by Sue London
A dour faced butler answered the door. “Yes?” It was the sort of tone that told you he would much rather say no. Reggie knew he wasn’t looking his best, but he drew himself up to his full height and used every ounce of his training and breeding to bend the butler to his will.
“Reginald Burnham, son of Viscount Goldshire, and Miss Francie Walters.”
He felt more than saw her turn her head toward him. He’d not quite covered the son of a viscount topic yet. The butler stepped back, as he’d expected, ushering them into the home. And it was, quite clearly, a home. Although far from the fanciest townhouse he’d visited in London, it was one of the few that made him feel immediately welcomed. Unlike its resident butler.
“This way, sir, ma’am.” Doors were opened to a front parlor and they were left without instruction.
He looked over at Francie and she shrugged, then mouthed ‘Viscount Goldshire?’ He patted her hand. “I’ll explain later.”
“Oh yes,” she said. “Oh yes you will.”
Just then the door to the parlor was pushed open by a swirling ball of energy wrapped in a pale blue morning dress and topped with golden curls. “Francie!”
“Sam!”
The two girls embraced. They could be sisters. On a quick glance one might not be able to tell one from the other.
“You’ve grown up!” Francie said.
“As have you!” The blond cousin acknowledged his presence in the room with a quick curtsy. “Sir.”
Francie’s attention was drawn to the doorway and Reggie realized this must be the aunt and uncle. His sweet Francie’s face crumpled a bit and she ran into their arms like a lost daughter. She did have family. Real family. He had some regrets that he’d not followed his original plan, as Walters deserved to have some say over his impetuous niece’s marriage. But on the other hand, if Walters didn’t agree to the match then Reggie would just have to steal her and take her to Scotland, because he refused to consider a future without her.
The resident Miss Walters appeared at his elbow. “And you are?” she asked archly.
“Reginald Burnham.”
“Not your name, sir. We already have that.”
“I, well. I need to talk to your father.”
Mr. Walters broke away from the family embrace to greet him. “Burnham.”
“Walters.” Reggie executed an appropriate bow.
“Thank you for bringing Francie home to us.” Reggie was excellent at ton subtext and Walters was gently inviting him to get the hell out. He was a spare man, Francie’s uncle. He looked worn and homey, rather like the rugs and drapes, as though they’d all been here happily rusticating together while the wilder parts of London pursued foolish garishness. Reggie calculated his odds. Did he insist on talking to Walters now, potentially alienating the man because he’d not had a chance to ensure his niece was happy and healthy before considering the question or her marriage? Or did he risk walking away now to pursue it at a later date. As they’d discussed, publishing the banns soon was the goal. But not alienating his future in-laws was probably also a worthy goal.
“I’m just happy she has you,” Reggie said with a nod. “I’ll be at my father’s townhome if you need me.”
Francie pulled away from her aunt. “Reggie?”
He bowed over her hand. “Miss Walters. I hope I can call on you soon?”
“Of course.”
And then, to show his suitability to her family, he got the hell out when invited to do so.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After a meal and some chatting to catch up with her family, Francie was upstairs putting her luggage away while Sam sat on the bed.
“Jack is going to be so jealous that I was the one to see you first, but she really will be excited to see you.”
“I hope so.”
“And you’ll like Gideon, I think. He’s a bit like your Mr. Burnham.”
“Why do you call him my Mr. Burnham?”
Sam looked at her like she was daft. Drat. It probably didn’t help that she was mere inches from mooning over him right this very minute. He’d only been gone for a few hours and she could hardly stand it. “All right, fine. How is he like my Mr. Burnham?”
“Tall, dark, and serious.”
That made Francie giggle. “I don’t think of him as being that serious.”
Sam bounced off the bed. “Oh, I think he’s quite serious about you.”
That was hopefully quite true. Otherwise she’d made some terrible mistakes over the past fortnight.
“Get some rest,” Sam said. “We’ll go visit Jack in the morning.”
“But I need to check on my cousin Phoebe.” She’d explained the terrible circumstances to her family over their meal and they’d all expressed their sympathy. “I still don’t know if she’s all right.”
“Which is precisely why we need to go see Jack. She’ll rally the Haberdashers and if Phoebe is in any trouble they will solve it.”
Francie frowned. “The Haberdashers?”
Sam looked astonished. “You don’t know the Haberdashers? You were practically there when it all started.”
“No, I have no idea.”
“But you were there! You practiced weapons with them and rode horses all day. I remember!”
Francie laughed at her cousin’s frustration. “I remember being there too! Yes, I learned to shoot and ride and a few other things. But I don’t remember the Haberdashers.”
“I thought they were just keeping it a secret from me back then, I didn’t realize it was as secret from everybody. Or rather, if it was a secret I would have assumed you were in on it. It’s their club. They started a boys club.”
“Oh.” Their names and preoccupations made a good deal more sense suddenly. “And why did they create a boy’s club?”
Sam swished her skirts. “Because they said boys have more fun.” Her cousin leaned in conspiratorially. “I don’t happen to agree.”
