Miss Fanshawe's Fortune - Linore Rose Burkard Page 0,32
a napkin. Sebastian hastily drew a handkerchief from a pocket of his waistcoat and proffered it across the table, but his eyes clouded. Was he annoyed?
“Do not fret over what Mama thinks,” he answered. “And do let us wait to draw conclusions until we hear from Mr. Fanshawe. You must not torture yourself with such notions.”
She blinked at him, surprised to find him so affable on the matter. “What if he does not call?”
“If he does not, I shall turn up at his doorstep.”
She gave him a little, watery smile. “I am greatly obliged,” was all she could say. He nodded and then asked how long she’d waited up for his mother the night before, listening with amusement while Frannie told him of the lady’s triumphant experience. She left out entirely his mother’s ridiculous notion of Frannie being a suitable wife for the baronet, and hadn’t quite done with other details when Mrs. Arundell appeared.
Standing to bow, Sebastian exclaimed, “Mama, I should have thought you’d take a tray in your bed this morning. I understand you came in shockingly late.”
She smiled and shooed a hand at him. “Nonsense. I’ve come home with the dawn in the past, as have you, sir. You know how ‘tis with society.” She allowed a footman to pour a cup of coffee and then said, “Your absence was noted, Beau. Miss Compton particularly asked about you. As did the Misses Beaufort, and two gentlemen, let me see…their names were…”
“No matter, Mama. I am eager to hear of only one gentleman.”
“The Regent?” she inquired, looking over her cup at him.
“Sir Hugo. How went it with him?”
She looked down at once, and said carefully, after swallowing, “He is very gentlemanly, though in his bumbling way, just as I remember him. He didn’t neglect me for a moment.” She looked up again and met his eyes. “But if he is in town to find a wife, I saw it not. He failed to put himself forward, not even to the most eligible ladies!” She took a sip of tea and then continued, saying with a laugh that bordered on a bitter note, “I own, if he hopes to marry, the lady will needs must make the offer!” She glanced at Frannie and said, “Which, by the by, should perhaps be made by you, on Frannie’s behalf, for she has no one else to speak for her.”
Frannie and Sebastian stared at her. Even Sebastian seemed momentarily bereft of words.
“Dearest,” he said, “do you mean to say, you wish me to arrange a wedding for the man who may very well disinherit me if he has his own child?”
A frown crossed his mother’s face. “Well, of course—I wasn’t thinking of that. I suppose Frannie, being so young, would of course—” She giggled.
“What were you thinking?” Sebastian asked, smiling. “Of Miss Fanshawe’s future?”
She swallowed a sip of coffee. “I thought only of Hugo—that big, bumbling oaf!” she finished, vehemently. “He needs a sweet tempered girl, an amiable creature; Frannie is just the thing. And with her fortune, I thought her most suitable.”
Sebastian thought it now more and more evident that something of significance had occurred between his mama and his cousin. A broken heart was his thought. But Sir Hugo hardly seemed the type to bestow broken hearts on lovely young women, which his mother, still lovely now, had surely been in her youth. A portrait of her shortly after marrying his father hung in the library, a testament to that beauty. His cousin, while not a fright of a man, was paunchy and heavily fleshed in the face, which was often reddened, either by nature or self-effacement. He had bushy brows, and moved timidly, light on his feet as though trying to be unnoticed.
Frannie interrupted his musings when she cleared her throat, giving him a look imbued with meaning, her brows raised at him in expectation.
“Oh, er,” he said, leaning forward to his mama, “You should know that Miss Fanshawe’s fortune is far from certain.”
Mrs. Arundell gave him an impatient look. “Well, Beau, dearest, in that case, you must leave no stone unturned on her account! Put Mr. Harley on the case, you have my permission.”
“Our solicitor may be of some use,” he acceded, “in future. After I’ve finished inquiries of my own.” While his mother buttered a piece of toast, he added, “As it stands, I await a call from Frannie’s relation, Charles Fanshawe. We shall see where that interview leads.”