by Carola Dunn
Then Miriam turned and at once demanded, “What is wrong?”
Isaac went to take her hand. “Your father, my love. He has suffered some kind of seizure.”
“Oh, poor Papa.” Her voice shook. “I must go at once. Can we leave this evening, Isaac?”
“Of course, if you can be ready. I’ll send to the inn for fresh horses.”
“Yes. There are a hundred things to be done before we can go.”
Frank hardly listened. He was watching Roworth’s face, and Roworth was watching Fanny. Frank had seen admiration in those blue eyes before, had seen shared amusement, concern, even warmth. Now he saw a sort of surprised joy, a passionate hope, that looked to him like love.
But Fanny’s attention was on Miriam, and it was no time for declarations. Miriam handed the baby to Fanny and stood up.
“I’d be happy to take care of the children for you,” Fanny offered, disentangling her hair from the baby’s fist.
Miriam turned to her. “Thank you, Fanny dear, but I shall take them with me. I cannot tell how long I shall be gone.” She glanced at Isaac, who nodded. “Fanny, Frank, we had not meant to speak so soon, but Isaac and I have decided we should very much like to adopt Anita.”
“No!” cried Fanny instantly, horrified. “No, it is excessively generous of you, but I cannot give her up.”
“It would make your lives much simpler,” Isaac pointed out in his sober way, “and I believe she would be happy here. Take some time to consider and talk it over.”
“I don’t need to.” Fanny cast a look of frantic appeal at Frank.
Isaac was right: their lives would be easier without Anita. Though Roworth was fond of the little girl, even if he truly loved Fanny, he might well balk at accepting a love-child into his family. If he did not his parents would, and Fanny had enough counts against her already. Rather than let Anita ruin his sister’s hope of happiness, Frank might find himself trying to bring up the child single-handed.
Miriam and Isaac would give her a loving, stable home. Yet if Isaac had logic on his side, Fanny had sentiment on hers.
Frank glanced at Anita, so busy with her sticks and stones and the fallen rose-petals she had collected. As if feeling his gaze, she looked up, beamed, and waved to him, then returned to her game. So many honorary uncles had come and gone in her short life. He and Fanny were her family.
With a somewhat rueful grimace, Frank made up his mind. “It’s not that we don’t think she’d be happy, but her father was my friend and she’s been part of our family pretty much since she was born. It wouldn’t be right to hand her over, even to you, as if she were a foundling.”
“Bravo!” Felix exclaimed, with such heartfelt relief that Frank knew his decision had not harmed Fanny’s chances.
“We expected you to choose to keep her,” said Miriam with approval. “Fanny, Hannah will go with us to London, but you are accustomed to taking care of Anita yourself. If you wish to have a truckle bed for her moved into your chamber, just tell Samuels.”
“But we ought not to remain here when you are gone,” Fanny protested. “I cannot believe it is proper to stay on in one’s hosts’ absence.”
“My dear, pray do not be nonsensical. Where else should you go?”
“I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t seem right.” Frank had to agree, but more to the point, with the Cohens going Roworth had still less excuse to stay at Nettledene. He and Fanny must not be parted before all was settled between them. Frank was prepared to continue to insist on the unsuitability of remaining in the absence of their hosts until his lordship took the hint.
Fanny looked at him, at Anita, and back. “We have no real choice, Frank.”
For a moment Frank feared she had sabotaged his plan, but in fact Roworth seized the opening.
“Yes, you do,” he said nonchalantly. “I’ll take you to Westwood.”
The others were all stunned into silence. Frank, his aim achieved, hid a grin.
After a moment, Miriam said calmly, “An excellent solution. Now I really must go and make arrangements for our departure.” She went into the house.
Following her, Isaac turned on the threshold and said, “If you don’t mind waiting until tomorrow, I shall send back our carriage to take you to Somerset. It’s more comfortable than anything you can hire around here.”
Roworth thanked him, just as Fanny found her voice. “But your family!” she protested. “Lord and Lady Westwood--”
“I told Connie about you and she’s eager to meet you,” Roworth interrupted.
