by Fran Baker
A moan escaped her, and she gradually let her hands fall from her face. Knowing the full extent of their indebtedness to Sir Thomas changed nothing. Nothing! She would still free Mary and somehow retrieve Papa’s vowels from the baronet, even if she herself had to make a market marriage to do it. Her sister might view Sir Thomas as a noble, generous man, but Francie knew better, and she would se them all in debtor’s gaol before she’d permit him to take control of her family.
She marched out of the room, more than ever determined to untangle the web Sir Thomas had bound around her family.
* * * *
Thus it was that Miss Hampton smiled graciously at Mr. Frederick Harvey and offered him a second cup of tea that afternoon. As she poured, she watched Mary through lowered lashes and was satisfied. The rosebuds blooming on her sister’s cheeks, the sparkle shining in her pastel eyes, convinced Francie anew that her plan was sound.
Handing the porcelain cup back to Mr. Harvey, she said warmly, “It is commendable of you, sir, to be carrying the expense of your younger brothers’ schooling. I admire your generosity.”
The gentleman reddened and said abruptly, “It is only what every man in my position would do, Miss Hampton. There is no need for your admiration, I assure you.”
“Oh, but far too many would shirk their duty, sir,” she returned, leaning forward in her enthusiasm and continuing earnestly. “That you are not puffed up with your charity only makes you the more worthy.”
Mr. Harvey shifted uncomfortably. Mary stared at the hands clenched together in her lap. Francie made a great show of looking at the bronze clock on the mantelpiece, then exclaimed, “Oh, my, it is past three o’clock, and I have yet to inspect the supper menu with Mrs. Brown!” She stood as she spoke and moved rapidly toward the door. “I shan’t be but a moment, if you both will excuse me.”
“It was time I was taking my leave in any case,” said Mr. Harvey. He had properly risen with Francie and now set his cup on the table beside his chair. “I must thank you—”
Mentally grinding her teeth, Francie smiled and cut in, “No, no, Mr. Harvey. Do stay and keep Mary company whilst I am gone. I assure you I shall return more quickly than takes time to tell.”
“But of course I must go,” he persisted. “I could not possibly remain alone with Miss Mary.” He bowed stiffly before Mary as he bid her good day, then moved to do the same before Francie.
Admirably restraining her utmost desire to grab him by his collar and march him back to his chair, Francie gave him her hand and said, “You are so good, sir, to take such care with my sister’s name. But I shall let you go only upon receipt of your promise to call upon me tomorrow. We could perhaps go for an outing in the Park.”
“Uh—well—of course,” agreed the clearly befuddled man.
“Good. I shall see you tomorrow, then. Shall we say at four?”
It was apparent that Mr. Harvey thought her a shocking flirt. His distaste for her boldness was stamped plain upon his face, but he nodded and gratefully took back his hand. Francie opened the door for him, knowing she was further distressing his sensibilities, and waved him out, then turned to note a deep sorrow cross Mary’s round face.
As if she did not see it, Francie said brightly, “Well, Mr. Harvey is certainly an estimable man. I quite understand why you like him as you do, Mary.”
“You do?” her sister queried in a ghostly tone.
“Oh, yes. He is the most worthy gentleman of my acquaintance,” she said with simple truth. “It is a pity, is it not, that he may be doomed to bachelorhood? I am assured that no man could make a more excellent husband than Mr. Harvey.”
“You are?” Mary responded in that same lifeless voice.
“Indubitably,” Francie pronounced as she stepped from the room.
Making her way back to the kitchens, she sighed as if the weight of the world was upon her. Her task was obviously going to be burdened by the lack of complicity on the part of the lovers-to-be. If only, she thought with a spurt of resentment, Mr. Harvey weren’t so very conventional! He could do with a little of Sir Thomas’s rakish attitudes. Then her problems would be solved, for the baronet would not worry over such dull matters as a woman’s reputation. Oh, no, he would grasp every opportunity presented to be alone with the woman he loved.
With such a thought in mind, she decided on the dinner menu.
