The Jane Austen Society by Natalie Jenner Page 0,89
Society.
He had asked her to come to his offices in Alton. He suspected that she had not visited the town in several years, even though it provided all the major shopping, banking, and commerce for the region. But since her father’s death, Andrew had noticed a subtle change in Frances—whether it be attending the second society meeting at Dr. Gray’s, or inviting Mimi Harrison and her Sotheby’s friend back to the Great House afterwards to stay the night. He wondered if Frances would walk the forty minutes to his offices, as she remained surprisingly healthful for all her time indoors, or take her late father’s Rolls-Royce out for a drive. He knew that Tom had been given permission to drive the old car on occasion, having argued to James Knight that the car, like his horses, needed the exercise.
When Frances arrived at Andrew’s offices on foot instead, he noticed that the tight bun in her once-golden hair had loosened somewhat, her cheeks were rosy from the winter wind, and her pale grey eyes shone brightly from the exercise. Suddenly she looked so much like the young woman he had once loved that he caught himself staring at her as if at an old photo in a frame. Motioning for her to sit down before him, he went back to his own seat behind his large banker-style desk and gave his typical introductory cough.
“I received a letter this morning that I am obligated to share with you as executor of the estate.” Frances sat up even straighter in her chair. “It is from the solicitor for a Mr. Colin Knatchbull-Hugessen, who claims to be the third cousin, twice removed, of your late father. And I’m afraid it speaks to a very plausible claim against the entirety of your late father’s estate.”
Frances listened carefully as Andrew read the letter, keeping his eyes down on the paper the entire time. When he had finished, he finally looked over at her.
“Well, that’s it then,” she said calmly. “He surely has standing for his claim, and I am no one to fight against reality, as you well know.”
It was the first time she had ever alluded, even subtly, to her submission to her father’s will in the face of Andrew’s secret proposal and engagement to her in 1917, when she had not yet turned of age and he was about to be called up to the navy.
“Miss Knight”—Andrew pushed the sheet of paper across the desk towards her—“I still believe there is an argument to be made for your father’s mental capacity at the time of the execution of the second will.”
Frances shook her head. “Andrew, I am fine with all of this, really. The will gives me a roof over my head for life, and money enough for the few things I need.”
“It’s not about what you need. It’s about your father honouring your lifetime of sacrifice to the family. Give all the money away at the end, if you want. You will surely—from the sounds of it—dispense with it more charitably than this Colin Knatchbull.”
“I don’t see how any of that will be possible. And I see no value in focusing on the impossible right now. I have enough for a good life, which is more than many others can say.”
Frances rarely asked for anything and just as rarely complained. Andrew could see that she needed to be heeded in this matter—that she must know what was best for herself now, no matter the mistakes he believed her to have made in the past. Perhaps he was even pushing the issue to make up for his own mistakes with regard to their shared history. For when she had written that final letter to him at sea, breaking off their engagement, he had vowed never to speak to her again if he was lucky enough to survive the war. Instead he had returned a naval hero, resumed his law studies at Cambridge, and built up the most successful practice in the greater county. Then one day in 1932, James Knight had walked through Andrew’s office door to retain him in the investigation of his son Cecil’s death from what the police were calling a shooting accident. Even then, as Andrew Henry Forrester became increasingly relied upon by the fading patriarch in all his legal and financial matters, he had hewed as closely as possible to his secret vow to never again say another word to Frances Elizabeth Knight.