Noting the evasive answer, Frank assumed that the Earl and Countess of Westwood were unlikely to welcome the Ingrams. Too bad. He wasn’t going to let qualms about their reception stand in Fanny’s way.
Unfortunately, Fanny had also noticed Roworth’s evasiveness. “And your parents?” she insisted.
“Any family in England should be proud to welcome a wounded hero of Waterloo.”
“Quite a hero!” said Frank. “Blown up by his own shell.” He grinned. “Come on, Fan, I’m sure Lord and Lady Westwood are too polite to throw us out on our respective ears. Let’s take our chance to see how the nobility lives.”
“Good, that’s settled then,” Roworth said quickly. “Frank, let me help you in. You’ll want to be rested for tomorrow.”
They escaped before Fanny could voice any further objections. As Roworth supported his shaky steps up the stairs, Frank had sudden doubts. Suppose he had misread Roworth’s expression? In that case a visit to Westwood could only prolong Fanny’s misery.
“Was your trip to London successful?” he said. “Am I to wish you happy?”
“Wish me...? Oh, no, I’m not going to marry Lady Sophia.”
So he was right, Frank thought, triumphant. At last Roworth had come to his senses and fallen in love with Fanny. She didn’t know it yet. She was sure to come up with a dozen reasons not to go to Westwood but he’d dismiss every one.
He hoped Connie--Roworth’s sister, he assumed--would prove a friend to Fanny. She sounded less toplofty than Lord and Lady Westwood. If she had half Roworth’s looks, he’d enjoy making her acquaintance. An earl’s daughter was so far beyond his reach, he need think no further than the pleasure of her beauty.
To Westwood they should go.
Chapter 3
“Pssst!”
Startled, Constantia looked round. Her brother lurked beneath the grand staircase, beckoning to her, finger to his lips.
Her mother and their lady guests proceeded towards the drawing-room, oblivious of her defection. Joining him, she whispered, “Felix! I wondered what all the commotion was about. Mama did not say and everyone was much too polite to ask what the butler was muttering to their hostess.”
“I’ve brought guests.” He raised his voice to normal as the door closed behind the last of the visiting ladies. “The Ingrams.”
“Oh Felix, how delightful!” Her smile turned to an anxious frown. “You told me I should never meet them, yet you have brought them to Westwood? What will Mama and Papa say?”
“I hate to think,” he admitted, “and Fanny is terrified. You wouldn’t think someone who has been through innumerable battle campaigns would be afraid of a mere earl and countess. Connie, will you go up now and talk to her, try to put her at her ease? She is in the yellow chamber.”
“Of course, but I must be in the drawing-room before the gentlemen come in or Mama will put me on bread and water.”
“Figuratively, I trust. Don’t worry, I’ll go and keep ‘em circulating the port for at least half an hour.”
He headed for the dining-room, and she hurried up the stairs, her mind a-buzz with speculations. Why had Felix brought the Ingrams to Westwood?
She tapped on the door of the yellow chamber. After a moment the door opened and by the light from the passage she saw a slight young woman in a shabby brown travelling dress. Her face was tired, her dark eyes apprehensive.
“Miss Ingram, I am Constantia Roworth. My broth
er said...” Catching sight of a child sprawled fast asleep on a cot, black hair spread across the pillow, she stopped abruptly, then continued in a lowered voice, “My wretched brother did not say that the little girl is sharing your chamber! I beg your pardon. I hope she will not rouse.”
“No, she is exhausted. Felix--Lord Roworth would never speak so loudly as to wake her, but it would not dawn on a man to warn you.” She smiled and their eyes met in a glance of understanding. “Will you not come in, Lady Constantia?”
She stood aside and Constantia entered the room. Decorated in primrose and white, it was rarely used and so retained its elegance, unfaded and unworn at least by lamp-light, unlike her own chamber.
