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

by Linore Rose Burkard

  “To the baronet about Frannie?” asked Mrs. Arundell, putting a hand to her heart.

  “Do you mean, Miss Baxter?” Sir Hugo asked.

  Mrs. Arundell said, “Oh, dear,” and put two fingers to her lips.

  But the baronet’s expression cleared and he murmured, “Frannie, yes. Of course.” With a much concerned look, and pursed lips, he said curtly, “I must see this lady, Penelope. If you don’t mind—” He drew a handkerchief from a waistcoat pocket and wiped his brow, which seemed suddenly to have broken out in a sweat.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll come along!” she said decisively.

  “I will only speak to ‘is Lordship!” cried Mrs. Fanshawe. Mrs. Arundell surveyed her, taking in the red cheeks, the worn shoes, the quality of her gown, the belligerent expression. She nodded shortly, but with pursed lips. “I’ll wait, then,” she said to Sir Hugo.

  Sir Hugo, looking shaken, motioned the woman into his study. Once inside, he offered her a seat and sat down heavily behind his desk as if his legs had gone weak.

  In the corridor, Mrs. Arundell looked at Edward in surprise. “Find Beau! He’ll want to know about this!” Edward nodded and headed back to the great room. But he didn’t expect to find Sebastian. He’d taken Frannie driving, the usurper, and would likely be miles away by now.

  Mrs. Arundell, after watching Edward ‘til he rounded the bend, crept silently to the door of the study. She adjusted the little hearing device in her ear, and then carefully put that ear up against the door near the keyhole.

  Frannie and Sebastian, in the little ante room which connected to the study, heard the sound of voices coming from within. “My cousin’s voice!” Sebastian said. “Let us apprise him of our happy news.”

  Frannie hesitated. “But will he approve? Surely he will want to know what I can bring to the match.”

  Sebastian smiled. “Only minutes ago you feared he wanted to marry you! Now you fret that he shan’t approve of you for his heir?”

  She grinned sheepishly. “I always marveled that he could approve of me, and wondered why your mother did.”

  “All you need, dearest, is my approval, and that you have.” He pulled her close against him once more and kissed her. Then, taking her hand, he moved them toward the door to the study.

  Inside the study, the baronet rose to pour himself a quick drink, motioning for Mrs. Fanshawe to speak.

  “I am the wife of Charles Fanshawe,” she began.

  The baronet nodded his head. “Yes, yes, as I suspected.”

  Behind the door, Sebastian froze. “Why, I believe it’s that termagant, your aunt!”

  “She is a shrew!” whispered Frannie, “But what business could she have with Sir Hugo?”

  “She may be in search of us,” he said, though doubtfully. “Let’s hold off going in until we hear what she wants.”

  In the study, Mrs. Fanshawe repeated, as though to be certain the baronet understood the connexion, “Charles Fanshawe’s wife, Margaret’s brother.”

  “Have you been in contact with Margaret?” he asked urgently.

  Here Mrs. Fanshawe hesitated, giving him a cautious look. “She’s gone these eighteen months, sir.”

  “Eighteen months! She left England above eighteen years ago, madam.”

  “Nay, sir, she’s gone. To the grave, sir! She’s dead these eighteen months.”

  He stared. Quietly he said, “I was given that news. But how did you learn it? You had word from America?”

  The lady hesitated. “From Lincolnshire, sir. But that’s not what I’m here for.”

  But now he set his drink down and stared at her with consternation. “Lincolnshire?” His face grew exceedingly red. “Here in England? All this time! It cannot be.” He looked at her sternly. “What has Lincolnshire to do with it? Your husband swore she’d left for America!”

  “Yes, sir, that he did; thanks to your father!” She shifted in her seat and nervously wiped her palms on her gown. “But it were a lie. She lived in Lincolnshire, sir!”

  He leveled a baleful gaze upon her, but soon his look became forlorn. His lips pursed. “Do you mean to say she never was farther from me than Lincolnshire? What—what do you know of her child?”

  “She’s the very reason why I come, sir!” she said with a nod, and swallowed. “My husband and I adopted her.”

  He looked thunderstruck. “Adopted her? You adopted Margaret’s child?”

