escape from it all.
“I left notes in a number of books,” Sebastian offered. “I must say, I never expected them to be appreciated by anyone else, and meant to discard them altogether. But I hope you continue to find them enlightening.”
“I am certain I shall,” she said, still appreciating the different way Sebastian regarded her.
“You should have been born a man, Frannie,” put in Edward, while helping himself to a dish from his end of the table. “You’d have studied poets and books to your heart’s content. Lord knows I had to slog through it all.”
“But she may study them now,” put in Sebastian. “Like Edward Waverley of the novel, she may have an ‘unstructured education.’” Reprovingly he added, “And I must say, your idea is reprehensible. Miss Fanshawe is eminently suited to womanhood.”
“O’course,” said Edward, smiling at her as if he hadn’t inferred that she was a bluestocking.
Mrs. Arundell looked from Sebastian to Frannie and back at her eldest son. She said nothing.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
That night, Frannie tossed and turned. It amazed her to have discovered that strait-laced Sebastian was a romantic at heart! To think, he’d written all those notes. He might have done it as any student, dutifully, only of necessity. But he’d kept the notes. He’d put them in the books where they pertained. He must have intended upon reading them again. And how his eyes had suddenly burned with appreciation when she spoke of them! But it might have had nothing to do with her. He had been reminded of his enjoyment of Shakespeare, or perhaps the feeling of youthful days in academia. He might have been put in mind of visits home between terms when his father was alive.
His father. If only she had a father. One with a name, that is. She sighed. She thought of Mrs. Fanshawe who despised her, and hoped heartily she would not again see that lady; but what chance that, when speaking to her husband seemed of paramount importance to discover the truth of Frannie’s past? When she fell asleep, she dreamt Mrs. Fanshawe was pushing her out of her house, pointing her to the street, to poverty, to infamy. Frannie’s tears were to no avail. The young Miss Fanshawe appeared, but she too, coldly turned away. As Frannie pounded on the Arundellsʼ front door in her dream, she awoke. She had forgotten about the Arundells earlier in the dream, but suddenly remembered. It wasn’t Mrs. Arundell her dreaming self hoped fervently would open the door, and whose arms she would rush headlong into, however. Neither was it Edward.
Mrs. Arundell informed the family at breakfast that she planned a day of shopping, and that Frannie would accompany her. The idea was delightful to Frannie after the dream ordeal, and especially on account of the headache which assailed her from the moment of waking. Uneasiness in the pit of her stomach furthered her discomfort. But the prospect of browsing high-end shops from Piccadilly to Oxford Street (for Mrs. Arundell was prodigiously fond of examining all the new and modish merchandise, and knew where to find the finest Brussels lace for a bonnet, and every fallall a lady could want) seemed just the thing to take her mind off her troubles. Frannie had no money, but going along would be great fun. She might even be of help to Mrs. Arundell if she grew flummoxed about which bonnet to purchase, or which fabric better suited her light complexion in candlelight.
Sebastianʼs mother, however, had other things in mind. She announced, while stirring a cup of chocolate, that she’d decided to bespeak a gown for Frannie.
“Well done!” Edward exclaimed. “Every lady ought to have a new gown at Christmas. No family wants to present a shabby appearance, eh?”
Frannie blushed.
Sebastian scowled. “Are you implying that Miss Fanshawe is in danger of that?”
With a comforting glance at Frannie Mrs. Arundell hurriedly said, “Frannie has never looked shabby, dear heart.”
Edward cleared his throat and quickly amended, “Well I only meant, a lady delights in the latest fashions and being all the crack.”
“Of course,” agreed Mrs. Arundell, “and what with meeting your cousin and the local gentry, a new gown is just the thing to bolster any lady’s confidence.”
Sebastian’s look was not promising so she added, “It will be my Christmas present for her, if that settles your mind.”
“Dearest,” began Sebastian, but Mrs. Arundell held up a hand. “Do you doubt Mr. Harley’s success in securing her fortune? He and his men have learned that a goodly