Seating herself on a low, tapestry-work chair, she gazed with curiosity at Fanny Ingram, who dropped wearily onto the second chair. The first thing that struck her was that Miss Ingram was in her mid-twenties, not in the first flush of youth and by no means a beauty. She had supposed that Felix must have been attracted by her looks before he came to admire her character, but neither face nor figure was anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps she had too hastily jumped to the conclusion that his feelings went beyond friendship.
A hint of challenge in Miss Ingram’s eyes made her realize she was staring. “Welcome to Westwood,” she said quickly. “I am so glad you have come. I only wish Felix had given me a little notice so that I might have prepared properly for your arrival.” She knew perfectly well why he had not: he didn’t want to give their parents any opportunity to veto the visit in advance.
“Has he not explained? He had no chance to warn you. Mrs Cohen’s father was taken suddenly ill and the Cohens departed at once for London.”
“So you found yourselves with nowhere to stay.”
“Oh no, you must not think that they asked us to leave Nettledene. They are quite the most hospitable people in the world. It was Lord Roworth who insisted on bringing us to Westwood and I could not persuade him that we ought not without an invitation from Lady Westwood. If he had not said that you....” She faltered.
“That I would be happy to make your acquaintance? He was quite right. I have longed this age to meet the Cohens, and ever since he told me about his new friends, I have wished to meet you and your brother and the child.”
“My brother!” said Miss Ingram with some asperity. “You may thank him that we are here. Against your brother I might have held out, but Frank supported him. He’d not have done so had he realized how tiring he would find the journey.”
“Captain Ingram is not yet fully recovered?”
“By no means. He...he was very badly hurt. He would have died, I believe, if Lord Roworth had not helped me nurse him, and he might be crippled but for Miriam. I only hope he will continue to exercise properly without her to both urge him on and stop him from overtaxing his strength.”
“Between us, Miss Ingram, we shall make sure he does what is necessary,” said Constantia with fervour. So she was to have a chance to help the gallant captain, after all!
“If you mean to help, I daresay we shall.” A merry, quizzical smile dimpled her cheeks, making her look suddenly younger and exceedingly pretty. “However, though he bowed--with reluctance!--to Miriam’s authority, I believe you and I shall have to resort to coaxing. Remember that Frank is an officer and used to command.”
“Indeed, I should not venture to give him orders, I promise you. Oh dear, I must go. Mama will be wondering why I am not in the drawing-room. I shall send my abigail to you, Miss Ingram. Just tell her if there is anything you need.”
“You are kind, but it is not necessary. I am used to looking after myself.”
“Joan will be glad to help you. Goodnight, Miss Ingram.”
How different the Ingrams’ life had been from anything she could imagine, Constantia reflected as she hurried downstairs. Despite her family’s impecunious circumstances, no one had ever suggested that she should manage without a personal maid. Reaching the hall, she directed a footman to send Joan to the yellow chamber.
To her relief, the gentlemen had not yet joined the ladies in the drawing-room. When they arrived, Felix contrived to snatch a brief tête-à-tête with Constantia.
“Did you see her?”
“Yes, and I like her prodigiously. We talked about her brother--you did not mention that he is still an invalid. I shall do all I can to help the poor, brave young man recover his strength,” she said earnestly.
“You are a sweetheart, Con. That will give me more chance to have Fanny to myself.”
“Oh, Felix, you are in love with her! I half suspected as much when you first told me about her. But what about Lady...?”
She was obliged to defer her curiosity as one of the visitors approached with a request for music. When she looked up from the pianoforte a few minutes later, Felix had seized his chance to slip out of the room.
* * * *
Constantia’s first thought when she woke the next day was that today she would meet Captain Ingram. She donned a cornflower-blue morning gown trimmed with white satin ribbons at the throat, the high waist, and the hem. Then she fetched Miss Ingram from her chamber and together they went down to the breakfast room. Felix was already there. He rose with a smiling greeting for each of them, but Constantia saw that he had eyes only for Fanny Ingram, who smiled back at him with a sparkle in her brown eyes.
“Lord Roworth,” she said gaily, “how is it you never told me what jewels you have for sisters? Lady Victoria has taken Anita to the nursery for breakfast, while Lady Constantia lent me her abigail and would not let me come down alone.”
