When Sebastian appeared, he smiled and offered his arm. Outside, the family coach stood waiting in the drive, a footman standing smartly at the back as chaperon. Their own coachman, Gilley, sat atop the board. But around them a steady flow of town arrivals in all manner of conveyances, from creaking family coaches to wagons and carts piled with boisterous guests, spilled out and marched gaily past them to enter the hall. Simply clad mothers in coats hardly thick enough for the cold, holding the hands of red-cheeked children, surveyed her with eyes bright with interest. These were the sort of people she had used to converse with often, as errands or goodwill missions took her into the village. Now their country clothes looked clean but shabby. Living with the Arundells had inured her to finery, so that what she used to see as ordinary now stood out as common.
Sebastian handed her into the vehicle and took a seat across from her. They started off slowly, as they could move only as the arriving horde of laborers and townsfolk made way. Sebastian drew a travelling rug from beneath his seat and leaned over to place it on Frannieʼs lap. He had ordered warm bricks for their feet, and she had the further protection of a muff and lined bonnet.
The coach passed yet more people en route to the Hall, and Frannie marveled at what a crowd Sir Hugo must feed. She looked at Sebastian curiously. “Will you continue this practice as the next baronet?”
Sebastian smiled wanly. “If I am the next baronet, I certainly will.” They continued on, getting only as far as turning off the drive onto the road when there was a loud crack. The coach lurched and sank forward to one side. It came to a stop.
Frannie’s hands were inside the muff. Unable to stop herself, she hurtled forward, straight into Sebastian’s arms. After he held her for a second, looking deeply at her he said, “Are you all right?”
She stared into his beautiful but unreadable eyes. She was in his arms, practically upon his lap. His look was exquisite. “I am, thank you... I beg your pardon.”
“Not at all,” he said slowly, still looking into her eyes. His gaze dropped to her mouth, but the edges of his lips turned up—was he trying to stifle a laugh? The thought made her grin and suddenly they both chuckled. Smiling, he gently extricated her from his lap, and helped her to her feet. The footman, brushing himself off, opened the door, which now sat at an odd angle. Frannie drew a hand from the muff and allowed Sebastian to help her carefully from the equipage.
Outside they saw the cause of the mishap. One of the front wooden wheels was cracked completely in two. Sebastian examined the broken parts on one knee and exclaimed, “Good thing we weren’t moving fast.” Turning to her he said, “Or that this didn’t occur in some God-forsaken place during our journey here.” He gave orders to the coachman, sent a footman scurrying back to the estate ahead of them to fetch two grooms, and offered his arm to Frannie.
“Our drive must wait. I hope you don’t mind a bit of a walk instead?”
“Not at all,” she said. The clouds were low and grey, the air cold, but doing anything in Sebastian’s company appealed to Frannie. He moved her hand from his forearm to entwine her arm with his so they were warmer against the cold—and closer together. Frannie felt protected despite the weather, and looked up to study his face. If only she could think this familiarity, this easy closeness, meant something to him. If only! But of course she must not think it, though even as the wish assailed her, he glanced down at her warmly.
They walked briskly, being hailed and addressed by the last stragglers of arrivals who were coming by foot to the hall. Sebastian gave his name and relation to Sir Hugo to anyone who asked it, unhesitatingly, and with true warmth. He asked their names in turn, which she could see pleased them mightily. He will make an excellent baronet, she thought.
All too soon they were back at the estate and handing their things to Sir Hugo’s butler. Loud merriment from the Hall greeted their ears to such a degree that, turning to her, Sebastian cried (to be heard above the din) “Let us find a quieter room—perhaps Sir Hugo’s library!” Frannie nodded her agreement. The butler heard what he said and pointed down a corridor to the left, which led away from the grand hall. Sebastian grabbed her hand and hurried them off, almost running. She started to giggle. Edward is indeed wrong! She thought. Sebastian is no starched shirt!
They reached a quieter wing of the house. He put a finger to his lips and tried a door. Opening it, he peered inside and then shut it again. “A small parlour.” He tried a few more doors, each time shaking his head afterward and moving them on. Finally, he opened one and said, “Ah! I believe we have found it.”
