Miss Fanshawe's Fortune - Linore Rose Burkard Page 0,75
also a ball tomorrow night for the upper gentry only, which will follow the open hall festivities. Let us forgo this open hall of the farmers and land workers; we are not of their class. We must attend the ball! The baronet will needs must greet you then, and you can arrange a private little cose to tell him all.”
Even Catherine had to smile at this suggestion, for what young woman could despise such Christmas merriment as a ball?
To press her point, Catherineʼs mama added, “And think of all the eligible young men who may be there for our Cat. If Whitby cries off, this is her best chance to look elsewhere!”
Mr. Fanshawe saw that his idea of forgoing a meeting entirely in favour of writing Sir Hugo a letter, was going the way of a passing wave. It looked powerful, formidable and sound, but like the Golden Sovereign cresting such a roller, his wife and daughter refused to let it stop them. The ladies saw by his silence that they’d won the day. Mrs. Fanshawe said cheerfully, “Cat and I must attend to our evening dress, but I see no objection to taking a drive past the Hall today, to catch a glimpse of it, so long as we are settled back in our rooms before dinner. Weʼll have plenty of time to get our apparel in order.”
Mr. Fanshawe cleared his throat. “We have no invitations for the ball, and the man is entitled to his privacy!” His words fell like a judge’s gavel, producing silence, and dousing the spirit of excitement in his wife. A frown settled upon her features, but after a moment it cleared and she declared, “So we shall attend the open hall and you must finagle an audience with his lordship then. But in any case, we shanʼt be deprived of a drive past today.”
In half an hour their meal was finished, another nightʼs lodging secured, and horses freshened for the drive were straining at the reins of the coachman, stamping their feet to be off. The family set out.
“Is it an annual tradition for great houses to open their doors at Christmas to the surrounding countryfolk?” asked Catherine.
Her father said, “Many of ‘em do; ‘tis a way to thank servants, tenants, and farmhands, sort of like a harvest home to show some goodness to the local villagers. All the nobility should be generous in such a fashion, I think.”
Mrs. Fanshawe winked at Catherine. “It forebodes well for us if this baronet is generous.”
When, an hour and five minutes later, the Fanshawesʼ hired chaise rumbled onto the grounds of Bartlett Hall, they saw with surprise that another coach had turned onto the drive just ahead of them.
Mr. Fanshawe kicked the wall and the coach soon came to a stop.
“What are ye doing, Mr. Fanshawe?” asked his wife.
In his quiet voice he replied, “That is either the baronet’s carriage ahead of us, or his guests arriving. We shall not intrude today.” To the postilion who appeared at the window, he gave instructions, but there was not room enough on the drive for a turnabout. When they arrived at the front of the Hall, all strained to get a good look at the Palladian style mansion as they kept moving, following the circular drive back toward the turnpike. The coach ahead of them had slowed to a stop before the great front doors. They rumbled past. Mr. Fanshawe saw a well-dressed gentleman peering curiously at them from the window of the vehicle. He nodded respectfully, though he knew him not.
By the time the Arundellʼs carriage turned into the drive of Bartlett Hall, Frannie was undeniably curious, even excited. Sheʼd never been to the home of a baronet before and knew that even the good taste and elegance of the Arundellʼs townhome would not compare to what lay ahead. As they turned into the drive, another carriage followed.
“Could that be our carrier with the servants?” asked Mrs. Arundell, craning her neck to get a look. “I hoped theyʼd arrive before us, as we sent them on ahead.”
Sebastian turned to peer out the back window. “They should be hours behind us, regardless. That plodding equipage of a carrier moves at a snail’s pace!”
When the long, tree-lined drive ended and the house came into view, Frannie was not disappointed. Though not a student of baroque architecture, she knew at once that the stately exterior with its three stories of bricked façade dressed with stone, many long windows, wide, fanned