* * * *
When Mr. Harvey duly arrived the next day, Francie was in better spirits. She had chosen her very best day dress for the outing, a jaconet muslin with a deep flounce and a high ruff of a pale sea-green that softened the color of her eyes and deepened the red of her hair. Over this she had had to drape her dull drabcloth pelisse, but as the April weather had not yet warmed sufficiently for her to do otherwise, Francie gave in to practicality. Bonneted and ready to set out, with her hand resting lightly on Mr. Harvey’s arm, she turned to take leave of her mother, who was lounging on the frayed sofa in the morning room.
Mary made a sudden appearance in the morning room.
Francie couldn’t have been more delighted. “Oh, Mary, dear, you are just in time to say good day to Mr. Harvey. We are to stroll through the Park, you know.”
“Yes,” Mary said coolly. Without so much as a glance at her sister, she nodded in the caller’s direction. “Good day, Mr. Harvey.”
The befuddled Mr. Harvey nodded his acknowledgement.
Francie smiled inwardly at her sister’s obvious jealousy. If only the silly chit would realize what that jealousy meant! Taking pity on her at last, Francie paused in the threshold, turning slightly. “If you are not engaged for the afternoon, Mary, why not come with us? You would enjoy the fresh air, and I’m certain Mr. Harvey would not object. Would you, sir?”
“Not in the least,” he agreed promptly.
Mary’s face lit up with sudden eagerness. “Oh, I should like that above all things!” She glanced with dismay at her mother. “That is, if you don’t mind being left alone, Mama.”
Mrs. Hampton yawned obligingly. “Not at all. I’ve just been thinking how much I should enjoy a little cat-nap.”
Before the last word was out, Mary was dashing past them with a promise not to keep them waiting overlong. Smiling tenderly at her sister’s ardent acceptance of her plans, her hand still in possession of Mr. Harvey’s arm, Francie glanced up to discover herself staring at Sir Thomas Spencer.
Looking over his shoulder as if to discover from when he had materialized, she glimpsed James, who gave her an apologetic expression. She dismissed the elderly servant with a wordless nod, then reluctantly dragged her gaze back to the baronet’s face.
His brows lifted as he moved his gaze with meaningful deliberation from Francie’s hand to her face. Feeling inexplicably guilty, she removed her hand from Mr. Harvey’s sleeve as if it had suddenly scorched her. Then she scowled at the triumphant satisfaction on Sir Thomas’s features and strove not to compare the elegant turn-out of his black claw-hammer coat and dove-gray pantaloons with Mr. Harvey’s nondescript frock coat and trousers. She returned her regard to the less fortunate of the two gentlemen and bestowed upon him a dazzling smile.
“Sir Thomas, do come in,” Mrs. Hampton bade. As he strolled forth to bend over her extended hand, she added, “Our dear Mary was about to accompany Frances and Mr. Hartley—”
“Harvey,” Francie interjected peevishly.
“Ah, yes,” agreed her mother with a nod. “But now that you have come, she will, of course, wish to stay.”
Entering the room in time to hear her mother’s pronouncement, Mary’s happy smile faded, and her blue eyes went black with disappointment. Her figure, becomingly covered in a lemon-yellow cloth pelisse caped in the latest fashion, sagged visibly. “G-good day, Sir Thomas,” she stammered breathlessly. “I—I did not expect to see you this afternoon.”
Sensing the sudden stiffening in Mr. Harvey’s stance and heartily wishing Sir Thomas to the devil, Francie stretched her lips in a tight smile and again bid her mother good
day. She extended her gloved hand to retake Mr. Harvey’s arm, but it hung in midair at the sound of the baronet’s smooth voice.
“But why do we not all go together?” he suggested. “Fortunately I’ve come in my phaeton, which has more than enough room for the four of us.”
“Oh, yes,” Mary instantly concurred, while Mr. Harvey nodded his silent endorsement. “That is a lovely notion, Sir Thomas.”
Francie thought it something less than lovely, but being a lady, she refrained from expressing her view. Instead, she contented herself with a heated glare thrust over her shoulder before casting her companion a warm look in hopes of gaining his support. “If, that is, you should care to ride, Mr. Harvey.”
