise in order to bow a greeting. Edward, however, gave a short bow with a smile, asked if he might pour her a cup, and to her grateful nod, did so. He placed it before her and then resumed his seat.

  Sebastian asked, “Is it your ambition to attend todayʼs Open Hall festivities?”

  Frannie lowered her cup hastily. “No.” Judging by the heightened tension and fuss of the staff, she expected it to be a crush, and moreover wished to avoid introductions at all costs. What would she say of herself? Pleased to meet you, I’m the toad eater of the family, like the poor relation. Spending the day anywhere but near the Hall seemed her only hope of peace.

  “Well, I shall be there,” said Edward carelessly. “Entertainment’s what we lack. I should very much like to see what sport or diversions may arise.”

  Sebastian, lowering his head to regard his brother from above his spectacles, said, “What do you anticipate? I believe the townsfolk come in expectation of food, ale, and dancing, nothing more.”

  Edward eyes lit. “Food, ale, dancing! Sport enough for me, sir!”

  Sebastian shook his head and returned his gaze to Frannie. “I’ll take you for a countryside drive, if that suits you.”

  “Very much, thank you!” Her heart soared at the thought that he would spend his afternoon with her to entertain her.

  “Mama may like it as well,” Edward chimed in.

  “Mama is welcome to join us,” his brother said.

  At that moment Mrs. Arundell swept in, her colour high. “Mama will not join you, dearest, though I thank you for the thought. Sir Hugo has asked me to preside with him over the Open Hall. I daresay he finds it a challenge. Lord Malcolm did not invite the townsfolk these five years, Hugo says. He is unused to it.”

  Sebastian nodded. “Whereas you, dearest, will be in your element.”

  She smiled contentedly. “I shall be of some use to him, I am sure. There are things only a woman can properly see to, you know, especially when it concerns hospitality.” She looked around brightly. “I do hope, Beau, you won’t neglect Frannie for a minute.”

  “Not in the least.” He looked at Frannie, his eyes deep and thoughtful.

  “Thank you, maʼam,” Frannie said. “Mr. Arundell has promised a drive through the countryside.” She looked back at him. A shimmer of pleasant anticipation ran through her.

  The boys’ mother smiled. “Good of you, Beau. Only do not be out too long. You will both need to refresh yourselves and dress for tonightʼs ball.”

  Edward looked on with rather a desultory air. After his mother had gone, and Frannie to fetch her bonnet and redingote, he said, “One word, big brother, if you please.”

  Sebastian looked up from his paper, one brow raised.

  “Your manner toward Frannie borders on the…familiar, I might say?”

  Sebastianʼs brows furrowed. “Do you have a point?”

  Edward snorted. “My point, sir,” he said as if it should be utterly obvious, “is that you are well on your way to inheriting a baronetcy; whereas I am, as always, without certain means. I gave you to understand my hopes regarding Frannie. I trust you have not forgot.”

  “I told you not to think of it.”

  “You told me to wait. To wait until we discovered the truth about the trust! I have done my part. I have kept my w
ishes to myself. But you are encroaching, if I do not mistake myself.”

  Sebastian shook out his paper, then folded it. He came to his feet. “No Arundell could possibly align himself with such uncertainty as lies in her case. My word to you is the same. Wait. In fact, I think you should look elsewhere.”

  Outside the room, Frannie stood just at the doorway, blinking, her face a picture of dashed hopes. She’d left her prayer book on the table and was returning to fetch it just as she heard Edward say, “I gave you to understand my hopes regarding Frannie. I trust you have not forgot.” Sebastian’s answer, though it did not surprise her in the least, ripped at her heart like a tear in stockings that, once begun, would grow and spread. “No Arundell could possibly align himself with such uncertainty as lies in her case.”

  She turned and fled. Why does my heart ache? She asked herself. It made perfect sense, what Sebastian said. She understood utterly why she was not fit for an Arundell. Indeed, it was this very fact that made her marvel that anyone would think the baronet should want her for a wife. Yet even Sebastian seemed to. None of it made sense.

  After reprimanding herself for daring to raise her hopes regarding Sebastian, she went to wait in the huge entrance hall. People were already arriving, beginning to fill the rows of long tables that had been carried in for the event. A huge ball of mistletoe hung in the center of the room. High upon one wall over an arched doorway was the baronet’s heraldic badge bearing the red hand of Ulster. Frannie recognized it from an illustration in the Arundell’s library. Holly stems and berries decorated the mantel of an enormous hearth, a leftover, she was sure, from the earliest days of the manor.

  Still smarting, she reflected gloomily that Sebastian’s offer of a drive was merely his way of being polite and helpful. Despite the look in his eyes that sent her heart pulsing, his words to Edward rang in her ears. No Arundell could align himself….She must not think anything of his attentions on this day—or any other.