time to comprehend it as she hurriedly added, “You mustnʼt interrupt your visit here on my account! I have waited months to learn my history. Surely we can wait until after Twelfth Night.” As soon as she spoke, she realized he might want the information in order to reassure the baronet that she was an eligible bride, a bride bringing a sizable dowry. To his steady, thoughtful gaze, she added, “The—the baronet need not concern himself with me!”
His brows furrowed. “The baronet need not— ? Come, we’re all of one family,” Sebastian said kindly. “Any concern of yours must be ours.” But he fell silent, for the housekeeper stopped ahead of them at a door and waited politely for them to reach her.
To the gentle warmth in his eyes, hers answered only with anguish, for was he not saying that the Arundells wished to know her history as much as the baronet, for they were his family? He stopped at the door to the room, raised her hand and kissed it. “I hope you find some rest. I’ll see you at dinner.” With a bow, he turned and left.
Frannie could hardly attend to the housekeeper, who ushered her into the room, pointed out the lovely prospect from the window, the closets with fitted shelves, the comfortable four-poster bed and japanned writing desk. A chambermaid was at work raising a fire in the grate.
Frannie was asked if there was anything she needed, and then was finally left alone in the sizable room. It was high-ceilinged, and intricate plasterwork and roundels stared sightlessly back at her. The wallpaper was a delicate floral, the bed and bedclothes properly plush. It was all elegance and beauty, but she sat upon the bed dejectedly. In the next moment, she threw herself down.
And sobbed.
Sebastian was certain Frannie was hiding something of her history, something that seemed—incredible as it was—to have to do with his cousin. She wasnʼt telling him what it was, and it perplexed him. Her sensibilities had seemed heightened since theyʼd left King Street. She was never a gad-pie, but her silence during the journey was greater than her usual reticence. Perhaps it was only this—the tiresome journey—that wore upon her senses. Not all could withstand the rigors of travel. But he recalled Sir Hugo’s countenance upon seeing Frannie on both occasions and felt surely there was something more afoot. He must find it out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Frannie did not join the family until a maid fetched her for dinner. Clarice had joined her in her chamber, filled with raptures for the stately dwelling. While she put away Frannieʼs things, she chattered on about the size of the kitchens, the staff, even the cavernous servantsʼ hall. Frannie listened with gradually growing amusement. Sheʼd given the meeting with Sir Hugo some thought, and came away with good reason, she felt, for hope. The baronet seemed downright alarmed at the sight of her, which meant he was no more pleased with the notion of marriage to her than she was to him. If he did not desire it, she was safe.
Nevertheless, after Clarice had done her hair up and put a tortoiseshell comb in place, she had her remove it in favor of a thin tiara to which sheʼd attached a lace veil. Pulling the veil down, Clarice clucked her tongue. “A veil at table, miss? In the way of yer food?”
Frannie sighed. The veil was precariously close to her mouth. She removed the tiara, folded the lace twice round the rim, and replaced it. Now the veil reached the tip of her nose but no lower. She caught Clariceʼs reproving eyes in the looking glass. The maid immediately vented her thoughts.
“ʼTis fetching, to be sure, miss.” Her face creased as if in pain. “But for a cheerful dinner afore Christmas? Why, miss? Why hide yer pretty face?”
“It isn’t Christmas yet,” Frannie said defensively. But she thought back to Sebastian’s asking her if she wore the veil to avoid recognition. With a deep sigh, she removed the tiara with its offending lace, and pursed her lips. “A turban, then. The one with tassels. And the largest tassel must drape over my face.”
Clarice’s expression of satisfaction lasted while she changed the headdress, arranged Frannieʼs curls again so they framed her face, and then stood back, allowing Frannie to judge her handiwork. The tassels hung to one side, just as Clarice thought any self-respecting tassels of a turban ought to. Frannie frowned, adjusted the turban, and then nodded with satisfaction