Page 47 of The Viscount's Pearl
“Not if she is rich,” countered Lady Lilley, showing a finer understanding of human nature than her husband. “If she is rich, they will think she is eccentric, but they will respect her. If she has her marriage portion as well as Lord Barrington’s bequest, she will have a fine townhouse and be able to keep a carriage and six servants, including a footman. It will be far more respectable.”
“So I am just to give twenty thousand pounds to her so that she may be a rich old maid? We should have married her to Lord Hosmer when we had the chance. Damn Lord Barrington and his meddlesome ways.” Lord Lilley fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and frowned. “Where’s that doctor’s card Hosmer gave me? I swear it was here.”
“That is unthinkable,” said Lady Lilley, shocked. “Lock her up in a mental institution? Your own daughter?”
Lord Lilley grumbled something under his breath about it being the best place for such a harridan, but the spirit had gone out of him. “Surely with thirty thousand you can find someone for her?”
Lady Lilley nodded miserably. “But she has been through four seasons and no respectable young man will want her by now except for her money alone and what sort of young man would that be? A gambler? A drunkard? One who cannot manage his own affairs?”
“Could try abroad,” grunted Lord Lilley.
Lady Lilley looked appalled. “I would not want her married to a foreigner. They wouldn’t understand a word she said.”
“That might be for the best,” said Lord Lilley, but his temper had lost its force and Lady Lilley, sensing defeat and the subsequent acquiescence to come, only sighed and said thatLord Lilley must do what he thought was right. She further hinted that having Frances settled would mean they could turn their attention to a bride for their son without constant comments about their unmarried daughter, which put Lord Lilley in a better mood.
There followed a week of heavy silence at mealtimes and all three members of the family keeping their distance from one another in-between. Frances rocked in her chair and lay under rotunda’s shell ceiling, but none of it brought any solace. Lord Hosmer was gone, which had lifted one burden, and it was likely that, at some point, she would in fact be allowed to become an official spinster, but still a heaviness sat over her, weighed her down, her thoughts turning grey each time she tried to gaze into the blue skies above and hope for better days to come. Laurence had forsaken her, and though it should not have hurt her heart, it did. Had she loved him? She was unsure. But she had hoped. She had allowed hope to rise up in her as they had spent time together, at the touch of his lips to hers. Each of these had led her to believe that there could be, might be, something between them one day. That something tender might grow. And she had wanted that more than she had thought, had hoped for it, only to find the promise turned to nothing in her hands, his true character revealed in the cold light of day after that twilight kiss.
When her father sent for her at the end of the week, she braced herself for yet more haranguing. Instead, he waved her to a seat, face bitterly determined.
“I have found you a house in Margate,” he said heavily. “Since you have spent so much time there, I assume you will want to be located there.”
Frances’ stomach clenched. Margate was forever tainted for her now, partly with sad memories of losing her godfather,but mainly because of Laurence. If she lived there, would she meet him unexpectedly and have to act as though they were only acquaintances, with no mention of what had almost been between them? But her parents knew nothing of that; they would probably expect herself and the new Lord Barrington to be amiable neighbours. Carefully, she inclined her head.
“Very well. It is called Belle Vue Cottage, a newly built house, very respectable and well made. It has been furnished simply for now, enough to be lived in while you decide what furnishings you would wish for it to have. Your mother will choose your staff and naturally Deborah will go with you. It will be rented at first, in case you should come to your senses.” He sighed. “If you persist in wishing to live there, it can be bought.” He stopped and waited for her to react.
“Thank you,” said Frances. “I am grateful to you for arranging it.”
It was true, but it was no longer exciting. She had imagined this moment for the past few years and always it had seemed thrilling, a new start, a life of her own, free of restrictions and other people’s disappointments in her. Now it was a cold inevitability, the only possible course for a woman like herself, a woman unable to behave as thetondemanded.
Her father waited, as though expecting more, then sighed again and said that Lady Lilley would travel there with her to see her settled in. “It will be best to get it over with.”
It was not a grand house, but it was smart enough to satisfy her mother, a newly-built square townhouse in an empty field, set back from the main town.