  She seemed to grow slightly paler. A little more hesitantly she said, “We…we named her Catherine. Your father promised a trust fund to her, he did.”

  He stared at her down his nose. “I called upon your husband in search of Margaret, my lawful wife. You had a daughter already at that time, a daughter named Catherine, if I do not misremember.”

  The woman swallowed. “ʼTwas her daughter. The mother didn’t want her.”

  There was the sound of a muffled noise, and suddenly the inner door to the study burst open. Sebastian and Frannie stood there, staring in with such expressions! Frannie was torn between joy and sheer astonishment—if Sir Hugo was lawfully married to her mother then he was her father! The man she’d been trying so hard to avoid—her father! But indignation too coloured her expression, for here was Mrs. Fanshawe trying to pull the wool over his eyes!

  The lady rose from her seat in alarm, but her features became granite as she settled her eyes upon Frannie. “I was only telling ‘is Lordship what we did for ye all these years,” she said coldly.

  Sebastian almost spoke. The words, “Sir, ’tis all a fetch and a gamon!” were at the tip of his tongue, but he waited to see what Frannie would do. She said, looking sorrowfully at her aunt. “Did for me?” She turned to the baronet. “What she told you is a humbug! I lived with Mama until her passing a year ago August. I only met Mrs. Fanshawe in my search for—why, I believe, for you, sir!”

  Mrs. Fanshawe’s face scrunched in anger. She put a hand to her hip and cried, “My ‘usband did exactly what your mother told him! Had he revealed your whereabouts –and he might easily ‘ave done so—then you!” She pointed at Sir Hugo. “You would have been out at the pockets! This fine estate,” she said, turning her head to take in the dimensions of the room, “entailed! You’d ’ave had debt to yer ears! My ’usband did you a favour, sir, in keeping the agreement; all so’s this one ’ere”—she turned and pointed at Frannie—“could come into the trust! I only aimed to ask for sommat for our trouble! My daughter’s to be wed to Lord Whitby! If there’s no trust for her, she’ll not be equipt! The wedding’ll be off!”

  The baronet stared at Mrs. Fanshawe, his mind turning. Looking back at Frannie, he said, “Did your mother remarry? How are you Miss Baxter?”

  Sebastian spoke up. “Her name is Miss Fanshawe, sir; I apologize for the confusion. Tracing Frannie’s heritage has been our sole difficulty because her father’s name—your name, sir—at Sir Malcolm’s insistence, I gather, was blotted out on her birth record. Miss Baxter is an alias we hoped to use in society only until we understood the circumstances of her birth better.” He gave his cousin a wry grin. “We had no idea, sir, that her real name could mean anything to you!” He motioned to Mrs. Fanshawe. “We have been searching for Mr. Fanshawe for weeks to get to the bottom of the mystery. This lady, however, was enraptured with the notion that the trust should be given to her natural daughter.”

  With large eyes, Frannie listened, nodding in agreement with what Sebastian said. Looking tremulously at the baronet she said, “I never should have asked the Arundells to disguise my name, sir. It was badly done. I beg your pardon. I am Frances Fanshawe.” Her heart pounded in her ears and it seemed as though her hands shook.

  With a look of sorrow mixed with dawning amazement, the baronet extended a hand toward Frannie. “Come here, child.”

  Frannie hesitated, but Sebastian gave her the smallest nudge. She went forward then, staring at Sir Hugo with a wholly different expression on her face than she had ever worn when looking at him in the past. She felt suddenly over
come with shyness—how could it be true? That Sir Hugo—Sebastian’s cousin once removed, the man she’d done everything in her power to avoid—was her father!

  His eyes were full with emotion, and he took her hand when she drew near.

  “I knew it had to be. I knew from the moment I saw you that you had to be, you could only be Margaret’s child. You are your mother’s mirror image!”

  “Then ‘tis true?” she asked, while her heart beat strangely. “That you are my—my father?”

  “I think it must be true. How old are you, my girl?” he asked.

  “Nineteen, sir.”

  Tears sprang into his eyes. With compressed lips, blinking, he nodded at her, his eyes brimming with emotion. “Your mother was my lawful wife. You are my child!”

