Francie & the Bachelor: A Caversham-Haberdasher Crossover

by Sue London

  After their kiss they stared at each other. He gently stroked her cheek while she wound her fingers in his hair. She thought he would pull away, but they stayed just so for long minutes, as though wanting this time to become forever.

  His face scrunched in thought. “I just realized, I’d best be careful buying you an ice this early in the year. You might turn into an ice sculpture.”

  She laughed. “True enough, but why would you buy me an ice?”

  “You’ve never had an ice?” He looked genuinely surprised. “The ice is shaved and flavor poured on. You’ve not lived until you’ve had a lemon ice.”

  “That sounds horrible!”

  His voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. “I have so much to teach you.” He kissed the side of her throat and it felt surprisingly good. A bit ticklish, but thrilling. She tipped her head and he took her unspoken invitation, kissing and nibbling his way down to her collarbone.

  Yet again her mind railed at her to open her mouth and tell him that she loved him. That she wanted to go with him to Bermuda. That she would even eat his disgusting ice treats simply because he liked them. His tongue dipped into the hollow of her throat and it felt so good she squirmed. Bloody hell, she might lie and tell him she liked the ices too if he would keep doing that.

  He rested his head on her shoulder and gave a weary sigh. “You are an irresistible temptation.”

  “How do I rate against ices,” she teased.

  That, apparently, required a serious answer because he drew back to look down at her. “I would eschew ever having another ice in my life if I could have you.”

  Her heart bloomed. But what did he mean? Have her forever? Or have her once? Was she simply a sexual temptation to him? Should she stop being so bold in her attentions? Once he ‘had’ her would his interest wane?

  He drew back further, making her realize she’d sunk down rather bonelessly on the bench when they had been kissing. She straightened herself and he went back to simply holding her hand.

  “But,” he said, “it would be unforgivable if I returned you to your uncle completely compromised. If we were to,” he paused as though searching for words, “stay together after this, I wouldn’t want it to be because you were forced by society.”

  She looked at their joined hands. He was the very definition of a gentleman. It wasn’t just that he stood when a lady entered the room. He had an underlying decency to him. She wasn’t sure if it was bred or trained, or simply a blessing from the heavens. It made her feel strangely weepy to think that such a wonderful man might be considering marriage to her.

  Patting their joined hands she said. “I won’t make you give up ices.” After a pause she added. “Even though they sound horrid.”

  He laughed and squeezed her hand. “You’ll see.”

  She looked out the window again to watch the landscape speeding by. It had been ages since she’d ridden in a carriage, and even then it had been a cramped mail coach with Mama. She tried not to hold Reggie’s advantages against him, but he clearly had sufficient funds to simply hire a private coach whenever he wanted, rather than agonize over the coach schedules and prices as she’d remembered her mother doing. He was wonderful and wealthy and she was simply poor little Francine Walters. Why would he ever want to marry her?

  ***

  Once at the port Reggie distracted himself with activity again. He procured rooms at one of the finer inns and went to talk to the port master about what ship they might take to London soon. It was a blessing they could travel on a Navy boat because he’d already papered the north with his debts at this point. He’d never billed so many things to his father’s name in his life. Most young bucks ran afoul of that mistake in the gaming hells of London, but for Reggie it had taken a viper tongued maiden in distress. He would undoubtedly hear about it, from both father and Jeremy. But he had no regrets, even if he had to pay it off from his Navy salary for the rest of his life. Francie seemed pleased and curious about everything. When he left her at the inn she’d been inspected the seams on the draperies and exclaiming they were better than on many dresses she’d seen.

  The path forward seemed very clear. Take her to London. Meet her family. Have her meet his family. Propose. What could be simpler? The challenge, of course, was not bedding her like a doxie in the meantime. They had separate rooms tonight as he wasn’t as concerned that those infernal ruffians had followed them here. However, that Mr. Donovan could expect some complaints from the Burnham family. Among the greater debt Reggie had incurred was assuring Francie’s landlord that anything she was liable for in the building, the Burnhams would pay for. But if the landlord did see fit to charge them anything for the fire then he would bloody well beat it out of Donovan’s hide.

