Chapter 17
Frances decided she needed to be outside. An evening like the previous one she had endured with Stuart was one of the most awkward times they had shared together. He had been all happiness and smiles, humming to himself and whistling. She had pretended to read but had spent over half an hour on the same page, gritting her teeth and willing him to be quiet.
It was her own fault; she was fully aware of that, but she could not help her insecurities. How she was going to spend the rest of her life in the same neighbourhood as the man she now wanted more than she ever wanted anything in her life she did not know. She could not wish Annabelle any ill, but it was now clear there would not be a separation of her friend from her husband, so there would be no escape for Frances.
She would have supported Annabelle in whatever form the help was needed, but moving away would have helped Frances as well. She was not sure what was going to happen to her in the future: refusing Stuart would have a bigger impact on her life than she had first realised.
Mrs Adams had always been a large part of her life; her parents were close friends of Mrs Adams and since, Joan had gone to India to forget her disappointed hopes and perhaps secure a husband, Frances had become even closer to the older woman. She seemed to appreciate Frances, and they got on famously; Frances able to stand up to Mrs Adams when needed. Their contact would have to be reduced, if not stopped altogether once Stuart married.
She gathered her bonnet and pelisse and made her way into the hallway. Of course, she would meet Mr Stuart Adams before she was able to make her escape she fumed to herself, as Stuart emerged from the morning room. A house this size and there seemed no escape from him.
“Are you going out, Frances?” Stuart asked cheerfully.
“I feel the need of some fresh air,” Frances replied and escape from you, she thought grimly.
“May I join you?” Stuart asked, indicating to the butler to bring his hat and gloves, pre-empting the response.
“That would be delightful,” Frances said, but she knew she had betrayed more than she wanted to at the sharp look she received from Stuart. He did not falter, though; they stepped through the door together and followed the pathway that led into the gardens.
“You seem a little out of sorts today, Frances. Is there anything amiss?” Stuart asked pleasantly, strolling along beside her.
“No, there isn’t,” Frances responded. For the first time in her life she did not feel polite, and the words were said a little mulishly.
“Oh. Good,” Stuart responded, unaware if this new behaviour was to his advantage or not. “I was thinking of visiting my mother this afternoon; would you care to join me?”
“I don’t think that would be wise,” Frances said quickly. “I know Annabelle is still keen to keep her presence here unknown from the locality.”
“I understand that, but there isn’t really a role here for us, is there?” Stuart asked. “We have done our duty, and only time will tell if all is well between Lord and Lady Stannage, although I suspect everything will be fine. So, by us remaining here, we are in a state of limbo, not really needed but not released as yet.”
“Would it not be easier to invite your mother here?” Frances asked. “Or would she want to introduce you to your future wife in your own home?” If there was a note of bitterness in her voice, she chose to ignore it.
“I think the more visitors here, the more the likelihood of being disturbed by others. If I am seen on the journey home, I can always say I have returned early,” Stuart reasoned.
Frances did not respond, and they walked on in silence. Stuart started to hum as they walked, and Frances gritted her teeth. After five minutes, she could stand it no longer. “Could you please stop that?” she snapped turning to face Stuart.
“Stop what?” Stuart asked.
“Whistling and humming and being so, so happy!” Frances snapped.
Stuart laughed, partly at her words and partly because of the expression on her face. He had never seen such a flush of indignation before on Frances. “You don’t want me to be happy?” he asked.
“I don’t want you to be happy near me!” Frances continued, all sense of reason gone.
“Oh, I’m sorry; I didn’t realise you wished me ill. I shall stop being happy in your vicinity immediately.” Stuart’s words were said with such amusement that Frances lost her temper completely.
“Good and at the same time you can tell me why days, yes days, after proposing to me, you are happily chasing after someone else, declaring she will be the perfect wife!” she snapped.
Stuart sobered at Frances’s words. “You refused me Frances. Are you telling me you are one of those fickle young ladies who wish a suitor to chase after them, begging to be accepted? I’m surprised if you are.”
“No, I’m not!” Frances snapped. “But your proposal was sudden, and I’d hardly had time to digest it before having to give you an answer and then two minutes later you had forgotten you had proposed to me and were planning your wedding to someone else!”
“But you said no,” Stuart said softly. “Frances, what do you expect me to do? Remain single in the hope you will overcome your ridiculous notion that you aren’t good enough for me?”
“It isn’t a ridiculous notion!” Frances fumed. “See, this is exactly what I mean! You are already looking down on me like some foolish child! That is what I was afraid of, and it’s happened even before we married!”
Stuart sighed; he had been so confident at the start, but it suddenly struck him he did not think he was going to win this battle. “Frances, if we’d married, we would not go through life without argument: I’m no saint and, although I admit I thought you more placid than you are, your fire is no bad thing,” he added quickly at the look she gave him. “Everyone says words in the heat of the moment; you know I don’t think you are ridiculous: I never have, and I never will. I ask you the same question, though: what did you expect me to do after your refusal?”
“I don’t know, but it all seems so sudden. You will no longer be in the background; you will belong to someone else!” Frances said, her voice sounding choked.
