by Darcy Burke
“Fanny!”
They both froze and time seemed to stop. Fanny recognized the voice—it was her brother Jacob.
She turned her head. “Hurry. That’s my brother. I’m supposed to be home.” She’d completely forgotten about Mr. Duckworth’s visit.
David made quick work of the laces, and she stepped away from him. “I’ll come with you.”
She shook her head. “Absolutely not. I can’t have my parents knowing I was alone with you. It will be Ivy all over again.” She winced, realizing this was Ivy all over again. She’d given herself to a man—with a title—on the promise of marriage. “You’re not going to abandon me, are you?”
He picked up her gloves and bonnet and set the latter atop her head with infinite care. “Never.”
“Fanny!” The voice was much closer. He was almost to the pond.
“I have to go,” she whispered fiercely.
“I’ll call on you tomorrow, then,” he said.
Fanny looked through the branches of the willow and saw her brother come through the hedgerow. She was out of time. Pulling her gloves on, she dashed from the canopy and ran to meet Jacob.
He frowned down at her, his green-brown eyes cutting over her. “You look like you rolled around in the grass. Did you fall asleep?”
“Yes.” She seized on the excellent excuse.
He glanced toward the willow, and she prayed he couldn’t see David. Hopefully, David had hidden himself or left the area entirely.
“You’re late,” Jacob snapped. “Mother is livid.”
“When isn’t she?” Fanny muttered.
“Isn’t that the truth?”
Fanny shot her gaze to Jacob, surprised at his response. He merely lifted a shoulder. “She’s been especially difficult since you left,” Jacob said. “I’m counting the days until I can leave.”
She started through the hedgerow, eager to leave the pond. “To do what?”
“No idea. If you think of something, let me know.”
Jacob had learned cabinetry from their father, but he’d never seemed as passionate about it as John. Jacob seemed to prefer looking after the animals and caring for the crops they grew.
“You should be a farmer,” she said, an idea forming in her mind.
“Are you going to get Mary to set me up the way she has you?” he asked sharply.
Fanny flinched. “I didn’t realize you might want that. I could talk to her, if you want me to.”
“Don’t do me any favors.”
“Why not? You’re my brother. And you’re Ivy’s brother too.”
Jacob shot her an uncertain stare that quickly turned into a scowl. “I don’t want anything from her or her fancy husband.”
Fanny exhaled. “Now you sound like Mother and Father. Don’t let them color your mind. Ivy and West are good and kind, and they’d help family.”
“You likely won’t have a chance to talk to them anyway. Father’s keen to marry you off to Duckworth.”
“Well, I’m not keen to marry him.”
“Fanny, when are you going to realize you don’t have a lot of choice in this world?” He actually sounded a bit sad.
“Oh, but I do, Jacob,” she said softly. “I do.” And tomorrow, David would come and formally present that choice. He’d ask for her hand, and her parents would be furious—both because she wouldn’t be marrying Mr. Duckworth and would instead marry into the family that was perhaps responsible for the disappearance of her father’s beloved uncle.
As they neared the house, she realized she’d forgotten her sketchbook. Ah well, David could bring it to her tomorrow—she’d just have to make sure her mother didn’t notice that he had it.
Right now, however, she had to make sure no one noticed she’d just had a tryst beneath a willow tree.
The following morning, David wrestled with his feelings of excitement and joy over his future with Fanny and his disappointment and anger toward his mother and her meddling. He was eager to set her straight and ensure she understood that he was marrying Fanny whether she liked it or not.
Though they weren’t in London, he determined it was still too early to call on the Snowdens. Perhaps he should have a glass of brandy to bolster his nerves. If they were any more determined to keep him and Fanny from marrying as his mother was, he’d need it.
David picked up Fanny’s sketchbook. She’d left it beneath the willow yesterday. In it, he’d written a note to her along with a drawing of the golden eagle that had inadvertently led him to her. The species would forevermore be his favorite bird.
He’d been tempted to draw a picture of Fanny instead. Her on the ground with her eyes half-closed and her lips parted in seductive invitation. And he would draw that—someday. When she could pose before him.
His body stirred with arousal. He grabbed his hat and headed for the door, intent on a vigorous walk to cool his ardor and organize his thoughts before calling on the Snowdens.
He opened the door and stopped short. Standing in the corridor was Fanny. She was the picture of fresh beauty—her red-gold curls peeking from beneath the crown of her straw bonnet. A bright blue ribbon was tied beneath her chin, matching the pin-width stripes on her day dress. Beyond her stood another woman. She was a good ten or so years older than Fanny and garbed in a more somber costume, indicating she was probably her maid.
“Fanny.” He belatedly bowed. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later.”
“You said you were going to call on me.” She winced. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She turned to the other woman. “Barker, would you mind waiting here for a moment while I go in and speak with his lordship? We’ll leave the door open.”
The maid nodded, but there was a glint to her gaze and a slight tilt to her mouth that betrayed some measure of amusement.
David stepped back and allowed Fanny to enter. Her gaze dipped to his hand. “Oh, you have my sketchbook, thank goodness.”
