by Sue London
Reggie could tell that the couple didn’t want to talk about it just yet. “Perhaps once we are all together you can tell us?”
“Yes,” Phoebe said, looking up at Harry with limpid eyes. “I would feel better if we were all together.”
“I’m afraid I sent Francie into a spin today,” Reggie said. “I’ve asked her to meet me at a ball this evening.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened, “A ball?”
“Yes. I need her to meet my parents and it was either this or,” Reggie rubbed the back of his neck, “let my mother descend on Francie’s aunt’s receiving hours. That would be rather like inviting Napoleon to beach at Brighton.”
“Meet your parents?” Harry asked. “Dare I assume?”
Reggie folded his arms, prepared for his friend’s jibing. “Yes, you can assume.”
Harry squeezed Phoebe’s hand. “Didn’t I say?” He turned back to Reggie. “I said you would fall for her.”
Reggie smiled ruefully. “Yes, I fell for her.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “And he admits it! This must be true love indeed!”
“Yes, well,” Reggie cleared his throat and put his hands behind his back. “Phoebe I’m afraid I have some bad news as well.”
She clutched at Harry’s arm before asking, “What? What happened?”
“After I fought one of those ruffians watching the shop, the bastard took his revenge by setting the place on fire.”
“Oh!” The dark-haired beauty covered her mouth in shock. “Oh no! Poor Francie! Why didn’t she put that in her note? She must be devastated!”
“Apparently nothing a little salt air couldn’t cure.”
“You sailed down as well?” Harry asked.
“Aye, we boarded the Lightning on her last sail before she’s cleaned and sold. I helped them get her in shape a bit on the journey.”
“Oh, capital!” Harry said. “We were on the Thunder!”
Reggie chuckled. “That is remarkable. Perhaps I should revisit my opinions about destiny.”
“Destiny?” his friend asked, shocked.
“Oh, you know. The idea that everything happens for a reason and you’re right where you need to be.”
“Well,” Harry said, looking down at Phoebe, “I certainly feel like I’m right where I need to be now.”
“What about this evening?” Reggie asked. “Any interest in attending a ball?”
“Oh, Harry!” Phoebe said with excitement. “Could we?”
“I’m sure Amelia can find you something to wear.”
Reggie nodded. “Capital. The Swindell ball. I’m sure the Cavershams have an invitation around here somewhere.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Francie couldn’t believe she was at a London ball. She felt like a princess in her pale blue gown with silver net overlay waiting to be announced at the back of her party. Her long white gloves came up past her elbows and her hair was fashioned into perfect ringlets that cascaded down over her shoulder with silver butterflies pinned in it. All afternoon Sabre had drilled the most basic etiquette into her. It really came down to four things. Smile demurely. When in doubt, curtsy. Stay calm. Pay attention to how people were addressed when introduced to you. If she could do those four things, the duchess assured her, she could conquer the ton. Francie had no need to conquer, she just didn’t want to be a fool. Some small part of her expected the fellow attendees to point at her. ‘She’s not real quality. What is she doing here?’ But no one had yet in the general crush to get inside. It undoubtedly helped that she’d arrived with no less than four nobles. They could have brought a Cheapside doxie in their party and no one would have questioned it.
Sam came over to her, resplendent in icy pink. “I’ve heard they had to take Mrs. Swindell upstairs to rest after her collapse. She went down in a heap when she discovered she had two dukes at her soirée.”
“Two? Who else is here?”
“I don’t know yet.” Sam squeezed her hand. “We’re up next!”
The stood in the doorway while their names were announced. “Miss Samantha Walters and Miss Francine Walters.”
Francie stared blindly into the ballroom, but a familiar movement caught her eye. Lud, it was Phoebe! Waving at her! Francie managed to catch herself before smiling like a loon or tripping down the stairs in her enthusiasm. She walked sedately down the marble steps arm in arm with Samantha. Once on the floor Francie towed her blond cousin to make a beeline for her dark-haired one. She released Sam to grab and squeeze Phoebe’s hands.
