Miss Fanshawe's Fortune - Linore Rose Burkard Page 0,26
a gudgeon. Miss Fanshawe must be my mother’s companion, unless you prefer to put her up at an inn.”
“No need for that. We can say she’s a distant cousin,” Edward rejoined. “I warrant it’s been done before!”
“Miss Fanshawe is not a distant cousin,” countered Sebastian with meticulous precision. “And if she is entitled to a fortune, it does not remove the fact that she may well be a blow by! The natural child of nobody knows whom. That is hardly the type of woman an Arundell can align himself to. And even were she perfectly legitimate, which I doubt, you are a puppy, and not in a position to align yourself with any self-respecting female.”
Edward’s face flushed. “Are you not to be a baronet? A second son is next in line. Not every pup can make that claim.”
“Your brother may inherit a baronetcy if your cousin does not remarry and have his own son; and your being next in line answers nothing unless said brother is so amiable as to fail with regard to having his own son, or does you the service of dropping dead.”
“Which you seem intent on doing!” Edward shot in.
“Eh? What’s that?” Sebastian asked, scowling.
“Not dying, but I mean, the matter of an heir—you haven’t made a single offer to any of the eager young women, the eligible ones that is, who harken well enough to your side! How often my mother tells me that Miss So-and So has set her cap at you.” With a look of disdain, he added, “You seem quite impervious, sir, to marriage.”
Sebastian shook out his newspaper. “We are discussing your marriage prospects, not mine. And as things stand, you have precious little. Your stipend is hardly enough to live upon in style, as you are a slave to being modish; you must allow that.”
Edward longed to rebuff this assertion, but as he was wearing a yellow cravat in the latest style, and had only just bespoken, the day before, new breeches of white satin, and got his hair trimmed and curled into the Brutus style, he said nothing.
“I offered you a commission many times—” began Sebastian.
“I’m not cut for the military!” Edward cried. “I’m only fit to be a gentleman, and you well know it.”
“Then you must needs learn to invest—or you will indeed be forced to seek a wealthy bride.”
“Which is precisely my point!” exclaimed Edward, slamming a hand upon the table. “Miss Fanshawe!” He stared triumphantly at his brother.
Sebastian’s face hardened. He lay his paper down with careful, measured movements. Looking into Edward’s eyes he said in an even tone laced with ice, “You will not marry my mother’s companion.”
“If she owns a fortune, she won’t be any lady’s companion. She’ll be hiring servants of her own.”
But this only caused a flash of ire in Sebastian’s eyes. “You worthless whelp! Keep your eyes off that child. We don’t know anything for certain, least of all what constitutes her fortune, whether it be small or great. In any case until we find out, stay wide of her.”
Edward shrank into his seat with a sigh. “As you wish, big brother. But when we find out, then I’ll make my move.”
“You’ll do no such thing without my permission,” Sebastian spat out.
Edward eyed him sullenly. “She ain’t a child, you know. She’s nineteen. A year older than I.”
“As I said,” Sebastian returned, rather severely. “A child. As are you.”
Sir Hugo sent notice from the Royal Crown Inn of his arrival in London on Wednesday. On Thursday evening, he appeared for Mrs. Arundell promptly at eight-thirty to escort her to Lady Merrillton’s ball. A rotund sort of person, he was dressed in meticulous evening wear which had the effect of making him look exceedingly uncomfortable. His neckcloth and collar were neat but tight, judging by the redness of his face, giving it a mildly strangled look. His wide girth seemed severely restricted by a tight coat; the breeches skintight and stretched; even his black shoes looked tight.
Sebastian received him in the parlour while they awaited Mrs. Arundell’s appearance and thanked him again for his kind invitation for the family to spend the Christmas holidays at Bartlett Hall. His words were no sooner heard than met with equally gracious thanks on Sir Hugo’s part, who was “deeply obliged, and humbly gratified.” Small talk, polite chit chat, followed.
Sir Hugo was all graciousness but Sebastian could not help but notice he seemed ill at ease, his manners bordering upon timid. The nephew attributed this to the