“I was just going to take it on a walk with me in case I came across some aviary wonder.”
She smiled. “I have no doubt you would.” She looked around the small, well-appointed chamber, and her gaze fell on the four-poster bed.
He set the book on the table near the fireplace where a few coals smoldered, and moved closer to her. “You shouldn’t look at the bed unless you want to use it,” he said softly.
Her eyes shot to his. “With the door open?”
“Probably a bad idea.”
“Most definitely, but now that you’ve mentioned it, I shall be loath to forget the suggestion…” she murmured, her eyes bright with desire.
The arousal he’d felt earlier stoked into something hotter, and he had to work to tamp it down. “I should be sorry I brought it up.”
“But you’re not.” She smiled again. “How I adore you.”
“And I you.”
The happiness faded from her expression. “As I said before, you can’t call on me today. My parents will never approve our marriage.”
“We don’t need their approval,” he said. “You’re of age. We can wed whenever we choose.”
“Precisely. So why bother telling them at all?”
“Because they’re your parents?” he asked.
“And they despise your family. Furthermore, they despise titles of any kind—because of your family.” Her eyes narrowed in disgust. “My sister married a bloody duke, but in their eyes, you’d think she’d wed a murderer.”
“They sound unpleasant.” And that sounded like an understatement.
“The entire situation is unpleasant. If your family hadn’t been so angry that their daughter had fallen in love with the footman, perhaps my great-uncle would still be here.”
“Fallen in love? Is that what they told you?” David recalled his father’s anguish over his sister being kidnapped by the footman who’d brought her body home a year later.
Suspicion lined her features. “What did your family tell you?”
“That your great-uncle kidnapped
my Aunt Catherine. My family searched but wasn’t able to find them. A year later, he brought her body home. She’d died in childbirth.”
Fanny sucked in a breath, her eyes darkening with sorrow. “I’m so sorry. However, my Great-uncle George loved her. They’d defied her father—and propriety—just to be together. It sounds terribly romantic.”
“It would if it were true.”
Emotion blazed in her eyes. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because your great-uncle lied. It’s very possible he fell in love with my aunt. By my father’s and uncle’s accounts, she was a beautiful and kindhearted young woman, if a bit shy. She hadn’t yet had a Season due to her reticence, but she looked forward to it. Why would a woman with aspirations for a Season run off with a footman?”
Fanny crossed her arms as her brows formed a V on her forehead. “Because she was in love with him. I had aspirations for a Season, but then I met you, and now I don’t give a flying fig. You had plans to marry your father’s best friend’s daughter, but that didn’t happen either. Sometimes, life doesn’t go the way we intend.”
He didn’t want to argue with her or to be angry. “This isn’t our fight,” he said, taking a step toward her.
She uncrossed her arms, and her features relaxed slightly. “No, it isn’t. We can never know what really happened. I prefer to think they were in love, don’t you?” She looked up at him, and she was so earnest, so heartfelt in her query, that he couldn’t help but agree.
“Why wouldn’t I want love to be the reason?” He curled his arm around her waist and drew her against him. “Love is my reason.”
She rested her hand on his shoulder. “It’s mine too.”
He dipped his head and kissed her. She tasted sweet and fresh, like his favorite summer day outside. Reluctantly, he stepped back. “Unless you want to end up on that bed, we’d best put some distance between us.”
She nodded, her eyes glazed with desire.
“So if I’m not to call on your parents, what is your plan?” he asked. It was an important question, plus it took his mind off the distracting pulse of his cock.
“The wedding is tomorrow. I can leave after that.”
“You’ll go back to Stour’s Edge?”
She nodded again. “You could follow me. Then we can share our plans with West and Ivy.”
“Where shall we be married?”
“St. Peter and St. Paul’s in Clare.”
“That’s a beautiful church,” he said, smiling. “We’ll have the banns read as soon as we arrive.”
She frowned, her features darkening. “We can’t do that.”
Alarm rushed through him. “Why not?”
“Because the banns will also need to be read here, and my parents will likely try to say there is an impediment.”
“But there isn’t.” At least none that he was aware of.
“Of course not. They’ll likely say I’m promised to Mr. Duckworth.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“The hell they will. I’m obtaining a license the minute we get to Clare. We’ll wed as soon as possible.”
Her gaze warmed as she smiled. “We’re really going to be married.” Her voice carried a hint of awe as well as uncertainty.
He took her hands and lifted one to his mouth to press a kiss on the back of her glove. “Nothing will stop us.”
She squeezed his hands before letting him go. “Until tomorrow.”
“When the future shall be ours.”
She picked up her sketchbook and blew him a kiss before departing the room. The air lost all vitality, and David couldn’t help but glance toward the bed and think of opportunities lost.
Tomorrow suddenly felt like a lifetime.
No, tomorrow was the start of it.
Chapter 12
Dinner at the Snowden house was to be a family affair to celebrate John’s wedding the following day. The kitchen was abuzz with preparations for the wedding breakfast, which would take place immediately following tomorrow morning’s ceremony at the parish church in Pickering.
