Page 2 of The Viscount's Pearl
“Frances has a godfather who keeps a house in Margate for his health,” said Lady Lilley. “Lord Barrington. He is very fond of Frances and often invites her there. He is an invalid, so although his estate Ashland Manor is in Surrey he prefers to spend time in Margate, he says the sea air and the bathing relieve his symptoms. He likes to have youthful company about him as he is unmarried and without children, so he dotes on Frances as well as his other younger relations.”
Lady Ridlington gave a nod, and Frances knew she would be correctly locating Viscount Barrington in her mental list of peers as a wealthy and respectable, if reclusive, member of theton. A wealthy unmarried uncle was always useful for a young lady, especially if he were an invalid, one never knew if there might be an addition to Frances’ dowry in due course. Frances Lilley’s marriage portion was already twenty thousand pounds, which, if properly invested in the five percents would bring in one thousand pounds a year, a generous sum to add to Lady Ridlington’s son’s already comfortable income. Yes, no doubtLady Ridlington thought Miss Lilley was promising, especially as she was unlikely to want to relinquish the control that she currently enjoyed as the widowed mother of an unmarried son with a handsome estate. A quiet obliging daughter in law would be just the thing. She gave an encouraging smile.
“Did you draw these while visiting your godfather, Miss Lilley?”
“Yes,” she replied, as instructed.
Frances had actually drawn them at home at the behest of her mother, who had doggedly insisted that Frances must have at least one accomplishment to show off on such occasions. A drawing master had been secured and Frances had, after much coercion, at last consented to learn to draw shells. Her mother and the drawing master had both suggested adding flowers and other elements of the natural world, but she had refused and in the end they had given in.
“Tell me a little about shells,” Lady Ridlington suggested. “They are so pretty.”
Frances stared at her. “Many people foolishly dismiss shells as only pretty objects, without fully understanding their scientific interest,” she began, heedless of Lady Ridlington’s expression at being called a fool and of her mother’s sudden sharp nudge in the ribs. She continued, leaning forwards, sifting through the pages of the portfolio to find what she was looking for. “Even those marine bivalves and gastropods which we most commonly find on our English shores, and indeed use for culinary purposes, have their own interest. This, for example,Mytilus edulis, the common mussel, thrives on our coastlines, showing resilience even in brackish waters, attaching itself to rocks with its delicate yet strong byssal threads. The nacreous interior gives a pearlescent effect as the light catches it.”
Lady Ridlington opened her mouth to reply but Frances continued to speak, pulling out another drawing.
“Here is a cockle, orCerastoderma edule, which has a globular shape with between twenty-two and twenty-eight concentric ridges on the outside, while the interior has shallow grooves running from the notched margin, but fading before the pallial line. They bury themselves in the sand at great speed to escape predators such as gulls and of course humans.”
Miss Ridlington’s mouth was now open while Lady Ridlington’s face had grown stiff, but Frances was fully engrossed in her descriptions, not even glancing up to see if her audience was paying attention.
“Observe this:Buccinum undatum, the common whelk. Seven to eight spiraling whorls with the last one making up the majority of the overall size, the light and dark colouring irregular.Buccinum undatummay be confused with the so-called ‘red’ whelk,Neptunea antiqua,by those who do not note the finer ribbing ofNeptunea antiqua. And while the common whelk is edible, the red whelk is not, therefore such subtle differences are important.” Frances drew breath, turning to another drawing. “The oyster, or –”
“Frances, dearest,” interrupted Lady Lilley desperately, “would you ring the bell for more tea?”
Frances looked up and surveyed the table. “We haven’t finished this tea yet,” she pointed out.
Lady Ridlington held out a hand. “Please do not trouble yourself, Lady Lilley,” she said. “Mary and I should be leaving.”
“But you’ve only just arrived! I was going to ask Frances to show you the gardens…” tried Lady Lilley, but Lady Ridlington was already standing.
“Such a long drive… unlikely we can visit again soon… perhaps we will see one another in London…”
Snatches of conversation drifted back to Frances as the visitors, escorted by the disappointed Lady Lilley, made their way out of Woodside Abbey and into their waiting carriage. Thecrunch of the wheels faded away as Lady Lilley returned to the drawing room, where she sat down and took a long drink of tea.
“I’m sorry,” Frances muttered when it became clear her mother was not going to speak.
Lady Lilley sighed and slumped back in her armchair, entirely losing her usual immaculate posture. “I had such high hopes for Lady Ridlington taking a fancy to you for her son. We could have avoided your fourth season if… well, never mind.” She gave a forced smile. “I have heard that there is a wonderful new modiste who is a marvel when it comes to…”
Frances let her mind drift away from the thought of another exhausting season. Her fourth. Too many. There would be new dresses and bonnets and shoes, new fans and gloves and stockings, for her father was generous enough and anxious to marry her off.
“And the latest fashions might suit you, bosoms are not being worn so high now, so even though you are not so well-endowed they will look becoming and perhaps something can be done with your hair…”
“Mama.”
Lady Lilley paused in her recital of everything that might be attempted in making Frances more marriageable. “Yes?”
“Could you not speak to Papa about my plan?”
“Your plan?”
“If he were to settle the marriage portion on me now, I could live very comfortably alone. Somewhere by the sea…”
“Frances!” Lady Lilley sat bolt upright again.
She fell silent, staring down at her portfolio.
“Frances, I do not want to hear this sort of talk again, it is ridiculous.”
“I am going to be a spinster,” said Frances. “So I might as well start now and be happy, rather than dragging it out for season after season, until you and Papa realise I am right.”
