Page 48 of The Viscount's Pearl
“Yes,” said Frances promptly. She passed Lady Andrea her cup and sipped from her own in silence. Then, setting the cup back down, she shook her head. “No. I thought it would but I am – I am lonely.” It had come out too fast, without her being able to stop herself, the cold truth of her new life.
Lady Andrea set down her cup, her wide eyes anxious. “I am so sorry,” she said. “But it is not too late. You could still marry…”
Frances shook her head. “No-one would have me,” she said flatly. “I am a spinster now and I have chosen my path.” She swallowed. “It is not so bad. I have servants, I have a house, I have a carriage. I can gather my shells. I have the things I always wanted.”
“But they do not make you content?”
Frances shook her head, a slow doleful movement. Swallowed, so that the brewing tears would not fall. “It is not how I thought it would be. I thought I wanted this, but I…”I thought for a moment that I had glimpsed something else, another future, but it disappeared, like water trickling out of my hands.“It was not to be,” she managed at last, and kept her eyes low so that she would not have to see the pity in Lady Andrea’s kind face.
Laurence had sent word of his arrival at Woodside Abbey a few days prior to his arrival, so he was surprised at the coolness of his reception. There was much formulaic politeness, of course. Condolences on the death of his uncle, congratulations on his new title and estate. Inquiries as to the health of his father and two sisters, who had both recently given birth to healthy babes. Tea was served. Lady Lilley was an attentive hostess, Lord Lilley was affable. But Frances was nowhere to be seen and neither of her parents were treating him as their future son-in-law, only as a pleasant acquaintance.
“I have been remiss in making my way here,” he confessedat last, hoping to prompt them to be more forthcoming. “There was so much to be done after Uncle Barrington died, you understand. The funeral, the estates… but that has all been managed now and so I was free to fulfil my promise and come here.”
Lord and Lady Lilley looked baffled by this declaration, but both nodded politely.
Laurence looked about him. “Is Frances here?” he asked at last.
Lady Lilley frowned. “Do you mean Miss Lilley?”
Laurence was lost. Surely he was allowed to refer to his betrothed by her first name? Perhaps Lord and Lady Lilley were peculiarly strict. He sat straighter. “Yes, I beg your pardon, of course I meant Miss Lilley. Is she… will she be joining us?”
“My daughter has recently... set up home,” announced Lord Lilley.
Laurence stared at him. “Set up home?”
“Yes.”
Lady Lilley tried to make this odd decision seem more acceptable. “Our daughter is very fond of the sea,” she began, trying out a well-rehearsed speech for the first time. “And she has preferred… that is, she chose to establish her own household by the sea, so that she might benefit from the health-giving benefits of – of the sea air.” Her cheeks grew pink with the effort of making this seem normal behaviour.
“But…” Laurence could barely form the words, he was so thrown by this information. “She never told me that she would be doing such a thing.”
“Why would she tellyou?” asked Lord Lilley, leaning forward and frowning.
“Because I do think as her future husband that I should have been told of this decision, even though I cannot claim to understand it at all.”
There was a long silence.
“Am I to understand you correctly, Sir,” said Lord Lilley at last, “that you believe yourself betrothed to my daughter Frances?”
“I... asked her to marry me,” began Laurence, deciding it was best not to reveal that in fact it had been Frances who had proposed to him, “and she agreed. We told my uncle; he knew of it before his death.” He swallowed, thinking of the sudden turn of events. “He died soon after, and I did not think it suitable for her to attend the funeral. I sent her home where she would be taken care of while I put his affairs in order and took on the responsibilities of the title…” He came to a stumbling halt as the truth dawned on him. “She did notinformyou of our betrothal?”
Lord and Lady Lilley’s stunned expressions and slowly shaking heads confirmed he was correct.
“But – but where is she?” A sudden horror took hold of him. “She did not – you said she set up her household – you did not allow her to marry Lord Hosmer?”
Lord Lilley shook his head and Laurence let out a sigh of relief. “Then where is she?”
For a moment they all stared at one another again, before Lady Lilley spoke. “In Margate, of course.”
The Lilleys and Laurence spent a further hour in hurried and disjointed conversation, attempting to understand one another. From this Laurence came to understand that no, Frances had told them nothing of their agreement, that she had appeared upset and distracted, had then lashed out at Lord Hosmer when he had come to claim her before insisting that she be allowed to take the late Lord Barrington’s bequest and set up home alone.
“I must go to her at once,” he said at last. “I do not know if she has changed her mind. But my offer stands. I wish to marry her.”
The carriage ride from Woodside Abbey back to London, the restless night he spent in his Albany rooms and the subsequent day’s journey to Margate were the longest two days of Laurence’s life. Unhappy thoughts chased around and around his mind. Had he not been clear enough with her? Had she thought him so shallow as to retract his word to her? Had she been too afraid to tell her parents? He reproached her a thousand times in his mind, but under it all there was reproach for himself, too. He had hurried her away without clear instructions. He had not written to her, however much he had tried. He had been gone from her side too long with no word, not even a letter to her father stating his intentions. It was clear that she had not trusted him, had waited and waited, before giving up on him. She had been brave enough to refuse Lord Hosmer and then she had taken what little of her pride she could, along with her bequest from Lord Barrington, and gone to live the life she had always dreamt of.
For the last few miles to Margate, Laurence carried a dead weight of dread in his stomach. Frances had what she had always wanted now. She was a committed spinster, her dowry had been disbursed, she was free to live entirely alone for the rest of her days. What if she no longer wanted him, no longer needed him? She had begged him to rescue her and he had failed. Perhaps she had decided she was well rid of him and would close the door in his face, refuse to speak to him, their betrothal null and void.
“Do you wish to stop at Northdown House, Sir, and freshen up before seeing Miss Lilley?” Roberts asked at the last staging post they came to.