  He ran up the plush, carpeted steps of the inn and knocked on her door.

  “Who is it?” She sounded suspicious.

  “Mr. Burnham,” he responded.

  “Oh,” she said, close to the door. “I’m not sure I know a Mr. Burnham. Could you describe him to me?”

  He put his hands on the door frame. “Francie.”

  “Too familiar, sir! But perhaps I do know him. Does he have dark, wavy hair?”

  He sighed. “Yes.”

  “And amber eyes, I think?”

  “Yes, Francie. Please open the door, you little witch.”

  “And is he very easily frustrated?”

  If he growled in reaction that would only prove her point. He rolled his eyes and leaned against the frame, unsure how long this was going to last. “Not by his beloved.”

  The door opened a crack. “Who is she? I’ve not heard of her.”

  He entered and kicked the door closed behind him, cradling her face in his hands. “You’re only wearing a robe.”

  “That’s why I needed to keep unsavory men out of my room.”

  She looked impudent and beautiful and seductive all at once. “I came to tell you something but I can’t remember what it is now.”

  “The name of your beloved?”

  ‘You already know her name.”

  The hopeful smile she gave him made his gut churn. He shouldn’t be so indirect, he should just tell her. He kissed her instead. She responded with enthusiasm, wrapping her arms around his neck. The robe was so thin he might as well be touching her bare skin. He felt the flare of her waist to her hip, the fullness of her bottom.

  He pulled away and tried to bring his breathing under control again. “We need to get you some clothes.”

  “I could make some-”

  “There is a ship we can take in three days. Ready made would be best.”

  “I’m not sure I could afford that,” she admitted.

  He kissed her hand and realized she wasn’t wearing her gloves. “Let me treat you.” If he couldn’t tell her that he loved her, then certainly he could show her.

  “How can I repay you?”

  He wished he could say his first thought was her hand in marriage, but the truth was his thoughts turned far more carnal. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “There is no need.”

  That made her frown rather than be delighted by his largesse. Technically his father’s largesse, but why quibble about it right now?

  “Doesn’t that make me a bought woman?”

  “I, er, no,” Reggie tried to catch up to her thinking. “Where I grew up a man buys things for a woman.”

  She withdrew her hand. “A man only buys things for two women. His wife and his mistress. We aren’t married.”

  Her pronouncement shot his patience. “Oh bloody hell, Francie. Now you turn missish? You know bloody well you’re not my mistress.”

  “Am I not?”

  “No,” he growled. He looked her up and down in her thin robe. “Not that you haven’t tried to become so.”

  She wrapped her arms protectively around herself but had no waspish answer for that.

  He threw his arms up in exasperation and left. If he slammed her door a bit, it was no less than she deserved.

 
Chapter Twenty

  Oh, for the love of God, what had she done now? She’d let her fears control her tongue, throwing his generosity in his face. Why? Simply because her poverty made her feel unworthy? Or because she did fear that she was only likely to be a mistress to him? He wasn’t wrong. She had been throwing herself at him at every opportunity. What was he supposed to think of her behavior? A man of his class expected a woman to be respectable. And honestly, the rules were even stricter in the merchant class that she had lived in for so long. She was the granddaughter of a minister for goodness sakes. Had she lost all propriety?

  But the truth was that nothing else seemed to matter when he was near. She wanted to be with him, much as a moth was helpless against the flame. But in her fears she’d destroyed the gentleness between them. If she told him she loved him now would he just assume she was angling to be elevated from mistress to wife? Oh, why did everything have to be so complicated! It made her yearn for a moment for simpler times. When it was just she and Mama sewing dresses for the local women. When her problems were things like finding the precise color of thread to use with a new fabric. Now she felt abject misery because she couldn’t tell Reggie how she really felt.