He stood aside and motioned Frannie in. She entered an interior room that was at first almost too dark to see in, but one corner emanated with a small glow from a candelabrum on a table. Only one of its candles was lit, but she veered toward it, Sebastian behind her. He took the lamp and held it up, and then they could see a wall lined with built in shelves, and the spines of books staring out at them. Pointing the light in another direction, they saw a settee in one corner off behind a folding screen, and another door at the far end. “This isn’t the library proper; it’s a connecting room. Perhaps it leads to Sir Hugo’s study.” He made a move to head to the door, but suddenly they heard sounds approaching from that direction. Sebastian placed the light back upon the table, took Frannie’s hand and moved her behind the screen. Whispering he said, “Let us discover who is in this part of the house today. It had best not be a visitor.”
With her heart beginning to pound, Frannie felt breathless in the gloom standing so close to Sebastian. “Shusshhh,” he said into her ear, his breath warm and delicious upon her skin. His hands held her arms lightly, keeping her right in front of him.
The door opened. No sound but that of a light step hurrying across the room. When it reached the table with the candle lamp, it hesitated, and Frannie saw that it was Mrs. Arundell!
She almost cried out, but Sebastian immediately tightened his hold on her arms, a signal not to speak. Mrs. Arundell stared at the candelabrum. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. She blew it out, and then, slowly in the dark, made her way to the door, opened it, and was gone.
Now the darkness was deep. Frannie turned, facing Sebastian, their bodies only an inch apart. “Why did you not let me speak?” she asked. Sebastian hesitated. “I suppose I thought it awkward for her to find us here.” She could feel his breath upon her face. He paused. “I apologize, dearest. I was thoughtless to bring you somewhere alone. If Edward, or the baronet, found us—” He shuddered, and pulling her hand said, “Come.”
This crushed her heart. And suddenly she was distraught. She refused to move, and overcome, cried determinedly, “I have borne with this for as long as I can, sir!” Her voice was raw with feeling. It mortified her, but she could not hide it. Her face at least was hidden in the dark, which was some comfort.
“Borne with what?” he asked quietly from the darkness.
“With this—this—impossible idea!” A sob escaped her. “I do not—want—to m-marry your cousin!” Sebastian was utterly still for a moment. Suddenly his hand grasped one of hers, and he dragged her toward the table and stopped. “Wait,” he said. She heard him fumbling for a second and then a single candle came to life. His face, staring at her in stark surprise and consternation, came into view. “Whatever made you think the baronet would marry you?”
Frannie was almost speechless. “You did! Your mother did! She told me, numerous times,” she cried, with an emphatic nod of the head, “that my future was settled to her mind, that it would all be settled at Christmas! And that I would make a proper wife!” A tear slid down her cheek. “I tried to explain to her what you know only too well!” she said, looking up at him tragically, her large eyes seemingly magnified by tears. “That I am not fit to be any man’s wife! That my fortune may well be nonexistent, that—”
She was here stopped from continuing as he took her arms, and said, “Frannie, dearest! My mother does not wish for you to marry Sir Hugo! Nor do I!”
She bli
nked up at him. “What? She doesn’t?
“No.”
“You don’t?”
He shook his head. “Not at all!”
“But your mother, surely, does. If you could conceive of how often she told me my future would be settled at Christmas! She had one of her inklings about it! She seemed to believe that all I must do is sail down tonight in my new, elegant gown and I will strike love into Sir Hugo’s heart! As if none of my history would matter then, though I never thought as much.”
He smiled. He moved a stray tendril of hair off her face. “Is that why you’ve hidden behind veils throughout this visit?”
She sniffed and nodded. “I did not want him to see me long enough to form a favourable opinion!”
He let out a breath of a laugh. “You confounding girl.”
But Frannie was still confused. “What did your mama mean by it all if not that she wanted the match?”
He smiled again. He leaned his head in toward hers and lay his forehead against hers. A rush of warmth filled Frannie’s heart with sudden hope. He said, in a low, husky tone, “She wants you to marry me, dearest.”
