Miss Fanshawe's Fortune - Linore Rose Burkard Page 0,42

for the good of his family. You reside in middling circumstances, I perceive.” He made a pointed glance at worn carpet. “Not exactly living in clover now, are we? It makes little sense that your husband—or anyone in such a case—would start a trust fund rather than enjoy the full benefits of the prize for himself and his wife. Miss Fanshawe here,” he turned and gestured at Frannie, “has subsisted all her life upon the interest of that trust.” He raised a brow and settled an icy stare upon the woman. “Men of ordinary means would do their utmost to keep their current family in the best possible situation, rather than economizing for the sake of an earlier mésalliance. Surely you see the unlikelihood of it.”

Mrs. Fanshawe for the first time looked unsure of herself. She cried, “I know not his reasons! But I do know there is only one Miss Fanshawe, and she lives beneath this roof!” She turned to Frannie with blazing eyes and pointed. “This young woman is a tufthunter! Brazen hussy!”

Frannie gasped. A gold digger she was not!

“Remember yourself, madam,” said Sebastian coldly.

She gave him only a cursory glance and sniffed in an injured fashion before turning back to Mr. Harley. “Only Mr. Fanshawe can supply you with the particulars of the trust, including its value. But this is monstrous! You, sir, have offered no proof that this—impostor—has any business in our affairs! Why should we divulge to you any of our concerns?”

With a sinking heart, Frannie swallowed her indignation. No words came in which she could defend herself. All she could manage was to falter out, “My name is Frances Fanshawe, ma’am.”

Suddenly the door opened. A young woman walked in and looked about curiously at the various faces, all of whom stared back at her. She had hair every bit as dark as Frannie’s, and a mild resemblance in features. But where Frannie’s chin was narrow, this young woman’s was wide, much like Mrs. Fanshawe’s. She shared the lady’s broader nose and prominent brow as well. She had hazel eyes, intelligent but mild. Her gaze flicked from one face to another, then hovered upon Frannie’s pretty countenance with apparent interest, offering an uncertain little smile. Frannie returned a relieved nod and smile of her own.

“This!” cried Mrs. Fanshawe majestically, sweeping an arm in the direction of the young woman, “is my daughter, Miss Catherine Fanshawe—the only Miss Fanshawe in England, I daresay!” The young lady coloured rosily. “Mama, you—you didn’t tell me we had guests.”

“They are not guests,” said Mrs. Fanshawe coldly. Glaring at the company she added, “In fact, they are just leaving.” She went and stood by the door, opening it triumphantly so they could exit.

Mr. Harley stood first. “Inform your husband that I await his call. If I do not hear from him, I will take Miss Fanshawe’s claim to King’s Bench.”

Mrs. Fanshawe let out a snort of a breath. “You have no case against us!”

“We shall see, madam,” he replied. “The law will be the judge. You will incur legal fees, whatever the outcome. If you wish to avoid them, Mr. Fanshawe must call upon me at his earliest convenience.” The others had risen and now were heading behind the solicitor to the doorway. Catherine stood by surveying them with perplexity. The two young women met eyes. Like Frannie’s, Catherine’s clear, thoughtful gaze was troubled, but there was no incrimination in them. Frannie felt certain she did not share her mother’s hostility. Perhaps she did not know about Frannie yet, or what her claims were. Perhaps she, too, would despise Frannie when she learned of them.

Sebastian stopped before Mrs. Fanshawe. “What is the name of your husband’s ship?”

The lady glared, her mouth twitching. “The Golden Sovereign,” she said coldly. He bowed politely to both women.

When they were outside again, Mr. Harley said, “Good of you to get the name of the ship. We’ll watch the papers for news of when it docks.” Turning to Frannie, he added, “If Fanshawe doesn’t come to me directly, we may have a long fight ahead. Despite what I said inside, I’ll need more evidence before putting a barrister on it to bring it to court.”

While he and Sebastian continued to discuss the matter, Frannie sat by, her heart sadly flummoxed. She hadn’t considered that she might be bringing such ruckus into the Fanshawe home. Clearly, Mrs. Fanshawe hadn’t known of her existence, any more than Frannie had known about Catherineʼs. It now seemed likely that