“What was that note this afternoon?” Francie asked accusingly. “‘I’m fine. I’ll see you later.’? You knew you were going to be here!”
Phoebe giggled. “Mr. Burnham said you would need some support, and I thought it would be more fun to surprise you.”
Francie hugged her close. “I love you, you terrible girl. But where are my manners? Miss Samantha Walters, may I introduce to you my cousin Miss Phoebe Grenard and our friend Mr. Manners-Sutton.”
“My fiancé,” Phoebe corrected.
If Phoebe had meant to distract Francie from concern about her first London ball she was doing too fine a job. Francie almost screeched in surprise at the announcement. “Oh, Phoebe, I’m so happy for you!” She embraced her cousin again. “And you look so beautiful.” Phoebe was radiant in a flowing white gown trimmed in gold and chestnut embroidery. The colors on her trim were reminiscent of Reggie’s eyes.
“Have either of you seen Mr. Burnham?”
“I don’t think he’s arrived as yet,” Mr. Manners-Sutton said. “Let me get you ladies something to drink.”
Sam smiled sweetly at Mr. Manners-Sutton as he left, then said. “Your Mr. Burnham had best arrive soon before this becomes the crush of the season and they can’t fit anyone else in.”
“Do you think that could happen?” Francie asked.
Sam shrugged and thanked Mr. Manners-Sutton as he handed her a glass of ratafia. “Two dukes. On a night like that anything could happen.”
“You brought a duke, too?” Phoebe asked.
Francie and Phoebe stared at each other. A mere fortnight ago they’d been poor seamstresses in the middle of nowhere. Now they’d each brought their own duke to a ton ball in London! They started laughing.
The booming voice that had been calling names all night spoke again. “Announcing Lord Timothy Burnham, Viscount Goldshire, and Lady Elspeth Burnham.” A handsome older couple walked down the steps, joined hands held high. Lud, could everyone have such a good view of her when she was walking down? It was good that Phoebe had distracted her. The next three couples announced were all Burnhams, but Reggie wasn’t among any of them. Francie was almost losing heart when she saw him at the top of the steps in a maroon jacket and dark trousers. “Announcing Lieutenant Reginald Burnham.” He walked down the steps lightly, scanning the room. She walked forward and it only took a moment for her to catch his eye. He stopped on the last step from the bottom. She wasn’t sure what his intense gaze meant, but she felt her pulse pounding all through her body.
Her cousin Jack glided in to take his arm and lead him into the room.
“Do you know my cousin?” the countess asked smoothly. “Miss Francine Walters, this is Lieutenant Reginald Burnham. Mr. Burnham, my cousin Miss Walters.”
Francie gave a small curtsy and Reggie bowed over her hand.
“Now I’ll stay here,” Jack said sotto voce, “to make sure that everything is well received.”
“May I ask you for a dance, Miss Walters?”
Francie smiled but muttered through her teeth. “You think I had time to learn how to dance this afternoon? If you take me on the dance floor I swear I will shoot you again.”
His eyes sparkled with humor. “With your aim? I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Francie sucked in an outraged breath and Jack tapped her with a fan. “Tem-per,” he cousin murmured in a singsong.
“It’s actually called mur-der,” Francie softly sang back. “And no one would blame me.”
/>
When Reggie laughed she desperately wanted to kiss him. Who cared if she were never allowed at a ton ball again?
***
Reggie’s heart stopped in his chest upon seeing Francie tonight. He’d called her angel before, but now she looked as though she had just descended from the celestial heavens. And her threat reminded him that she was an avenging angel. God’s blood, but he hoped this evening turned out well. He wanted to be able to post the banns on the morrow. But if his family did snub her he didn’t care. They could live off his Navy job, far away in Bermuda where they could eat fish chowder every day and enjoy the sunshine. Francie would never be cold again.
Francie’s cousin looked over his shoulder with a smile. “Lady Burnham, so good to see you. Have you met my cousin?”