Frannie gasped. She moved away enough to stare up at him. She felt as though a thousand candles were lit at once in her heart, which was suddenly light as a feather. And yet, how could it be? When she was hardly respectable? “Oh, dear! I told her more than once I did not desire the match, but I thought she meant—” Here she stopped, for it struck her that even though Mrs. Arundell may have wanted her to marry Sebastian, it did not mean that Sebastian wanted it.
“You thought she meant my cousin.”
She nodded.
“And now that you know what she meant? What is your reaction now?”
Frannie blinked. “I am quite confounded…I should never have presumed…I am sorry, indeed, for your sake. For I know how you feel and you are perfectly right in it. I cannot conceive why your mama would desire to have me as a daughter in law!”
Sebastian smiled. “Perhaps because she knows her son desires you for a wife.”
Frannie’s breath caught in her throat in a huge lump. But no, he could not possibly mean… “You mean Edward, of course.”
“Do you wish to marry Edward?”
“No!”
“I did not mean Edward. I meant myself.”
Frannie stared at him, her eyes widening with the thought. But this could not be! Blinking, she said, “I heard you tell Edward that no Arundell could align himself to a case like mine.”
He nodded ruefully. “I believed it, too. I think I believed it until a few moments ago. Until you said you had no wish to marry my cousin!”
She said, “But surely you must still believe that I am not fit…you recall that I may have nothing? That my parentage is uncertain, that—”
“Shuussshh,” he put a finger to her lips. He put his arms about her and drew her up to him. He lowered his head and kissed her, at first tentatively, then firmly and more deeply. Frannie threw her arms about him, feeling as though it must be a dream! She wanted to cling to him and never let go!
Their lips came apart and she said, “’Tis only right that a future baronet have a respectable wife; a wife with a dowry.”
He gathered her even closer in his arms. “I want a respectable wife with a dowry only if that wife is you.” He kissed her again, quite soundly. Frannie felt tears of joy on her face, though she welcomed his kiss with equal fervor, savoring his touch, his arms about her, and the affection she felt free to acknowledge now, rushing up to fill her heart.
He broke the kiss lingeringly, his lips warm and full upon hers. Then he murmured, “You will marry me, Miss Fanshawe; my Frannie, won’t you?”
She felt ready to burst. “With all my heart!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
In the great hall, the Charles Fanshawe family sat at one of the many wooden tables lined with merry, laughing townsfolk. Catherine and her father were content to eat, drink, and enjoy the waits, the amateur musicians playing and singing carols and reels; but Mrs. Fanshawe had in mind only that of finding the baronet and securing an audience with him. They’d had a late, slow breakfast at an inn, followed by a long wait to procure fresh horses. Upon their arrival, theyʼd learned that the baronet had been greeting guests earlier but now had gone from the hall. The consolation was an assurance that he should in all likelihood return “afore everyone departed.”
And then he did reappear, standing across the large room, nodding at guests. Mrs. Fanshawe caught sight of him. With eyes blazing, she cried, “That must be him! The baronet. Let us request an audience now.”
Mr. Fanshawe said, “M’dear, allow the man to enjoy the day. I will write to him, I vow.” Her eyes widened for a moment as she stared at her husband. “We must see him betimes, sir! That other creature, Miss Fanshawe, knows not that he has the purse strings of the trust, or I warrant she would not have come to us. But how long can it remain hidden when she has that Arundell gentleman, and solicitors, snooping on her behalf? They’ll settle it all without ye and then they’ll be naught in it for our Catherine.” Her dark eyes flashed at him. “We must reach him before her, and do him the service of reuniting his family before ‘tis done without us.”
flashed at him. “We must reach him before her, and do him the service of reuniting his family before ‘tis done without us.”
Mr. Fanshawe stared at his wife. He rose and headed toward Sir Hugo. But at just that moment Mrs. Arundell came flitting up to the baronet and called him away. By the time Mr. Fanshawe arrived in the vicinity, the man was gone. He asked a footman if he might have a meeting with His Lordship, but when the servant learned that the Fanshawes were not local residents, was given no great assurance that it would occur. He returned to his wife and daughter and relayed the matter.
