would he risk harming them by continuing on. After a good meal, the innkeeperʼs wife led the ladies to their bedchamber, for they wished to retire at once. The gentlemen lingered afterward over port. They would be shown later to a separate chamber not far from the ladies. Sykes alone of the servants got to sleep in the same room as his master, while the footmen took turns sleeping and guarding the carriage and luggage.
“I loathe long journeys,” Mrs. Arundell moaned that night while Frannie rested in a bed opposite hers. “But I must say I look forward to seeing the Hall, and whether Sir Malcolm and Hugo have had the sense to maintain it properly. Let us pray they have not taken it into their heads to redo any of the ancient parts of the house. Too many of our great houses are ruined by such ideas! ʼTis the ancient elements that give the best character.”
“How ancient is the house, maʼam?” asked Frannie, for the first time curious about the Hall.
“I believe it was built in the Restoration,” she said. “Sir Hugoʼs ancestor supported the monarchy and was rewarded with the land. He built the estate rather in the Baroque style, which was all the rage back then, you know. A more recent baronet built a modern addition, as did Lord Malcolm, Sir Hugo’s father. I hope he limited his changes to that.”
Frannie fell asleep to images of dancing in a grand baroque hall, but the face of the baronet, greeting them with a smile, resting his eyes upon her, tarnished the impression. She did not wish to think about Sir Hugo. She focused instead on Sebastian, realizing Sir Hugoʼs ball would be her first opportunity of dancing with him! Why hadnʼt she thought of this earlier? Her heart swelled with relief as dread of the visit vanished. She pictured the scene; her, in her expensive new gown and headdress; him, the ideal of manhood looking exquisite in eveningwear. Sebastian was strong but gentle, handsome but not flirtatious. He would take her hand, lead her to the floor with a smile, his eyes all admiring. Suddenly she shivered. She couldn’t tell if it were from a draft in the room, or from the delicious anticipation of standing up with Sebastian Arundell, of having his entire attention upon her. The memory of when heʼd leaned in and kissed her cheek now floated in her mind. Except that in her mindʼs eye, he did not kiss her cheek. He kissed her lips. Oh, vain thought!
But she fell asleep smiling.
When Frannie saw Sebastian at breakfast, she blushed and looked away as if he could read her mind. As if he could know that she’d gone to sleep dreaming about him. She must not allow that. She had no right, no right at all, to think of him. Oh, why, if the Arundells knew this much, did they not also know that she was utterly unsuitable as a bride for Sir Hugo? It made no sense.
She looked back at Sebastian and found him smiling gently at her, but this merely tumbled her heart further, for while his look seemed affectionate, she must not construe it as such. To her, Sebastian was all a muddle, a kindly elder brother of a sort that she must not think of—but every minute did.
Mrs. Arundell raised a cup to her lips while watching the others. She saw Sebastian smile gently at Frannie, whose look became one of sweet confusion. His grin broadened as if he knew he sent her heart tumbling, though the mother was certain her son was impervious to his effect upon the softer sex. But Frannie was such a humble, honest girl. It warmed her heart.
Edward interrupted the moment when, with half-closed eyes, he demanded to know what was taking so long to get coffee. He went on to bemoan how miserable a night heʼd spent. “Your man,” he said accusingly to Sebastian, “snores with the same sepulchral tones he speaks with, only twice as loud. The bed was nothing more than hay, if I’m not mistaken, and,” he finished, glaring at his brother from his half-opened eyes, “I was too far from the deuced fire to feel it!”
“Hold your tongue, cub,” chided Sebastian. “I slept well enough with the same snoring in my ears, and the same poor sort of mattress.”
“Closer to the fire!” snapped Edward, loath to give up all points.
Sykes, who had appeared with an urn of coffee and began pouring,