Here was the telling moment. He stepped to the side so that his mother could get a good look at Francie without crowding her.
“Lady Burnham,” the countess said, “may I present Miss Francine Walters. Francie, this is Reggie’s mother, Lady Burnham.”
“I’ve heard you grew up in the north.”
“Yes, Lady Burnham. That’s true.”
“Northern girls are reputed to be strong. You look like you’d knock over in a breeze.”
Francie gave his mother the blank, wide-eyed look that sometimes proceeded her most outrageous statements. It snookered you, that look, because she seemed so sweet and innocent with her big blue eyes. He was tempted to clamp a hand over her mouth and cart her away. “If it knocks me down it best hope I don’t get up again.”
A probing volley had been met with cold, hard steel. Reggie winced but after a moment his mother laughed. “Lady Harington, why have you been hiding your cousin from us?”
Jack put her arm through Francie’s. “She could usually only visit us in Derbyshire in the summer. But with her mother’s passing this year we thought it best to bring her to London.”
The countess excelled at packing a tremendous amount of information into a warm and congenial exchange. She clearly defined, ‘Yes, I am close to my cousin, I’ve always been close to my cousin, and if you cross her than you also cross me.’ The Haringtons were certainly a protective lot. Not that he could mind since it was his beloved they were protecting.
“Bring her to visit sometime. My hours are Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.”
“We look forward to it, Lady Burnham.”
His mother turned to him. “I’m to join your father in the card room. Escort me?”
“Of course, mum.” He nodded to the ladies and took his mother’s arm for their stroll. He wasn’t so naive as to think it was just to escort her.
“Who introduced you to her,” she asked as soon as they were reasonably out of earshot.
“Her cousin on the other side,” he said. “Miss Phoebe Grenard.”
“And how do you know her?”
“She’s the younger sister of my friend Wally. Do you remember Wally?”
“Yes, yes. Sad to hear of his passing.”
“Now Harry is marrying Miss Grenard.”
“And you somehow ended up with the cousin in the bargain?”
How to put this delicately? “After being introduced we discovered we had an accord.” After she shot him, and he cursed and threatened her, and they lived under the same roof like enemies at war for a few days. He decided those were details his mother simply didn’t need.
“She’d best come to my hours. I’ll not tolerate a daughter in law who would snub me.”
Now on top of this ball he had to make sure Francie came to his mother’s hours tomorrow? Bloody hell. When would he be able to post the banns? Sailing for Scotland seemed simpler every day. He delivered her to his father’s table.
“Well?” the Viscount asked without looking up.
“She’s beautiful,” his mother said, as though Reggie weren’t there at all. “Feisty, but we’ll see what that comes to.”
“Would you care for my opinion?” Reggie asked. Both of his parents looked up as though he’d spoken out of turn.
“Not yet,” his father said.
Reggie considered walking off, but he was done with it. “Well, I’m on a schedule so you’ll have to excuse my impudence. Miss Walters not only has the breeding and strength of character to make an excellent officer’s wife, I love her. As we will live in Bermuda for the foreseeable future I don’t see how her performance at visiting hours figures. I’ve made her traipse out here to this bloody ball to show her off to you as though she were some sort of horse stock and I would really prefer to have your answer now as to whether you will support our marriage because if Mr. Walters has no objections then I plan to post the banns tomorrow.”
There, it was done. If they wanted to cut him off or punish him in any other way, at least he’d spoken his mind.
“Are you quite done?” his father asked him.
Reggie tried to ignore the trickle of cold sweat that lazily dripped down his back. “Yes. Quite.”
“I supposed I’d best meet her then.” He indicated his chair. “Sit in this game so your mother has a partner.”
Oh bloody hell. Couldn’t he just storm off? His mother would pick at him like a buzzard on bones for the next quarter hour. “Of course, sir,” he said, sliding into the chair.
Chapter Thirty
When Reggie walked away George slipped her arm through Francie’s. “I heard what you said to the old bird, and I’m impressed.”