“I don’t want to be in the background, Frances,” Stuart said frustrated. “I want to be married to a woman I love and who loves me: I want children and a noisy household; I want my wife by my side during the day and in my bed at night. I can’t accept being in the background any longer; it’s too lonely.”
“I don’t want you to be lonely,” Frances said honestly, the fight fading from her. “I wish you all the happiness in the world. Please excuse me: I would like to return to the house on my own; I have a headache coming on, which I suspect is why I feel so out of sorts. Forgive me.”
Stuart opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again. Frances moved away so quickly, it was pointless trying to delay her. He sighed and turned to the stables; everything had backfired and, in the process, he upset her. He needed to get away.
*
Frances did not move out of her bedchamber for lunch; she had no appetite and no wish to run into Stuart again. She felt foolish at her outburst, and knew the next time they met, she would have to apologise.
A knock on the door revealed a maid entering her room. “Miss Latimer, there is a lady waiting in the drawing room wishing to see you,” the maid said with a curtsey.
“Wanting to see me?” Frances asked puzzled. “Who is it?”
“Mrs Adams, miss. She said to hurry; she hasn’t got all day.” The maid repeated the words with a blush, but the reaction by Frances was to smile.
“Tell Mrs Adams I shall be down directly; I wish to freshen up,” she said, moving to the jug of water on the stand.
Frances felt refreshed after washing her face and changing from her walking dress into a light muslin gown. There was no time to straighten her hair; there were limits to Mrs Adams’s patience, so she had to be satisfied with securing a few escaped strands while hurrying to the drawing room.
Mrs Adams was sea
ted, surrounded by cushions, a table with tea and cakes within her reach. She looked up when Frances walked in and leant on her walking stick that she was holding between her legs. “What’s this I hear you have been disappointing my son?” she demanded, a firm set to her lips.
Frances faltered and then returned to the door and closed it firmly. She did not wish anyone else to overhear the conversation that was obviously going to occur. “Good afternoon, Mrs Adams; this is a surprise,” she said calmly, taking a seat opposite the old woman.
“Stop with the niceties; I think I am owed an explanation,” Mrs Adams demanded, watching Frances closely.
“Why are you owed an explanation?” Frances asked, her tone level. “You are obviously aware your son proposed to me and I refused. I could ask you why you thought your son could not chose a wife himself and instead you write to him, telling him of the ideal person you have picked out for him?”
Mrs Adams was fully aware of what Stuart had said to Frances as a ploy to make her jealous and change her mind. He had confessed all when he rode over to visit.“What mother wouldn’t want to choose her son’s bride, especially if they were to live in the same house? It will take a patient woman to have me as a mother-in-law; I think it is wise that I offer my counsel.”
“Your son seems happy with your choice, so there is no problem; in fact I would go as far to say he is over the moon with your choice of bride,” Frances responded.
“As he should be; he knows as well as you do I wouldn’t tolerate a fool!”
“Was there any other reason for your visit? I cannot imagine you have travelled all this way to ask me why I turned down your son, especially as it is an irrelevant question now,” Frances continued. She wanted the meeting over as soon as possible. There was too much talk of Stuart’s proposed nuptials for her liking.
“I’ve visited to see if I can talk some sense into you,” Mrs Adams said. She did not give Frances an opportunity to respond. “I admit to being an indulgent mother; having only one child makes him even more precious to a parent, but I am not blind to what failings my son has. I was surprised when he said you had refused him and do feel I am owed the real explanation, not the one you gave Stuart.”
“Why is this so important?” Frances asked. “Surely you should be rejoicing at my refusal?”
“Frances, I have known you since you were born and never in your life have I thought you an utter nincompoop before today. I want to know why you refused my son, because you were the bride I had chosen,” Mrs Adams snapped.
Frances stared at her old friend, feeling like the utter fool she was. “I never thought….” She started. “I never for a moment expected it would have been me.”
“And why not?” Mrs Adams demanded. “Who else have I spent the most time with? Who else in twenty miles can I bear to be in company with for more than a few minutes without wanting to throttle them?”
“Perhaps it is my meekness you want him to marry?” Frances said, her tone teasing, but her mind was still racing with the realisation that Mrs Adams had wanted her only son to marry her.
“Pah! Meekness my foot! I was there, if you will remember, when you stood up to Joan, and myself come to that matter. Stuart needs someone who will not only stand up to him but to me on the rare occasions that we are wrong,” Mrs Adams responded.
Frances laughed, “I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Does that mean you will have him?” Mrs Adams asked hopefully.
Frances became serious. “My concerns, although not considered relevant by you or Stuart are valid enough to me to have refused the proposal of a handsome, eligible man. I cannot change the way I feel.”
“No, you are too headstrong for that,” Mrs Adams said, before her tone changed. “I want to tell you something of my husband that may help you understand my frustration with your decision.”
Frances was interested. Mrs Adams spoke of her husband with the highest regard.
“We grew up together, but Edward was promised to another from birth. He married her not knowing I had loved him from a very early age. The arrangement the two families had was so well known there was no point in making my feelings known,” Mrs Adams said, her mind wandering back to those long gone days.