Francie had forgotten what fun the Walters sisters could be. Bookish, impulsive Jack and sweet yet impudent Sam. “Wake me up extra early,” she told her cousin. “If we’re going to surprise Jack with my arrival it might as well be an inconvenient surprise before her morning tea.”
Sam clapped her hands. “Yes!”
After her cousin left Francie sat near the window for awhile, staring out. Her life had changed so much in such a short time. She’d lost her home, but had known more comfort since than she had for most of her life. Her parents were gone, but she found that her uncle’s family accepted her as readily as they ever did. As though she were one of their own. And she’d found Reggie. She leaned forward to set her arms on the window sill and let her breath fog the chilly glass. He warmed her when she’d only ever known cold. He made her laugh when she’d so long only been serious with others. He’d made her feel a love she’d not known herself capable of. And if he left her without a backward glance she swore to God and all that was holy that she would hunt him down and put another bullet in him.
Sam was as good as her word and was bouncing on Francie’s bed at dawn. “Get up, get up! Jack hates mornings. This is going to be glorious.”
Although bleary, Francie was glad that at least one cousin shared her devilish humor. “I’m up. Sort of. Barely.”
Sam pulled at her hands. “Don’t ruin this!”
Francie laughed. “All right! I’m up. How are you dressed already?”
“Excitement! What are you going to wear?” She dug into the armoir. “The blue, the blue, or the… blue?”
“Not the brown?” Francie teased.
“No,” Sam said with certainty. “Not the brown.”
“Then I think perhaps the blue.”
“Oh! I have a dress you might like!”
When her cousin sprinted from the room Francie had to decide whether she would try to get two more seconds of sleep or get up. Getting up seemed like the better course. Sam returned with a lovely white gown trimmed in charming little embroidered forget-me-nots.
&
nbsp; “Oh, Sam. I couldn’t possibly wear this.”
“You,” she said, “are going to see a countess this morning. Yes,” she added, rolling her eyes, “it’s also Jack and we’re going to give her the worst time we can come up with. But she’s also a countess. You should dress to impress.”
Francie laughed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes! Now let’s get you in it and get on the road! The horses have been hitched for at least fifteen minutes now.”
“Oh! I didn’t know!”
Francie hurried into the dress with her cousin’s assistance. She put on her new half-boots and blue pelisse and rushed out the door like the madwoman she was.
***
Reggie had purposefully not come home until the wee hours when he was sure everyone would be abed. The nighttime footman had let him in the back door, and he’d snuck upstairs to his room like some sort of thief. But he thought it would be better to try to rejoin his family in the morning when they were all sleepy, rather than in the afternoon when they had their wits about them. He certainly didn’t have his wits about him, so it made it an unfair fight. Now he was the first one down to the breakfast table. To a certain extent that demonstrated his nervousness. On the other hand, he had almost two weeks of terrible breakfasts to make up for. He piled his plate with three types of meat and considered just sitting in front of the chaffing dishes rather than having to drag his food over to the table like a civilized person.
Speaking of which, the most civilized person in the household arrived, so he rose to his feet. “Mama.”
“Reginald! I’m delighted.” Not said, why didn’t I know you were here or that you were coming.
“The Navy must have beaten the mail service again, I wrote you before I left Cleadon.”
“Well, the mail is like your father. It goes where it wants to in its own time.” And he’d arrived in the midst of one of their tiffs. Wonderful. This was certainly not a good time to try to convince them that the seamstress he’d found in Cleadon would be their perfect new daughter. It was times like these that he couldn’t entirely regret being pressed into the Navy. He understood the Navy. He liked the Navy. He felt like a respected man there rather than an underfoot child.
“It’s good that you’re here, though,” she continued, as though there hadn’t been a five minute lull in the conversation while the footmen filled her plate. “You can escort me to the Swindell’s ball tonight.”
Good God, she would try to matchmake, and all the desperate mamas would try to matchmake, and if he were somehow trapped in a compromising position he could be forced into a marriage he didn’t want, and then that would abandon Francie. That couldn’t happen. “I can’t, mama.”
“You can’t?” She used the tone he imagined she might if he’d said he was going to join the circus. He loved his mother, he truly did, but she was a trial.
“No,” he said firmly, “I can’t. And I need to speak to father, is he up yet?”
“Who knows what that man does,” she said dismissively. She spooned clotted cream on her toast. “Why can’t you go to the ball tonight?”
He felt like he was at the gaming table and playing deep. What to say? Anything he might throw out could be misunderstood, misinterpreted. “I met a girl.”
That garnered her attention. “Oh?” she asked, endeavoring to be nonchalant.
“I think she’s suitable.” Yes, definitely playing deep. “She’s a cousin of the Countess of Harington.”
“Oh my, what a scandal that was.” He’d clearly pushed all his chips in far too early. “Is she a cousin on the mother or father’s side?”
“The father’s,” he answered faintly, afraid of what new piece of information he might overturn.
“Well, that’s a blessing. You know I’d not want to be related to a merchant, even with that fancy earl in the bargain.”
He needed to make sure Francie knew to never, ever, ever mention her time in the merchant class.