“Oh, George, I wouldn’t call her that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t, you want to marry her son. I have no such impediments. But let me tell you, there are only so many types of people in the world and she’s an old bird. But if you cook them just right old birds can be quite tender.”
Francie frowned. “Are you suggesting I cook her or flatter her?”
George laughed and shrugged. “Whatever is your preference. But rather than flatter, you need to tenderize with brine and a mallet.”
“So you’re saying…?”
“Be yourself. You’ll soften her up and eventually she’ll respect you for it.”
“You haven’t seen me in years. How do you know if I should be myself?”
“Suddenly you’re not the girl who would pull a drowning dog out of a river? Or punch the boy straight in the nose who’d thrown it in?”
“I, well, I might.” She looked down. “Perhaps not in this dress.”
“Must likely even in that dress,” George said. “I’ll have you know I was jealous you’d done that because Charlie talked about it for years. I think you were one of his heroes.”
Francie smiled. “How is Charlie?”
“Building up his horse stock. He’s getting quite well known as a breeder.”
“Good for him! And how is your art?”
George’s gaze slid away from her own. “I paint from time to time.”
“Reggie described the colors in Bermuda to me and they sound exceptional. You should visit us some time and try to capture it.”
George grinned. “We have a standing invitation to visit Robert in the islands as well. We will have to make a trip.”
“Robert Bittlesworth is in the islands?”
“As much as he’s anywhere these days. He married a woman with a shipping company and they travel endlessly.”
It was odd how everything was the same as she’d left it in Derbyshire, yet none of it was.
“Francie.” Jack’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up to see Reggie’s father. Lud, she had to speak to both of them tonight?
“Lord Burnham, allow me to introduce my cousin Miss Francine Walters. Francie, this is Reggie’s father Lord Burnham.”
Francie dropped a curtsy. “Lord Burnham.”
“Hello, my dear. My son speaks very highly of you, but he seems to have a fire under him when it comes to marrying you. I’d like to know your thoughts on why.”
Francie could feel her pulse jumping in her throat. If Reggie had learned the art of the social lie from hi
s mother, then clearly he’d inherited his natural forthrightness from his father. She wished Reggie were here so she could try to read from his expression what her reaction should be, but she would have to do this alone. Or, well, with Jack and George almost literally holding her up. But without knowing Reggie’s preference. Damn. Perhaps she should have let him follow his plan.
Then she thought about how much she’d loved being on the deck of a ship with him, being in that sinful little inn with him, or even just walking through Cleadon with him. She loved him. And he loved her. And someone thought to stand in their way, viscount or no, she’d not stand for it. She pulled away from her friends’ support to look up at him impudently.
“Because he knows I’m the best thing that ever has or ever will happen to him, just as he’s that for me. Our needs are simple enough, but we’re impatient to start our new lives because everything we had before is already gone. I’m sorry if that seems imprudent or gauche to you, but I’m not asking to live your life. Only to live my own. And in mine I plan to marry the man I love.”
There was a smattering of applause from the nearby crowd.
The viscounts bushy eyebrows had risen throughout her diatribe. “That was a fine little speech, Miss Walters. If I were any younger I might fight him for you myself.”
“I’ll assume we can have your blessing then.”
“Do you have your uncle’s?”
She twisted her hands together. “I haven’t talked to him about it yet.”
“I suggest we all breakfast together and settle it in the morning. Be at our townhouse by nine sharp.”
Jack interceded. “Perhaps a more neutral location? Such as our home?”
“Neutral?” the viscount scoffed gently. “You’re her cousin.”
“We should all go to Sabre’s,” George said. “Certainly the townhouse of the Duke and Duchess of Beloin is to everyone’s satisfaction?”
The viscount looked down at Francie. “We can let Miss Walters decide.”
Francie looked over at her friends. “We will meet at the viscount’s house. If I want to join his family I might as well start practicing.”
Lord Burnham smiled and gave an approving nod, then bowed over her hand. “Until morning, Miss Walters.”
