Page 25 of The Viscount's Pearl
“No, Sir, I am to return home to my father this year.”
“Ah. It will be the first year since your dear mother’s loss?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“It will feel different, of course, your mother was always the heart and soul of Christmas, but your father and sisters will make it merry and they will be exceedingly glad to have you there. They have missed you these past few years. It will do you good to spend time with them. To forget one’s ancestors is to be a brook without a source, a tree without a root, according to the old Chinese proverb.”
Laurence nodded. “I have enjoyed my visit with you, Uncle, I shall do my best to return in the spring.” He turned politely to Miss Lilley. “It has been a pleasure to enjoy your company, Miss Lilley. Will you be in London or at Woodside Abbey for Christmas?”
“Woodside Abbey. My sisters will bring their families and my brother will be there also, so we will be a houseful.”
“Ah, the children will enjoy having their favourite aunt to play with,” said Lord Barrington. He turned to Laurence. “Frances is wonderful with children, though she does not much care for the grown men and women of society.”
“Children are easier,” retorted Frances. “And I can always escape to my bedroom to hide from them. One cannot hide from society.”
“I am not surprised you like children,” said Lord Barrington. “‘An honest man is always a child,’ as Socrates taught us, and I know of no-one more honest than you, Frances. Indeed, I hope you will both know the joy of children one day.” A shadow crossed his countenance. “It is a great sorrow of mine that I never had a family.”
“You have us, Sir,” said Laurence. “Your nieces, nephew and goddaughter.”
“Indeed I do,” said Lord Barrington, smiling fondly at the two of them. “And you are all a great joy to me. I am grateful for your time spent with this old man. Now, I shall not keep you longer, you both have long journeys to make and I shall have to travel myself the day after tomorrow.”
The carriage was brought round soon after breakfast. It would take them to the nearest staging inn, where they would join separate post-chaises to their respective parts of the country. Frances bestowed a kiss on Lord Barrington’s cheek, then he and Laurence shook hands, before the two young people climbed into the carriage while their luggage was securely strapped to the back and roof. They drove away, both waving to Lord Barrington, who sat in his chair outside Northdown House, watching them leave.
Once on the road proper, they settled back.
“I wish you all the compliments of the season,” Laurence said as they drove. “Will your family all have gathered already?”
“Yes, it will be very noisy, for my two sisters and their five children will be staying with us. And you?”
“Yes, although we will be quieter. I do not yet have nieces and nephews.”
“Lord Barrington was right,” she said. “I mostly prefer children to grown men and women. They speak their minds, and do not make polite conversation just for the sake of it. And they love my shells. We play together for hours with them.”
“I am surprised they are quiet enough for you,” he said.
“Oh, I have to hide away sometimes to rest my ears from their racket,” she agreed. “But on the whole, I enjoy their company.”
At the inn, Laurence saw her conveyed to her post-chaise withDeborah and her luggage, then stood by the window as they waited for it to depart.
“I will see you when the season begins in the spring,” he said.
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “Though if you choose your bride swiftly enough you may well be married by the next time I see you.”
He could not imagine it. “Perhaps,” he managed. “And perhaps you will be engaged also?”
She shook her head firmly. “Not if I can avoid it,” she said. “If I can get to the end of the season unmarried it is possible my father will allow me to set up a home of my own at last.”
He smiled at her stubborn insistence and bowed. “Then I hope I will be permitted to call upon you one day, wherever your little home may be.”
She nodded, then waved her hand as the carriage moved off.
Frances only just made it back to Woodside Abbey before an icy wind delivered drifts of snow and daily fog, but the Abbey was snug enough and the snow a great delight to her nephews and nieces. While her sisters Rebecca and Susan huddled indoors with Lady Lilley, discussing clothes and gossiping about their neighbours, and her older brother Charles spent most of his time discussing hunting with his father, Frances threw herself into the festivities with the children.
They coerced a gardener to come out with them to the woods and dragged back a giant Yule log for the fire as well as so much greenery to decorate the house that they had to make use of a sled to carry it. The greenery, along with bright red ribbons and mistletoe, were hung about the rooms and hallway, making the Abbey festive, and the rest of their days were spent alternately playing outside until their clothes were soaked through by thesnow or pulling on the bell to demand more hot chocolate, biscuits and cakes from the kitchen.
In the evenings, Frances brought out boxes of shells and lay on the drawing room floor with the children, turning them over, explaining their origins and making patterns with them, before the smallest ones would inevitably fall asleep in her lap. She liked to stroke their soft hair and watch them sleep, and spending time with them largely removed her from the necessity of partaking in the tedious conversations after dinner, as well as avoiding too many pointed references to her unmarried state and questions regarding the upcoming season.
Sometimes, when she tired of the noise of the children, she retired to her bedroom or the library and read her books on shells or watched the snow tumbling endlessly out of the sky, a sight she found restful, akin to watching flames flicker in the fireplace. She relished this chance to be away from the endless social whirl, which would intensify when they returned to London in the spring, but there were days when she wondered if her plans to remain a spinster would take from her the pleasure she found in the children’s company. Would she one day regret the choice she had made to live alone? She was unsure, but the thought of the marriage mart only wearied her, and she could not see her way to one without the other. Being an aunt would have to suffice.