  Her misery continued unabated the whole of their stay at the inn. Her meals were sent to her room, as was a delivery of clothing. Everything a lady might need, all packed in delicate tissue paper. Running her finger over a silken chemise she wondered if Reggie had picked it out himself, or simply walked into a shop, gave them her general dimensions, and asked for whatever she might need. Most likely the latter.

  But he didn’t visit her at all, not even to tell her precisely when they were leaving. He’d even thought to have a valise sent up to her, so she set to packing everything away that she wouldn’t be wearing. There was a new pair of half-boots and a pair of dancing slippers. She packed both, choosing to wear her old half-boots for travel. Five chemise, each light as a gossamer wing. Four dresses. Three in different shades of blue, and one a soft brown. After much debate she chose to keep out the navy blue, as it was the heaviest fabric and would stand up to travel well. Five pairs of gloves, one that matched each dress and one white. She matched the gloves to the dress. Five pair of stockings, all made from soft wool. He’d not want to hear about her cold feet it seemed. A practical bonnet with ribbons to match each dress. And last but not least, a soft wool pelisse in a powder blue color. Celestial blue. It had been all the rage in the fashion plates last year, and it was almost precisely the color of her eyes.

  Before she packed she had her bounty spread out over the bed. As a seamstress she had a fair idea the value of what was spread out before her. The cost, in hours of sewing, as well. It was worth more pounds than she’d ever seen in one place, that was for certain. As she packed her extra clothing away she lectured herself. Be grateful. Don’t snipe at the man, he is only trying to help you. He said he doesn’t mean to make you his mistress. If he wants to give you these things, that isn’t for you to question.

  When the third day dawned she was up early, dressed and ready. A knock sounded at the door and she opened it with as bright a smile as she could summon. A man she didn’t recognize stood on the other side wearing a burgundy uniform.

  “Take your bag, ma’am?”

  “Oh. Yes. Did Mr. Burnham send you?”

  “Indeed he did, Mrs. Burnham.” The man retrieved her valise. “Anything else, ma’am?”

  She looked around the plush little room where she’d lingered. “No. Nothing else.”

  Not sure what to do, she followed the little man down the steps and outside the inn. If this were some sort of trap she was walking right into it. She’d even packed her pistol in the valise! The little man handed her up into a carriage. Reggie wasn’t there. She didn’t really trust this at all, but didn’t know who to complain to. Had he told the staff of the inn that she was his wife? Or was that just a clever ploy from someone trying to abduct her? She wished she’d asked for her valise to be in the cabin with her, rather than thrown up top with the driver.

  Peering out the window she could see that they were drawing close to the docks. That, at least, seemed promising. Or she hoped it did. What if she were to be abducted onto a ship? On the one hand she felt a total fool for thinking such a thing, but on the other her heart was in her throat as she considered it. She would never see Reggie or her cousins again! Even contemplating such a thing made it clear how silly she had been to let her own fears keep her from enjoying what she did have. Bloody hell, if she made it out of this she wouldn’t even complain if Reggie asked her to be his mistress! That made her smile. She’d say no, but she wouldn’t complain!

  The carriage rolled to a stop and the driver jumped down. When he opened the door and set down the steps she stopped on the top one. She’d never been to a port before. The ships were huge. Paintings she’d seen of them did no justice. They squatted in their moorings like angry trolls, creaking and clacking in the shifting wind and water. They were spellbinding.

  The driver held his hand up for her to take. “Miss?”

  She walked down the steps still captivated by the tall masts and broad beams. She wanted to run up on the decks and explore every one of them. Before, boats and the sea had just been stories to her. Stories she’d loved, but stories nonetheless. She couldn’t help the giddiness that overwhelmed her upon seeing them. The driver set her valise at her feet, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the ships.

  “You’re to go to the HMS Lightning, ma’am.” He pointed. “Just over there.”

