Francie & the Bachelor: A Caversham-Haberdasher Crossover

by Sue London

  “Of course.” He rose from his place setting even though he’d not finished half of what he’d selected. When she was in this mood his mother wasn’t good for anyone’s digestion. That probably meant that it was foolish to wait here for his father to appear because the man would be locked away in his study for the foreseeable future. It should have been less of a surprise than it was that he became excellent at navigating a war. “Enjoy your breakfast, mama.”

  He kissed her cheek as he left, as was expected, and made his way across the house. Getting into the study required assuring his father’s bulldog footman Giles that he really did need to speak to the viscount on business.

  His father was still a tall and hearty man, even in his advanced years. His bushy eyebrows rose in surprise at seeing his youngest son, but he set aside his pen willingly enough. “Reggie. I hadn’t thought to see you again so soon.”

  With his father there wasn’t so much subtext. If the viscount wanted to say a thing he just said it. That was at least half of the conflict he had with his wife.

  “There was unexpected trouble in Cleadon and I need to tell you a few things.”

  The viscount waved him to sit down. “What is it, boy? You sound like you just broke your mother’s favorite vase.”

  The best course was probably sailing straight through. “I’ve left some debts in the north in your name so they would take them, but I will cover them when they arrive.”

  Those bushy eyebrows danced around a bit again. “I see.”

  “I know I shouldn’t have done so without permission, but my need was quite urgent.” Well, perhaps his need for fancy hotels couldn’t be labeled urgent so much as necessary.

  His father waved away the concern and asked. “So what happened?”

  He tried the same line to see how it played with his father. “I met a girl.”

  The viscount’s brows lowered and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Did you now?”

  “You don’t sound pleased.”

  “The words ‘I met a girl’ in the same conversation with ‘I spent money foolishly’ rarely works out well.”

  “It’s not like that, I didn’t spend money foolishly.” He thought for a moment. Perhaps necessary could be replaced with foolish. “Well, not much of it. There was a fire, you see. I was protecting her from some street ruffians and they set a fire, so I needed to bring her to her uncle here in London.”

  His father shifted and stared at him for a long while. “You realize that sounds like a Greek tragedy?”

  “She’s lovely. You’ll like her. Her cousin is a countess. I told mama I’d make sure she comes to the Swindell ball this evening.” Reggie nearly bit his tongue to keep the stream of inane information from continuing.

  The viscount frowned. “I wasn’t planning to attend that ball.”

  Of course he wasn’t, thus why mama was looking for Reggie’s escort. With his parents it was impossible to know if not attending the ball together was the cause of their disagreement or the result. “You’ll have other opportunities to meet her, I’m sure.”

  “No,” the viscount said. “I will attend. I’m curious to find out precisely how foolish you’re being, as it is not in your character.”

  Reggie couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or insult. Bloody hell but he needed to find Francie right now and convince her to present herself at the Swindell ball tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The girls had withdrawn to Jack’s sitting room, and after all the chatter, crying, laughing, and tea Francie felt much better. The baby Oliver played happily on the floor, apparently recovered from his night. She’d lost track of the time but it had to be getting on toward noon. She and Sam should withdraw so the household could get on with their day. Not that she was sure precisely what a countess did all day.

  Dibbs appeared at the door. “My lady, there is a man here for Miss Francine.”

  At first Francie thought that her uncle had come to collect her, then realized the butler would simply refer to him as Jack’s father.

  Jack looked at her with a smile. “Well. It seems your fiancé has come back for you.” Turning her attention back to the butler the countess said, “Show him to Gideon’s study and let the earl entertain him while I dress. He should make some payment for causing our lovely Francie to cry this morning.”

  Francie’s eyes widened. “Oh, Jack, no.”

  “He’s the son of a viscount, something he withheld from you until he couldn’t any longer. He will be perfectly fine conversing with an earl while you help me dress.” The countess directed one more thing to the butler. “Oh, and Dibbs? Send for Sabre and George if you would. I’m sure they’ll be as delighted to see Francie as I am.”

  Francie followed her cousin upstairs while Sam came behind saying. “Maybe Quince will come, too. Having a duke in the room will make Mr. Burnham lose his starch.”

  Of God, what had she done to poor Reggie by confessing her fears to her cousins? Jack had also been sympathetic over her fears regarding Phoebe and immediately sent a footman to the Caversham residence with a note to check on her. They should have at least something of an idea how the Grenard sisters fared soon. Provided that Francie herself could survive an afternoon surrounded by more nobility than she thought she’d ever even see in her life, much less be expected to talk to.

  “What am I to call Sabre?” she asked, suddenly worried.

  “Your grace,” the sisters said in unison, with matching derisive tones.

  Francie laughed. “With such agreement, should I assume that is the inflection I should use?”

  The sisters laughed. “Oh, heavens no,” Jack said.

  “Sabre is very proud of her title,” Sam said.

  “She’s still Sabre, though,” Jack said, settling at her dressing table so a maid could brush and arrange her hair. Apparently ‘helping’ a countess dress meant sitting nearby and chatting.

  “None of us has changed overmuch,” Sam agreed.

  “I’ve been thinking about George a lot lately,” Francie said.