Mr. Harvey, however, asserted his readiness to ride, and the four then took their leave of Mrs. Hampton.
Throughout the short drive to Hyde Park, Francie more than made up for the silence of the other three with her effervescent chatter. She leaned close to Mr. Harvey, who slid as near to the edge of the carriage seat as possible, and she gaily informed them all of her views on Lord Liverpool’s handling of the government, on the latest episode in l’affaire Byron, on, in fact, whatever came into her head. By the time the phaeton turned onto the tree-lined row of the park promenade, her sister was looking at her with something akin to animosity, while Mr. Harvey resembled a man riding in a tumbrel on his way to the guillotine. Only Sir Thomas remained affable as he smiled at her with an open amusement that set Francie’s teeth on edge.
Bidding his driver to stop the carriage, the baronet offered his opinion that the day had been made for taking a stroll, and he descended without awaiting any other view to be expressed. He held his hand out for Mary to step down, then repeated the action for a coldly receptive Francie. No sooner had her feet touched the ground than Sir Thomas was tucking her hand under his arm and setting forth, leaving Mr. Harvey to escort Mary. As this was the very thing she most wanted, Francie’s protest died on her lips. She walked with her back staunchly erect, her gaze settled firmly on the path before her.
“Do you mean to give me the go-by for the whole of our lives, Miss Hampton?” Sir Thomas inquired with interest. “Or merely for the rest of the day?”
“You must not speak such foolishness, Sir Thomas.” Francie’s voice dripped with acid. “I have not refused to recognize you. You must think me very ill-bred, indeed, to suggest such a thing.”
The look she shot from beneath the brim of her bonnet told him precisely who she thought ill-bred, but with a low chuckle Sir Thomas denied any such notion. “Come, Miss Hampton, I thought we had agreed not to deal one another further blows. I admit to my boorish behavior, and I beg that you will once again have the graciousness to forgive my ill temper on the last occasion that we met.”
His manner suggested a levity that Francie considered wholly misplaced, but she failed to maintain her resentment. With a sigh of resignation she bowed her head in a grand gesture of forgiveness.
“Ah, that’s better,” the baronet said jovially. “Now I desired to walk with you, my dear, so that we might discuss a matter of some delicacy.”
Her head whipped round, renewed hostility glinting in her emerald eyes.
“Don’t fly up into the boughs, Francie. I meant only that I wish to ask your opinion what I should select as a betrothment gift for Mary.”
Embarrassment tinted Francie’s face a becoming pink. “Oh. Well. I am certain you know best what sort of gift to select. After all,” she added waspishly, “you’ve had years of experience at that sort of thing.”
At first he did not comment, and Francie chanced a glimpse up at him just as he happened to look down at her. Their eyes met and held for a breathless moment. But the fierce brilliance in his blue gaze disconcerted Francie, compelling her to turn away.
“You must take care, my dear,” Sir Thomas chided in a mild voice. “You’ve acquired quite an adder’s tongue over the last three years. It wouldn’t do to set people’s backs up with your caustic remarks.”
His rebuke stunned Francie. Her sister had accused her of being harsh and cruel, and now he again reproached her as a shrew! Had she indeed become so embittered? She felt a hot flush spread up her neck and over her face and bent her head penitently.
“Miss Mary is quite . . . young,” the baronet continued gently, “and I would greatly value your opinion on the matter of a gift.”
“I—Mary has little jewelry. Nothing ornate, mind you, but something simple, elegant,” Francie said. “Perhaps a strand of pearls or a single diamond pendant. You know the sort of piece.”
“Yes, thank you.”
They continued to stroll along wordlessly, the breeze occasionally presenting them with the sound of the conversation occurring behind them, neither looking at the other. For Francie, it was a bittersweet reminder of walks they had shared in the past, and she searched her mind frantically for a way to erase such memories from her thoughts. Unexpectedly the baronet came to her rescue by making several unexceptional observations on the weather. Then Sir Thomas calmly presented her with a question that made her stop in her tracks.
“What did you say?” she demanded.