“You will need a gardener,” her mother said, surveying the space from the safety of her carriage. “A proper lawn, some hedges, a rose garden…”
Frances said nothing, watching the footmen carrying in such limited items of furniture as she had chosen. It looked bleak even to her eyes. When she had imagined having her own garden she had thought of the gardens at Northdown House, full of fruit trees and flowers, the swing under the majestic oak. Not this patch of wild grasses and churned up soil from the building of the house. Inside there were empty rooms, one after another, each one more echoing than the last. A morning room, a drawing room, a dining room. Downstairs, a kitchen. Upstairs there were bedrooms, the servants’ quarters. Lady Lilley twittered about wallpapers and fabrics, about the right kind of furnishings, until Frances could bear it no longer. She had already chosen the plainest possible items presented to her, shaking her head stubbornly at Lady Lilley’s sighs of disappointment, insisting that no, she did not want a dining table that would seat ten, that she did not even wish to furnish two of the four bedrooms, leaving them empty and bereft of any decoration.
“I suppose you will keep your shells there?” tried her mother but Frances only shrugged. She had very little enthusiasm for her life as it was to be here, in spite of all the years she had spent daydreaming of it. And meanwhile there was gossip that Northdown House was closed up. It seemed the new Lord Barrington was spending all his time at the main estate in Surrey. So there could not be any chance meetings, even if she had wanted them. Clearly Laurence wanted nothing to do with any memories of Margate.
Trunks of clothing were unloaded, as well as a few crates of essentials: china, kitchenware, bedding. She would have a gardener, a footman, a cook, Deborah, two maids of all work and a groom-driver to go with her small carriage. Laundry could be sent out or extra girls brought in to help on wash day. This was enough to satisfy Lady Lilley that Frances would not be laughedat or made fun of, but the truth was she would still be an oddity in the area. There was no getting around that.
And the move was done.
Lady Lilley shed tears as she left, but Frances remained dry-eyed as she watched her mother’s carriage leave, standing at her bedroom window until the road was empty. Then she sat down on her bed and wondered what should happen next. She had lived all of her life in a house where she was told what to do, what to wear, what to say, and now all those choices were hers to make. She tried to feel elated, but there was only numbness. It had all happened so fast. Just as she was beginning to have feelings for Laurence, he had been swept away from her and now she would be alone for the rest of her life. She had not thought, before, how lonely that would feel.
Deborah was of little comfort, for she was evidently sulking, her face set in a permanent scowl. This bare house and silent life must seem a distinct come-down in the world to her. She would have hoped as much as Lady Lilley for Frances to make an advantageous marriage, for it would have elevated her, as lady’s maid, from the attendant to the younger daughter of a grand house to the place of the mistress’ personal maid, one of the highest positions she could attain.
“It’s dreary, Miss, if you don’t mind my saying,” she said one evening as she helped Frances to undress. “There’s to be a ball at the Assembly Rooms next week. I saw the notice in town. Wouldn’t you like to attend and make some friends round about these parts, if you’re intending to stay? Unless you’ve changed your mind,” she added hopefully.
Frances shook her head. “I will stay here,” she said. “But I do not wish to make acquaintances. I wish for a quiet life.” She would make this new life work. She would start, and it would develop as she had always planned.
The days went by very slowly. She would rise, breakfast, then take the carriage down to the beach and look for shells, return for a midday meal, spend her afternoons looking over or cleaning the shells, sorting them into types, reading about them. Then she would dine early, refusing to dress for dinner, which made Deborah pout, and then read some more before retiring. It was the life she had planned made real, it was everything she had dreamed of and it was… dull. It was too quiet, too repetitive. It was… lonely. She tried to think what else she had imagined that she had forgotten to incorporate into her days, but all that came to mind were the walks in the gardens at Northdown, with Lord Barrington speaking of philosophy. Or… or Laurence. Their walks and talks together, his occasional shock at what came out of her mouth. But he had never turned away from her. He would be shocked, and then reapproach her, ask questions, perhaps challenge her or agree with her. Her days were now spent in silence to such an extent that her voice was hoarse when she spoke for lack of usage and Deborah urged her to drink a warming tonic.
Frances had been there two weeks when she received a letter from her cousin Lady Andrea, asking if she could come and visit, as she would be travelling nearby to visit an aunt in Whitstable before returning to her father Lord Sabin. Frances sent back an eager letter inviting her to tea, and on the appointed day spent much of the morning fussing about the arrangements, which she usually left to the cook.
Lady Andrea sat in the drawing room and looked about her as Frances poured the tea.
“I hope your new life suits you?” she asked.
