Miss Fanshawe's Fortune - Linore Rose Burkard Page 0,43

she, Frannie, must be the illegitimate daughter of her husband! If Mr. Fanshawe had never told his wife about her, it could only follow that he must be ashamed of her. Catherine Fanshawe looked to be about the same age as Frannie. If it turned out they were of the same age, surely only one could be legitimate. And only the legitimate daughter, she was certain, could have claim to sums owned by the father.

But it all came back to the central perplexity: would a man of Mr. Fanshawe’s means have a large sum set aside at all, much less in a trust for someone outside his legal family? The Fanshawes lived respectably, but not affluently. The contrast of their home to the Arundells’ smartly appointed furnishings and rich artwork was noticeable. The more she thought on her case, the bleaker and more hopeless it appeared. She wondered if she ought to drop the enquiry. Leave the Fanshawes in peace. Let Catherine have the inheritance that surely she deserved more than Frannie. Her mother and Mrs. Baxter had never rightly understood how things were. If only her mother had told her that she was a baseborn child! Had she known it from the outset, she could have saved all of them, the Fanshawes, Mr. Arundell, Mr. Harley, a great deal of bother and vexation.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After the strangers had gone, Catherine Fanshawe turned to her mother with a questioning look. “Mama, one of those men said he would take ‘Miss Fanshawe’s case’ to court. I am aware of no dispute. Why would he call it my case?”

Mrs. Fanshawe’s eyes sparked daggers. “That young woman you saw just now; she claims to be Miss Fanshawe!”

Catherine cried, “She claims to be me?”

“She claims your rightful due! The trust fund. Says her name is Frances Fanshawe.”

“Is that why they wish to speak to papa? To verify her claim?”

Mrs. Fanshawe nodded.

“Is papa in trouble?” she asked, her eyes filling with worry.

“If that girl is his, you can be certain he is!” She paused, stopping to meet her daughter’s worried visage. “The law may acquit him of guilt, but I’ll give him grief like he’s never met with!” She stalked from the room, leaving Catherine blinking, her face a picture of deep concern.

An only child, Catherine tried to imagine what it would mean if she had a sister, a half-sister, that is. She remembered the troubled countenance of the young woman who had been in the parlour earlier. She looked like an amiable, well-bred creature, just the sort of young woman Catherine would most like to associate with. She said the name in her mind, slowly. Frances Fanshawe. It was a nice name. And suddenly she remembered something she had witnessed, though it had taken place many years before.

She’d been playing in her father’s study, the only room in the house aside from the servantsʼ quarters that she wasn’t supposed to enter. She looked around curiously at the forbidden sanctum, an ordinary study. Shelves of books, dark wainscot, and a simple desk with a globe, barometer, and an issue of “The Maritime Report” upon it met her eyes. Hearing people approaching, she ducked quickly into the recess beneath the desk. She feared no one in the house, but a child’s sense that she ought not be in the room gave her enough fright to stay huddled with knees pulled up against her chest, determined not to make a sound. Soon she heard voices, one belonging to Papa, but another that of an unknown woman. They entered the room, talking in low voices.

Childish curiosity made her hazard a peek by looking around the edge of the desk. Across the room she saw Papa and the lady standing by an inlaid bookcase. She was a pretty woman, dark-haired and large-eyed. She looked faintly familiar, and yet Catherine knew she’d never seen her before. The woman drew some folded papers from a purse and handed them to papa.

Frowning, he read them. Afterward, he gave her a very disturbed look and glanced at the papers again. Certain words jumped out at Catherineʼs curious ears, words she still remembered. His Lordshipʼs signature…trust fund… a tidy sum. Only an extraordinary brain could have recalled the entire conversation, but Catherine had always excelled at her lessons due to a memory that was sharp to a turn. Clearly she recalled her fatherʼs voice: “Why should you accept this agreement?” And then the womanʼs tight-lipped reply: “’Tis the only way. He’ll disinherit him, otherwise. Weʼd