“Is she in Town?”
“Yes. She’s at her uncle’s house,” he cleared his throat. “The countess’s father’s house.”
“Splendid. I will find out what their receiving hours are.”
His mother was about to descend on Francie without warning. If Francie survived the ordeal she’d most likely shoot Reggie dead.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Francie and Sam knocked on the front door of Jack’s house like demented twins. The townhouse was certainly glorious. Francie didn’t think she’d ever seen a more impressive building, especially not one that people actually lived in.
The butler who opened the door looked quite austere until he saw Sam.
“Miss Samantha, good morning.”
“Hullo, Dibbs. This is Miss Francine. We’re here to see Jack.”
“I’m not sure she’s available,” he said, sounding sincerely apologetic.
Sam simply ducked under his arm and scurried into the front hall like a rat looking for trouble. “Is she still asleep?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Francie had sympathy for the poor man’s job. How hard was it to say that when the more reasonable response was, ‘Of course she is, you bloody loon’. If Francie had thought through the complication of servants she wouldn’t have suggested this caper. Bothering her cousin was one thing. Bothering the staff whose job it was to protect the countess was something else entirely. She grabbed her cousin’s hand. “We should go, Sam.”
“Of course not,” the butler said, managing to be both kindly and distant at once. “You will breakfast with us. My wife has just pulled a pound cake from the oven.”
Sam made an inelegant gasp and nearly crushed Francie’s hand. “You have no idea,” Sam said to her. “Grace’s cakes could end war in our lifetime.”
The butler herded them toward the dining room and Francie stared at the grand staircase that would lead to her cousin Jack, until it was out of sight.
Francie had to agree that Grace Dibbs made an exceptional cake. Sam was on her third sliver of the treat when another person entered the room. Tall, dark, and serious indeed.
“Good morning, Gideon,” Sam said. “Dibbs is spoiling our fun and not letting us pounce on Jack in her sleep.”
The earl kissed his sister in law on her upturned cheek. “Good morning, Sam. Don’t be mean, Oliver was fussy last night.”
Francie smiled at mention of her cousin’s babe, born a mere six months before.
“I’m not being mean,” Sam said, but she sounded petulant. “It is grand fun waking Jack up when she’s tired.”
“Agree to disagree, then.” The earl turned to Francie. “My apologies for the chaos, Miss Walters. Welcome to our home. Jack always looks forward to your letters.”
Not sure what to do, she rose from her seat and did a curtsy. “My lord.”
“Please, that’s not necessary. We’re all family here.”
She resumed her seat. She felt a bit foolish, but she’d rather have done it than not. There was no point in being rude to an earl. Especially one that married your cousin.
“When can we see Oliver then,” Sam pressed.
“You can see Oliver and Jack when they feel up to presenting themselves.” His tone was mild, but he was clearly used to being obeyed.
Francie went back to picking at her breakfast. So much for her bright idea to tease Jack.
They heard something in the hall, and then the sound of running feet. The earl stood just before his wife burst into the room, as though he knew her timing. She stopped at the doorway and when her gaze found Francie she covered her mouth with her hands. “You really are here!” Jack had clearly come straight from bed. Her honey colored hair streamed over her shoulders and her voluminous nightgown and robe swirled around her as though a few extra yards of fabric had been used in their making. Francie jumped up and the two rushed together for a hug.
“Oh, let me look at you,” Jack said. “You look wonderful. Beautiful. Isn’t she beautiful, Gideon?”
“A vi
sion,” the earl said agreeably.
“How did you get here? When did you come? I received your letter and I’m so proud that you’re still a good shot! Has the man recovered?” Jack peppered her with these questions while leading her to the table. Rather than take the chair at the end as Francie expected her to, Jack sat next to her.
“It generally works better if you let them answer a question before asking the next one,” the earl observed, finally able to sit down again and resume his meal.
Jack laughed, not taking her eyes off Francie as though still not believing she was really here. “But I might forget a question I meant to ask!”
Francie had to laugh as well. “Um, let me see. I traveled by boat and carriage. I arrived,” she cut her eyes to Sam, “yesterday. And yes, the man has recovered.”
“Then he’s lucky Jack didn’t shoot him,” the earl said with asperity.
Francie chuckled nervously.
“Yes, we should make sure you get practice soon.” Jack’s voice was warm with matronly worry, like she’d just suggested Francie get some rest or take a stroll. It was so reminiscent of being with her mother all mixed up with memories of being in Derbyshire with Jack shortly after her father died that she felt the tears welling before she could do anything about it.
Jack leaned in. “Oh, Francie, what’s wrong?”
“The shop burned down and I d-d-don’t know when my fiancé is coming back for me.”
***
Reggie felt rather a lot like St. George and decided to try changing his engagement in the battle. “Perhaps I can convince her to attend the Swindell ball this evening.”
“She is the reason you can’t attend?”
“Well, I’d not want to advertise myself as being on the market until things are settled with her one way or the other.”
“Then yes, I would like to see her. A mother needs to know what sort of girl her son has an eye on.”