  Frannie shot a brief glance of shining relief at Sebastian, even as Sir Hugo took her in his great big arms for a heartfelt hug. When he released her enough to stand back and meet her gaze, tears shone in his eyes. “I married your mother secretly on account of the baronet, my father. The plan was to give him time to accept the marriage. In the meantime, you were born. Your birth convinced me to face my father’s wrath and bring my family to Bartlett Hall, but it was then you vanished! Your mother, I was given to believe in the single letter she wrote me, took you off to America. Your uncle Mr. Fanshawe confirmed to me that you had both gone.” Here he swallowed uncomfortably. “I suppose I read that letter a thousand times. I suspected my father had a hand in the business, but what proof did I have? And I believed he knew nothing of the marriage.”

  Sebastian said gently, “He must have found out, sir. But why, after all this time, did we know nothing of it?”

  “And why, sir, did I not know of your existence?” Frannie asked, now with tears rimming her own eyes. Sir Hugo took a deep breath, clasping her one hand between his two meaty ones. “Because, my dear, your mother contrived to keep it that way. I am sure Sir Malcolm required it of her. If I had known you were in England—oh! I am sorry to say I believed your mother, who claimed, by the time I received her note, that she’d have left the country with you.” He surveyed her sadly. “I searched for you, to no avail. I was determined to do what I could for you, even if your mama had no wish to live as my wife.”

  His lips firmed into a line. “I see now that Sir Malcolm orchestrated it all.” He shook his head self-reproachfully. “I should have faced his wrath to begin with. I thought—we both thought it better to wait for him to accept the match—but then it was too late.” He sniffed and tried to smile. He cast small, sad eyes upon her. “Tell me, how did you fare all these years? How did you get by? Sir Malcolm said he settled a good amount upon your mother—I can only pray it was true.”

  “An annual sum came to us, sir, and kept me in genteel circumstances; I have been as modish as I care to be.”

  “An annual sum?” he said, his eyes glazing in thought. “So my father did not send your mother off with one payment?” He shook his head. “He knew all along how close you were, the blackguard! He told me upon his deathbed how he ran off my wife and child; but even then he gave me to believe you were across an ocean.” He turned pained eyes to her. “But what’s this about a trust?”

  “According to my mother, sir, the annual payments were from the interest of a fund, a trust fund, that is in my name payable upon my majority.”

  Now Sir Hugo’s brows rose. He lowered his head in thought. “That would be untoward generosity, coming from my father.” He grinned ruefully, shaking his head. “Margaret demanded it, I am certain. Good for her!” But then he looked back at Frannie. “My solicitors disclosed nothing of this to me. We will look into it directly!”

  Frannie sighed with relief. She wasn’t a blow by! She was respectable! But suddenly it felt supremely less important than before, and the trust mattered to her not at all—she turned her eyes to Sebastian, who was approaching her as if with the same thought. Their future was all that mattered, now. Knowing he loved her was her supreme joy.

  He came and took her free hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it. Then, turning to Sir Hugo, he said, “It seems sir, that Miss Fanshawe is my second cousin once removed.”

  Sir Hugo smiled but said, “She is not, sir.”

  To Sebastian and Frannie’s look of confusion he added, still smiling, “Miss Arundell is your second cousin once removed . She is my daughter, rightfully by name Frances Arundell.”

  Sebastian, grinning, said, “That is the very name, sir, that I have just now desired Miss Fanshawe to accept—as my wife.”

  Sir Hugo’s face beamed. “Is this true?”

  Frannie nodded happily, while Sebastian looked down at her with pride in his eyes. He gave a rueful grin as he turned to Sir Hugo. “I never dreamed I should require your approval for the match!”

  Sir Hugo’s large girth shook with mirth, even as a tear slipped from one eye and rolled down his cheek. “I have discovered my daughter and lost her again in one day. For how could I fail to approve?” He turned to Frannie. “This is the hand of Providence, my dear. You will be mistress here one day, taking your place in Bartlett Hall despite all of Sir Malcolm’s machinations.” Turning to Sebastian he added, “All my life I have not been able to give my daughter what was her due. It eases my heart, sir, that she will be mistress here. I regret deeply that her mother was not able to fill that role, to enjoy the rightful due that my father denied her.”