“He left just ahead of ye,” said his wife grimly, her eyes upon the arched exit through which Sir Hugo and a fine lady had disappeared. She turned to her husband. “I’ll settle the matter. If he wants more of it from yer own mouth, I warrant he’ll have ye fetched.”
Mr. Fanshawe looked alarmed and made to rise.
“No, sir! Stay out of it!” she cried. “I’ll know what to say to the man. I will ensure the union of our daughter with Lord Whitby.” She stood, straightened her gown and hair and added, “With it bein’ Christmas Eve, I daresay there could be no more propitious time to find a man in a charitable spirit.”
Mr. Fanshawe did not argue, having drunk plenty of ale and was feeling no pain. Moreover, his wife would give him little peace until the feat was accomplished, and she’d make his precious shore life miserable if he were to attempt another audience and fail. He held up his mug for a passing good fellow to fill, gave thanks and cheers all around, he was sure, and took a deep draught.
Mrs. Fanshawe had no trouble at all, amidst the crowd and jollity, to slip from the public room and pass beneath the elaborately arched doorway through which she’d seen the baronet leave, into a narrower connecting corridor. She walked along, marveling at the luxury of the place. At length, she saw a young gentleman approaching.
Edward Arundell, returning to the public area from a water closet not open to the townsfolk, saw a stout matron coming his way. As they neared one another, he thought she wore a challenging look, one that bordered on impudence. His eyes narrowed. “Have you lost your way?” He stopped before her, wondering that no servant had already intercepted her.
“I must see His Lordship,” she said decisively.
Edward’s lip quivered, for the baronet was not, properly, a “lord,” but all he said was, “Is he expecting you?”
“He’ll desire to see me,” she said, with a knowing air that could not but intrigue young Edward.
“Why is that?” he asked.
Her lips pursed and she raised her head importantly. “I have information of a personal nature for him.”
This Edward considered doubtful. “What is your name?”
“Mrs. Fanshawe,” she said, nodding her head.
/> “Fanshawe?” Edward came sharply to attention.
“Are you a relation of Frannie’s, that is, er, Miss Frances Fanshawe?”
“I know all about her,” she said, with a sagacious and haughty eye.
“Sebastian will wish to see you,” Edward said eagerly.
“Here now, I shall speak only to ‘is Lordship.”
Edward surveyed her. He didn’t know where Sebastian was, but he must not let this woman escape. If she did indeed have knowledge of Frannie’s history, he’d hear no end of it if he let her slip away. Besides which, it might lead to Frannieʼs finally coming into her fortune. “I’ll take you to the baronet,” he said, coming to a decision.
“Much obliged,” she said with satisfaction, bowing her head, but with that same impertinent expression curling her lips.
As he led the way, Edward remembered that Frannie was going by name of Miss Baxter, and how befuddling it would all seem to his cousin, who surely knew nothing of a Miss Fanshawe. But he’d just seen Sir Hugo and his mama consulting with servants outside the baronetʼs study. He’d let them sort it out, and find Sebastian afterward.
A turn in the corridor brought them into sight of Sir Hugo and Mrs. Arundell, still speaking with the butler and housekeeper. Mrs. Arundell was giving last-minute instructions regarding the coming ball that evening, and, being a guest, had secured Sir Hugo’s presence to impress the servants that her word must be followed. She looked up, saw Edward and a woman, and turned to the servants. “That will be all. Come to me if there are any further questions.” Turning to Edward, she said, “Yes?” with an expectant air, not looking at Mrs. Fanshawe.
“Mama, Cousin, I have a Mrs. Fanshawe here,” he said with peculiar emphasis and looking chiefly to his mother. Mrs. Arundell’s eyes widened. “Fanshawe?”
“F-Fanshawe!” repeated the baronet, turning with sudden interest to the lady.
“Ay, and I needs must speak to ‘ye, Yer Lordship, privately, if you would, about Miss Fanshawe.”
Miss Fanshawe's Fortune: Clean and Sweet Regency Romance (The Brides of Mayfair Book 2) Page 21