He took her elbow and propelled her further down the path. “I asked you, my dear, just what this fellow Harvey means to you?”
Stopping yet again, Francie could only stand and stare at him in disbelief. She had no answer to such a question. It was so unexpected, so absurd. Sir Thomas’s face was expressionless, almost immobile, and his lids shuttered his eyes from her inspection. Without the least idea as to the reason behind his question, she said defensively, “I’m sure it’s no business of yours, sir, what I think of Mr. Harvey or anyone else.”
“I’m sure it’s not,” Sir Thomas agreed, again taking her arm and moving forward. “I thought perhaps you might confide in me.”
“You!” she exclaimed in surprise.
A wry twist of his lips met this eruption. “As your friend, Francie, as well as a future member of your family. Now, before you present me with your views on my ineligibility to both states, let me tell you that, whatever has happened between us in the past, whatever will happen in the future, I shall always stand your friend, whether wish it or no.”
An unwonted prickling stung her eyes, and Francie looked away, staring into the distance at gorgeous equipages driven by bewigged coachmen and filled with celebrated beauties and dandies which were beginning to fill the paths of the Park as the Fashionable Hour approached. What could Sir Thomas mean by this? she asked herself and received no answer. She tried to concentrate on the budding leaves of the trees, but all she could think of was the caressing tone in which Sir Thomas had declared himself her friend.
She was not allowed to indulge further in her reflections. A gentleman mounted on a long-tailed gray horse hailed their party as he drew up. In one smooth motion, Lord Coombs dismounted and bowed to both ladies.
“Your servant,” he said, running belligerent brown eyes over the baronet before turning back to present Miss Hampton with a smile full of unmistakable yearning. “The Fates are kind indeed to bequeath upon me this chance meeting.”
“Thank you, my lord, for quite the prettiest compliment I’ve ever received,” Francie responded with a laugh that sounded for all the world like a coquette’s promise.
The lanky viscount beamed, then was distracted by the restive tugging of his horse. Grasping the reins, he ventured solemnly, “I do trust, Miss Hampton, that we shall be seeing you at Drury Lane this week. In fact, I would be honored if you would occupy my box there this Friday next.”
“How thoughtful, Lord Coombs.” Francie ignored the frown Sir Thomas cast upon her. This was a prime opportunity, indeed, and she bestowed her prettiest smile upon the viscount as she went on. “I am certain we are all grateful to you. We shall be happy to accept your kind offer, shan’t we?”
She turned to include her entire party in her acceptance while his lordship strove to conceal his displeasure at this unexpected amplification of his inv
itation. His horse stirred again, sending his arm jerking upward and, with a gesture of impatient apology, he bid them all good afternoon and remounted. Happily watching him ride off, Francie began planning precisely how she would arrange the seating in the theater box to best accommodate her plans for Mary and Mr. Harvey. In her abstraction, she ignored the speculative eye the baronet ran over her and the disapproval in her sister’s face.
Strolling back toward their phaeton, nodding graciously to acquaintances she met along the way, Francie turned over in her mind just which gown suited Mary to perfection, just how she would require Mr. Harvey to escort Mary during the intermission. She studied the pair now walking before her and decided that they were much better suited all round—why, Mary would look positively ridiculous beside the tall baronet! This gratifying observation deepened the satisfied curve to her lips.
Francie snapped out of her brown study to discover that her steps had slowed and that the pair walking ahead had somehow increased the distance between them. The hand at her elbow explained the cause for this, but not the reason. She halted altogether to fix a questioning look upon Sir Thomas.
He seemed to hesitate. Then, with an imperceptible shrug, he remarked almost casually, “The young viscount is in a fair way to being besotted with you, Miss Hampton.”
His statement amused her. It had been such a long time since she had been the object of masculine adoration that Francie couldn’t help but respond to it. “Yes, I know,” she agreed with a hint of smug contentment in her voice.
Sir Thomas’s heavy brows snapped together. “He is but a halfling, Francie. He’s scarcely out of leading strings!”
“Lord Coombs,” she rejoined in biting tones, “is somewhat older than Mary, yet no one objects to your alliance with her.”