  Frannie could hardly comprehend it. Far from being the dubious natural daughter of an unknown gentleman, she was the daughter of a baronet and betrothed to Sebastian, the heir to the title! Her heart felt full to the brim.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Suddenly the main door to the study flew open and Mrs. Arundell burst in, her face beaming. She rushed to her eldest son, stopping only to shoot a triumphant smile at Frannie. “Oh, Beau, dearest! I knew she was perfect for you!”

  “You knew it before I did,” he said with a smile.

  “But of course. I had an inkling!”

  She kissed his cheek and went to embrace Frannie, but he spied tears upon her face. With furrowed brows, he said gently, “No need for that, ma’am.” He drew out a handkerchief and softly wiped away the wetness.

  “My tears aren’t for you,” she said. She turned to face the baronet. Her face went from happiness to sorrow. “You should have told me, Hugo! Indeed, you should have told me!” Her voice shook with emotion.

  The room fell silent, as if each one knew the long-standing mystery, the second long-standing mystery that is, was about to be demystified. Frannie’s parentage was the first, but it was settled. Her future, settled. But Mrs. Arundell’s old grudge was still a tangle.

  “Penelope,” said the baronet, his eyes full. He almost dropped Frannie’s hand, but raised and kissed it first, with a tender look. Frannie smiled at him, blinking back tears. She went and stood by Sebastian’s side, who took her hand and grasped it between both his own.

  Mrs. Arundell went and stood in front of Sir Hugo’s desk, facing him with large, tragic eyes.

  He said, “I wanted desperately to tell you. I’m afraid I was too ashamed. When I met you, I had already secretly pledged myself to Margaret Fanshawe. We waited years to marry in hopes of gaining Sir Malcolm’s approval.”

  “You ought to have told me,” she said in a subdued voice. “I would have kept your secret.”

  “But that’s it!” he said. “It was a terrible secret. I couldn’t burden you with it. I was a mere cub at the time, only eighteen, and you were what?—only sixteen. I lived in fear that my father would discover my attachment. He desired I should offer for you, but I could not. My previous engagement, though it was in word only at that time, prevented me.”

  She looked at him across the desk, and by the expression on her face, Sir Hugo knew she was not yet appeased. He went around the desk and stood before her, and then took her hands in his.

  She gazed up at him sadly. “I felt at the time there was a hindrance. I thought it must be me!”

>   He shook his head regretfully. “Dearest Penelope! If I had not already pledged myself to another, I would have gladly welcomed the match with you.”

  Here he paused, his eyes filling with sorrow, looking pleadingly at Mrs. Arundell. “I liked you very well, Penelope, and wished at times—well, it was too late. But I couldn’t tell you of a secret betrothal until after I’d told Sir Malcolm. We were forced to wait years after you married Richard, and finally wed without having gained my father’s approval.”

  She nodded but said, “Richard died in 1800. I’ve been an ace of spades a long time, sir,” she said with a reproachful look.

  “’Twas only when I learned from Sir Malcolm—he confessed it as he lay dying—that Margaret was gone, did I consider myself free to approach you, my dear; which I did, by escorting you to the Merrillton’s ball, and inviting you here.”

  Mrs. Arundell bit her lip lightly and nodded. “I understand you,” she said gently. Looking toward Frannie and Sebastian, she said, “And Providence has worked out a blessing in it.” She turned her eyes back to the baronet. “Had you and I married then, neither of us would have our precious offspring!”

  His eyes turned to gaze at Frannie, still standing beside Sebastian. “Thank God we do,” he said, with a look of fresh appreciation. He turned back to the diminutive Mrs. Arundell. “But now, Penelope, you must put an end to my life’s sorrow.” She looked up at him, blinking.

  “I was unable to ask you then, unable to approach you all these years. Say you will, at long last, dearest, be my wife!”

  Her little mouth opened. She blinked. “Oh, all these long years, Hugo! After all these years!”

  He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Well, m’dear? Well? I know I am a clodpate and ungracious, but please, am I to be the happiest of men?”

  Mrs. Arundell stared up at him with wide eyes. She smiled. “I thought you would never ask me, you big, wonderful oaf! Of course I will.”

  His face lit with joy, and he took her slim figure into his meaty arms and drew her close. They kissed.