“Unfortunately, Jenny did not have a strong constitution and died along with the baby in childbirth. Edward was devastated. I was afraid he would follow them to the grave, his grief was so severe. I did all I could to help him not because I wanted him for myself, just because I was terrified he would die of a broken heart, and I didn’t want that for him. I wanted him to be happy,” Mrs Adams paused, the memories did not get any easier, however far in the past they were.
“He found happiness with you though,” Frances said gently.
“Yes, five years after Jenny died we married, and two years later Stuart was born. I was older by then, and the birth was difficult, but we survived. It was no surprise to either of us that Stuart was an only child. Our marriage was a happy one, but the thing I always struggled with was Jenny’s memory. You see, to me she seemed like the perfect wife. She had not got old and grey as we were; in Edward’s eyes she would always be young and beautiful. I always thought I was second best,” Mrs Adams said.
Frances noticed she seemed to age as the words affected her, and she reached out to the old woman. “Don’t continue if it is too hard,” she said gently.
Mrs Adams smiled at Frances. “No, it has to be said; I refuse to see lives wasted when there is no need. I was foolish, and Jenny’s shadow always affected my marriage: it was because of me it affected us; nothing at all to do with what Edward did or said. When he became ill, I realised early on he was not going to recover and had to accept that he was leaving me and returning to Jenny once more. I honestly thought my heart would break at that point.”
“The funny thing was,” she continued. “One day out of the blue Edward turned to me and said no matter how long I lived after he had gone, he would be waiting for me. I was so surprised I just blurted out, ‘but what about Jenny?”
Mrs Adams paused, closing her eyes, thinking of that day. “What about Jenny?” Edward had asked in confusion.
“She will be waiting for you; you will be able to join her after all these years,” the younger Mrs Adams had said, trying to hold back the tears.
“I don’t want to join Jenny,” Edward said quietly, determined that even through his pain, he would make his wife understand.
“But she was the love of your life,” Mrs Adams had responded.
“No, she was the arranged marriage that I didn’t argue against,” Edward said quietly. “I should have stood up to my parents, but I didn’t, and I married someone I didn’t love. Like, yes, but not love.”
“You were devastated when she died,” Mrs Adams said in confusion.
“Yes, I was. I was racked with guilt because I had prayed for an escape, so I could marry the one I did love. Every night I went to bed I prayed that some solution would be found, and I had my prayers answered: she died in childbirth, and I could not face what I had wished for,” Edward said, his face contorted with the pain of the memory. “Can you imagine what it was like to have wished someone dead, including my own child, because I was too naïve to realise death was the only way I would find release? I couldn’t bear it.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Thankfully no one did; I never deserved to be happy again after that: that is what I believed. It took me five years to build up the courage to ask you to marry me; all the time I thought something would go wrong, and you would be taken away from me,” Edward said gently.
“Me?” Mrs Adams whispered, hardly believing what was being said to her.
“Yes! You have been the love of my life, not Jenny. I have blessed each day we have been together and am only sad I have to leave you now,” Edward said, his voice going hoarse.
“But I never felt as if I were good enough,” Mrs Adams said, tears of release finally falling down her cheeks.
“I know, and
I saw your slight reserve as my punishment. I had you, but I would never completely have you because of what I had wished for.”
Mrs Adams paused before continuing. “Edward died days after that conversation, but thankfully for those last few days we were able to tell each other exactly what was in our hearts, and he died more at peace than I had ever seen him,” Mrs Adams finished.
“I am so glad you had those days,” Frances said, trying to discreetly dab her eyes with her handkerchief.
“But what I am saying to you is: don’t waste your life. I have no idea why you would think you aren’t good enough for my son; I certainly think you are. If you don’t love him, don’t marry him; but if you do, don’t miss this opportunity. Grab it with both hands and make each other happy. That is the advice from an aging woman anyway!” Mrs Adams said, starting to shake off the sad note in her voice.
“You are wiser than any of us,” Frances said quietly.
“That’s what comes with age and experience. We have to suffer pain and learn from it in order to grow. I have been through some things in my life that have made me hate to see people kept apart by circumstances when, in reality, they are so well matched there should be no hurdles.”
“Is that why you supported the Duke and Duchess of Sudworth?” Frances asked.
“Yes, and I will continue to interfere as long as there are young, foolish people to entertain and annoy me!” Mrs Adams stood up. “I have been honest with you, but I refuse to pressure you into a decision you do not wish to make; that I will not do. If you have categorically set your mind to refusing Stuart, you will hear nothing on the subject again from me or him. I will respect your decision, whatever it is.”
“Thank you,” Frances said, before leaning over on impulse and kissing the older woman’s cheek.
“Get out with you!” Mrs Adams said, but it was said with a smile. “You always were a gentle soul, that’s why Joan could aim her poison at you to the best effect. I do wish your parents had discouraged the friendship; it was almost like seeing a flower wilt when she spoke to you, she was so disparaging.”
Annabelle: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters' Series Book 2) Page 17