  Compared to the hulks around it, the Lightning was a tiny boat. Short rigging and sleek as a cat. Hopefully what she lacked in mass she made up for in speed. Francie picked up the valise and walked toward her destination, gawking at the larger ships along the way. She heard boots running in her direction but could barely tear her gaze away from a mast where a man was climbing up to the crow’s nest, sure as a monkey. Once the man was safely to the top she looked over to see it was Reggie who’d hurried to her. He’d stopped a good five feet away and was wearing a uniform. He looked wildly handsome and she was tempted to run up an embrace him. Instead, she stayed still, one hand on her valise and the other on her bonnet to keep it from flopping too wildly in the shore breeze.

  “You’re here earlier than I expected,” he said. She had a hard time reading his expression, as though he were trying to gauge hers before he reacted. She smiled at him and he smiled back.

  She looked up at the masts again. “Reggie, this is wonderful.”

  “You like it?”

  “Yes, I love it.”

  “Let me take your bag.” He stepped close enough to retrieve her valise. She regretted her gloves, as she wasn’t able to feel the warmth of his hand before he took the case. But she felt a reaction to his touch anyway. She smiled up at him and fell into step as he led the way to their ship. She loved the wind and the salt tang to the air and the ships looming over them. Almost as much as she loved this man beside her.

  ***

  Reggie glanced over at Francie again. She seemed happy looking at all the boats, exclaiming about a detail from time to time. Once, she grabbed his arm in excitement and he’d felt a lurch in his heart. He’d missed her. Terribly. When she’d said she loved seeing all the ships in the port he’d almost responded that was good because they would live at a port for the foreseeable future. But he shouldn’t assume that she would marry him and follow him to Irish Island.

  He’d not known entirely what to make of her insistence that he was treating her like a mistress. At first he’d been outraged. He’d struggled to treat her with utmost respect when life seemed hellbent to keep them in close quarters. Then he realized that perhaps he wasn’t being entirely fair. From her perspective their entire affair had to seem quite precarious. In barely more than a week she’d gone from not knowing him to becoming almost entirely dependent on him. Were he in her shoes he would undoubtedly wonder about the intentions of his protector. Especially as those intentions had not be
en made at all clear.

  Although tempted to respect her wishes by not purchasing clothes for her, he knew that she truly needed them. So he’d sent the clothes and ensured that he not press her for her attentions by avoiding her altogether. It hadn’t been difficult to do as the Lightning needed hands to get her up to speed before she sailed to London one last time. He’d spent very little time at the inn after they quarreled, spending his time instead helping the crew here.

  She looked damned fine this morning, having dressed in the dark blue. It made her delicate complexion glow like the moon at night. Her flaxen hair was caught up in a twist at the nape of her neck, a more sophisticated style than she typically wore. He wondered if the dress made her feel that way. She was beautiful in anything, a fact he’d firmly established the night they’d been bedraggled from fighting the fire. But she was even more beautiful like this. He couldn’t wait to stroll London with her on his arm. It felt like sort of vindication for everything else he’d been through.

  Provided, of course, that he could convince her to stay. That she didn’t balk at his proposal or plans.

  He walked her up the gangplank. “Permission to board with the lady, Captain.”

  “Permission granted.” The captain bowed slightly over her hand. “Miss Walters.”

  “Captain,” she said gravely, but Reggie could hear the impending giggle in her voice.

  The captain turned to him. “Your fiancée is even more beautiful than you said, Burnham. Capital work.”

  Reggie waited until the captain walked away before turning to Francie with an apologetic shrug. “I thought it best for your reputation,” he confided.

  She looked up at him with the expression that told him he was about to be skewered. “I knew you were autocratic, Burnham, but thought to be present at my own proposal.”

  He stepped closer a hand on her arm, and whispered. “I’ll make it up to you.” He felt her tremble under his touch. She was not yet immune to him!