  “Really?” Jack prompted.

  “Reggie wanted to know where I acquired my wicked sense of humor and I realized her influence.”

  Jack smiled. “She’ll be so proud.”

  The girls laughed and giggled while helping Jack choose her dress for the day. If only she knew Phoebe and Lydie were safe, and that Reggie really did intend to marry her, then she could be happy right now. She’d had too much loss of late, but this was a good reminder that she still had so much left.

  ***

  The butler showed Reggie into a room of pale, gleaming wood with low couches and expensive curios on display. It smelled of wood polish, leather, and faint traces of tobacco and brandy. Reggie knew a gentleman’s study when he saw it, and this was clearly the earl’s. The man himself stood from behind his desk.

  “Mr. Burnham.

  “My lord.”

  Introductions were clearly not needed. The butler hadn’t even announced him and now closed the door with a solid click. It felt suspiciously like being locked into a cage with a hungry tiger.

  The earl stepped out from behind his desk and indicated one of the couches. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Brandy?”

  It was a bit early for spirits, but it didn’t do to be rude to your host. “Sounds lovely.” Reggie perched politely on the plush seat and wondered where in this enormous house his fiancée might be hiding.

  The earl handed him the glass and sat across from him, all masculine insouciance as was the fashion. Reggie didn’t trust it for a minute. He didn’t keep up with politics in general, but even he had heard about the earl’s speeches in Parliament. The man had an agenda and was reputed to be unstoppable.

  “Your father says you won medals for bravery in the Atlantic.”

  “The Navy agrees it’s brave to live when many around you die.”

  The earl nodded. “Just so, thank you for your service to the Crown in these times of dire need.”

&n
bsp; If this was to be a political speech Reggie had other things to do. “Thank you, my lord.”

  The earl swirled his brandy in his glass. “It might not be too long before you’re calling me Gideon. But you can start by explaining how my wife’s cousin came to be in your possession.”

  “In-in my possession? Is that what she said?”

  The earl seemed unperturbed. “Those aren’t her words, they’re mine. But by my calculation she spent better than a fortnight in your company without a chaperone.”

  He should have known that she would run to her beloved cousin and spill every sordid secret of their time together. For just a moment Reggie wished that cousin Jack had been a man so that he could punch the rotter right in the mouth.

  “Well?” the earl prompted.

  “We all discussed it and decided that her safety was more important than her reputation.”

  “You couldn’t hire a maid, or have her stay with a friend?”

  “She swore not to have a friend nearby, nor did we have the funds to hire a maid.”

  “Yet you had the funds to travel to London days later?”

  Bloody hell, the earl might as well be one of his brothers. “As the situation was dire, I put debts in my father’s name. Something I am typically loathe to do.”

  The man narrowed his eyes, then took a slow sip of his brandy. “A terrible imposition, I’m sure. I assume we will see the announcement of your engagement in the papers tomorrow as I see nothing about it today?”

  “I wouldn’t think so as I’ve not asked Mr. Walter’s approval yet.”

  “Curious,” the earl said, swirling his brandy again. “I could have sworn she called you her fiancé.”

  Reggie leaned forward. “My lord, I do not mean to be impertinent, but if there is something you want to say then I encourage you to get to it. My only concern is Miss Walters and it is imperative that I speak to her as soon as possible.”

  The earl crossed his legs. “I’ll make allowances for the fact that as a Naval officer you are used to both command and action, but I would caution you that attempting to bully me in my own house will not be met with a response you desire.”

  Reggie moved his gaze to the floor and forced himself not to sigh with exasperation. This was why he had no interest in living in London. Drawing room posturing and politics held no interest for him. Yes, the man was a bloody earl. You couldn’t shake a stick in the fine houses of London without hitting a noble. Reggie would give him all the respect due his position, but no more than that unless it was earned.

  “Since you seem to need it drawn out for you, let me make it plain. I love my wife. She loves her cousin and her father. Anyone who attempts to harm any of them will have to deal with me.”

  Reggie’s chin raised again. “What do you mean?”

  “If Walters feels the need to call you out over these indiscretions it won’t be him you’ll be facing.”

  Reggie stood without thinking, prompting the earl to stand as well. “Bloody hell. You’re posturing over some sort of honor duel? Why don’t you just let the girl marry who in the hell she wants to marry?” He tossed back the rest of the brandy and slammed the glass on the low table between them. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to talk a woman into going to a ball.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Francie heard someone calling her name. More specifically, she thought she heard Reggie calling her name. She rushed out to the hallway to listen.

  “Francie! No, get your bloody hands off me or I’ll slug you again.”

  Definitely Reggie, and in something of a fury. “Reggie! I’m here!” She ran down the broad front steps with her cousins not far behind her. When she turned on the landing she saw that he was now held by two large footman and looked mad as a bull. She hurried down the rest of the steps. “Stop it, let him go. I’m here. What’s wrong?”

  When they released him he tugged his jacket back in place and glared at his captors. “I need to speak with you.”

  “I’m here. What is it?”

  He shifted his glare to her cousins. “Perhaps if we had more privacy.”