Fanny gathered with her family in the dining room, where her father offered a toast. “To John. May you and Mercy enjoy a long and happy marriage.” He bestowed a proud, paternal smile on his second eldest before taking a sip of wine.
Everyone lifted their glasses to John before drinking. As Mother, seated at the opposite end of the table from Father, set her wine down, she said, “It’s so nice to finally be celebrating a wedding.” She cast a glance toward Fanny that was laced with disappointment.
Fanny bit her tongue lest she tell them they could have celebrated Ivy’s if they hadn’t been so horrid. But then if they hadn’t thrown Ivy out ten years ago, her life would have been vastly different. Indeed, she may have found herself married to Mr. Duckworth.
Her conversation with David floated through her mind—things often didn’t go as planned and sometimes, maybe oftentimes, that was for the best.
“Perhaps there will be another wedding soon,” John said, looking toward Fanny.
For a brief moment, she wondered how John could possibly know she would be marrying David within the month. But of course he couldn’t. The only person who knew was Barker, and she wouldn’t tell.
“Very soon, if only she would accept Mr. Duckworth,” Mother said. “You had a nice visit yesterday, didn’t you?”
Fanny had arrived to find Mr. Duckworth in the sitting room, tapping his foot impatiently. He’d stared derisively at her rumpled clothing and asked if she’d tumbled out of a tree.
She’d laughed and given the excuse Jacob had offered—that she’d fallen asleep by accident. She’d then sought to bore him with talk of birds, but he’d maneuvered the discussion in the direction of mating habits in an effort to be flirtatious.
Fanny had pleaded the need to tidy herself up, which had thankfully drawn the visit to a close. “Yes, it was fine,” Fanny answered.
“She doesn’t fancy him,” Jacob said, once again surprising Fanny. Why was he being so…helpful?
“She could if she wanted to,” Father grumbled before taking a bite of boiled beef. His gaze fixed on her while he chewed. Once he swallowed, he asked, “Why were you in town this morning? Henry said he saw you and your maid near the Black Rabbit.”
Blast. She’d looked around to see if anyone might have noted her presence, but she’d somehow missed her father’s assistant. If she’d encountered anyone, she’d been prepared with an answer to just such a question. “I was looking for property for a workhouse. I am working with a group of patronesses to fund a workhouse for young women and orphans who need to learn a skill. It will better prepare them for a life of meaningful and gratifying employment, which will improve their livelihoods.”
Her mother and father gaped at her while John continued attacking his plate of food. Jacob, who sat beside her said, “That sounds very useful. Do you truly know people who can make such a thing happen?”
She nodded, ignoring her parents’ reactions. “I do—through Ivy.”
“Fanny.” Her father’s sharp voice cut through the tense air.
“I can’t very well call her Mary,” she said, indignant. “She is Ivy now. And why should you care anyway? It’s not as if you want to recognize her as a member of this family. Never mind that she’s a duchess with considerable standing in Society.”
“Watch your tongue, gel,” her father rumbled, his graying brows gathering above his wide-set eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind about letting you go back to her house.”
“I’m old enough to make my own decisions,” she muttered, poking at her food.
“Bad ones,” Mother said. “This workhouse nonsense is a terrible idea. You’ll encourage young women in ways they ought not be encouraged.”
Fanny blinked at her mother as anger boiled within her. “And how should young women with no means to care for themselves be encouraged? Should we put them into a workhouse where they can’t hope for a better life, for freedom or independence?”
Stifling a groan of frustration, Fanny speared a piece of potato and shoved it between her lips.
“Pickering doesn’t need a workhouse,” her father said. “No one wants that here.”
Fanny stared at him. “You can’t see the good it would do?”
“I can see it would be a blight on our town.
“If she’s thinking of starting a workhouse here, that must mean she wants to come home for good,” John said. He looked over at Fanny with an encouraging smile. “Perhaps she’s considering Mr. Duckworth after all.”
She worked to keep her ire in check. “I’m not.”
Mother sniffed. “She’s too good for us now, John. She’s got her sights set on a title, no doubt.”
As the youngest, Fanny had always felt a bit picked on by everyone else, with the exception of Ivy, of course, and of her father, who had doted on her when she was a child. That had faded after Ivy had left home. It was as if he’d turned his back on both his daughters. And her brothers had always teased her and made her feel rather alone. Turning to her mother hadn’t helped. She’d simply put Fanny to work and told her not to wallow in self-pity. Consequently, Fanny had spent a great deal of time at Patience’s house. It was too bad she couldn’t escape there now, but Patience shared a small cottage with her husband and baby. While Fanny would always be welcome at Patience’s parents’ house, they were busy preparing to marry off their last child tomorrow. Fanny couldn’t possibly intrude.
“I can’t imagine what a peer would see in our Fanny,” Father said, talking as if she weren’t sitting immediately to his left. “But then I’ve no idea what one would have seen in Mary either, particularly given her demeanor.”
“What do you mean? That’s precisely what one saw in her,” Mother said. “For all we know, she seduced the poor man.”
Fanny looked between her parents as rage poured through her. Could they speak of their daughters this way? And right in front of one of them?