“I was prepared to make my breakfast last until you appeared, Miss Ingram,” he assured her.
“I did not know you would be here already,” Constantia said, giving him a look that demanded last night’s postponed explanations at no very distant time. “The customs of a strange house can be sadly confusing. Miss Ingram, come and help yourself from the sideboard. We are informal at breakfast.”
“Informal? Do Lord and Lady Westwood not come down to breakfast?” she asked hopefully.
“In general Mama does not, but today they both will, because we have guests.”
Miss Ingram promptly lost her appetite, but Felix filled a plate for her. He seated her and set about distracting her from her fears.
“I’ve told Connie how you taught Henriette to make a proper English breakfast.”
“I always tried to give Frank a good breakfast, since one could never be sure what the day would bring. Poor Henriette! She was growing very fond of Hoskins when he had to return to the battery. Corporal Hoskins was my brother’s batman, Lady Constantia, his personal servant. He helped me nurse Frank when he was first wounded. I wonder where he is now.”
“He may have been discharged from the army by now,” said Felix. “By the way, I don’t believe I’ve told either of you that I gave Mr Rothschild my resignation.”
Constantia clapped her hands. “Oh, splendid, Felix. Was he dismayed to lose you?”
He grinned. “Not precisely dismayed, though he was kind enough to say that he rates my abilities highly. He’s an odd, dour chap, but I like him and I’ll call on him whenever I’m in Town. I witnessed the most singular incident when last I saw him. He was writing in his ledger when the Duke of Oxshott burst unannounced into his private office and started berating him for some offense committed by the chief clerk.
“‘Take a chair,’ says Rothschild, as cool as you please, writing on.
“Bellowing, ‘Do you know who I am, sir?’ the duke tosses his card on the desk and starts to recite his lineage in a voice fit for the battlefield.
“Rothschild glances at the card. ‘Take two chairs,’ he says.”
Constantia and Fanny Ingram laughed. “A quick wit,” said Miss Ingram with her merry smile.
“I was afraid the duke was going to have an apoplexy,” Felix went on. “He was purple in the face, with popping eyes and his mouth opening and closing silently like some exotic fish. I left in a hurry bef
ore...Oh, good morning, sir.” He jumped to his feet as Lord Westwood came in. “I’d like to present Miss Ingram.”
The merriment vanished from her suddenly pale face.
“Miss Ingram.” The earl nodded, no affability softening his aristocratic features.
Though Constantia had not really expected her father to offer a cordial welcome, she was mortified by his coldness. She admired Miss Ingram’s composure as she responded.
“How do you do, my lord.”
“Pray do not let me interrupt your meal, ma’am. I trust you have been made comfortable?” The polite enquiry was uttered in a tone of absolute indifference.
“Thank you, sir, very comfortable.” She toyed with the remains of her breakfast while Lord Westwood helped himself at the sideboard.
Felix, his mouth tight, addressed his father. “I hope to make Miss Ingram’s brother known to you later, sir, if he is well enough to come down. Their little ward, Anita, is in the nursery.”
“Captain Ingram fought at Waterloo, Papa,” Constantia put in boldly.
“Indeed. Which regiment, Miss Ingram?” The earl joined them at the table.
“The Artillery, sir.”
His eyebrows rose and he cast a piercing glance at Felix. Constantia guessed that the Artillery was not a distinguished branch of the army. Felix had once wanted to join the Life Guards, she recalled. Captain Ingram’s regiment must indicate his lack of noble connexions.
Her brother seemed unaffected by his father’s censorious stare. “Frank Ingram was wounded at Quatre Bras, sir,” he said calmly. “Shall I ring for fresh coffee?”
The butler and a footman were replenishing coffee, tea, and chocolate pots when Lady Westwood entered with her noble guests. Felix presented Miss Ingram, who was received with cool courtesy. In the confusion as the new arrivals were served and seated, he and Constantia abstracted her from the room.
“I must see Anita and Frank,” she said as the breakfast room door closed behind them.