  Jack stepped forward. “We’re going to hear it anyway, so we might as well hear it as you intended.”

  He sighed, but took her hand and focused on her. “I need you to go to a ball tonight.”

  “You… fought their guards to ask me to a ball?” That seemed silly and oddly romantic.

  “No, I am not taking you to the ball. I need you to attend the ball and meet me there.”

  “How do I attend a ball? What ball? Doesn’t one need an invitation?”

  “The Swindell ball. And I’m sure that someone you know,” he looked at her cousins, “has an invitation. You will need a ball gown and an escort.”

  “But how-”

  Jack put an arm over her shoulders and steered her away. “Come along, Cinderella.”

  “But Reggie-”

  He stayed where he was, with the bruised footmen glaring at him. “I’ll see you this evening.”

  She was not only in London but she was going to a ball? This was insanity. She suddenly planted her feet on the stairs. “I can’t go to a ball. I can’t.”

  Jack put an arm around her shoulders again. “Of course you can.”

  “No,” she said, hearing the edge of panic creeping into her voice. “No, I can’t. I have nothing to wear. I won’t know what to do. I can’t do this!”

  She heard noise in the front hall. Perhaps Reggie had come back. He would take her away. They would go to Bermuda where things like this didn’t happen. She was rushing down the stairs again but stopped when she realized the front hall was filled with strangers who were all giving over their outer garments to the raft of footmen.

  “Francie?”

  Her attention focused in on the willowy blond woman who said her name.

  “Of courses that’s Francie,” a petite brunette nearby said. “She and Sam still look more alike than Jack looks like either of them.”

  “Not true,” the blond replied. “She has Jack’s nose.”

  Francie walked down the next few steps. “George? Sabre?”

  “Your grace,” about five people in the room corrected.

  Sabre scowled around at all of them and then walked forward to hug Francie. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Your grace.”

  “It does have a nice ring to it, but you can still call me Sabre.”

  George hugged her next. “It’s been too long.”

  “Yes it has.”

  Sabre took over, as was her way. “Your grace,” she said to a fair and dapper man who stood at some distance to them. “Allow me to introduce Miss Francine Walters. Cousin to Jack and Sam who spent a few summers with us in Derbyshire. Francie, this is his grace Quincy Telford, Duke of Beloin.”

  “Your grace,” Francie said, curtsying. The duke nodded to her.

  “Miss Walters, allow me to introduce Mr. Rokiczana from Prussia. Casimir, this is Miss Walters.”

  The dashing brown-haired man bowed low over her hand. “It is my great pleasure to meet you.” His voice had a rich foreign accent that she couldn’t place.

  “Well, now that that’s all out of the way,” George said, but Jack interrupted her.

  “We’ve just found out that we need to get Francie ready for her first ball tonight. Is anyone planning to attend the Swindell’s soirée?”

  There was general murmuring in the negative but Sabre held her hand up. “Plans change,” the little duchess said. “And I think our friend Francie could use our support this evening.”

  Francie couldn’t help but notice the duke’s face fell. This imposition was clearly not winning her favors with Sabre’s husband.

  George grumbled at her, “You been in town a day and you already owe me.”

  “I-I’m terribly sorry,” Francie stammered. “You all needn’t go out of your way for me.”

  “Of course we must,” the earl said. She’d not noticed him rejoining their group and he
seemed to be sizing her up in a way that he hadn’t earlier. “That is what one does for family. Or so my lovely wife tells me.”

  Jack looked up at her husband adoringly. “It’s worked so far,” she reminded him.

  Francie looked around the front hall. She was going to a ton ball with a near regiment of wealthy and titled friends. Just last week she’d been a simple dressmaker in a town no one in this room would have heard of if she didn’t live there. She laughed a little wildly.

  “Then it’s time for my first ball.”

  ***

  Reggie didn’t particularly want to go home, so he did what he should have the moment he’d landed in London. He presented himself on the steps of the Duke of Caversham’s home.

  “Reginald Burnham to see Harold Manners-Sutton, if you please.”

  “Come in, sir.”

  At last, a home that treated him like a gentleman. The butler left him to cool his heels in a front parlor.

  “Reggie?”

  He turned to see his friend’s surprise. The darling Miss Phoebe was behind him, looking in the corners as though her cousin might be hiding there.

  “Harry!” He said, clapping his friend on the back. “You both look well!”

  “You received our letter, then?”

  Reggie shook his head, “Er, no?”

  Harry took Miss Phoebe’s hand. “We’re to be married. We were only waiting for your arrival.”

  “Have you called the banns?”

  “Last week.”

  His friend looked so deucedly happy yet Reggie somehow didn’t know what to say. Fortunately his breeding took over. “Congratulations,” he said, taking his friend’s arm in a strong clasp. He bowed over Phoebe’s hand. “I’m sure he’ll make you very happy. Or he’ll get what for from me.”

  Phoebe giggled. “Where is Francie, though? I received the note from Harington House a short while ago and I hoped you brought her.”

  “I was just there,” he said. “She’s been terribly worried about you. Things have… worked out though? With Mr. Donovan?”

  Miss Phoebe’s face paled and Harry drew her close. “All’s well that ends well.”