Chapter 32
W hat do you think of the party?” Frankie asked Jasper when he and Cecelia approached. Lady Evelyn was staring at his back from across the room, her expression one of undisguised jealousy.
“I think it is terribly dull.”
“Oh, Uncle Jasper.” Cecelia shook her head. “I am afraid you do not understand the meaning of a good time. Miss Turner, will you join me for a walk in the gardens? It is becoming rather crowded in here.” She gave a significant look in Lady Evelyn’s direction.
More carriages had arrived, disgorging guests by the dozens. The receiving room was filling with lords and ladies and bachelors and maidens who all greeted one another, exclaimed over the travel and the weather, and quietly assessed the social lay of the land. Frankie’s eyes narrowed when Lord Wilson walked through the door. She had felt “ill” when it was time for their carriage ride, and so she had not seen him since he’d cut Jasper the morning he’d come to call on her.
“Mr. Jones!” a man cried, wending his way through the crowd. He was trailed by two impeccably turned-out women and three men with pomaded hair and lace cuffs. “What a surprise to see you here.” The man clapped Jasper on the back. He was unarguably handsome, with thick black hair, brown eyes, and an aristocratic nose. He was dressed grandly, but lacked the fussiness of his peers. “The trip was awful, was it not? Have you heard about Lord Wexler? Quite the scandal.” The man spotted Cecelia, who was watching him with open curiosity. “Although that story is for another time when we are in less delicate company. Who is this ravishing young woman?”
It took Frankie several full seconds to realize the man was talking about her. Ravishing? Since when? Since she had a fortune in a dowry, she thought bitterly.
Jasper’s jaw was unusually stiff. “Lord Devon, allow me to present Miss Francis Turner.”
Frankie’s ears perked at the sound of his name, and her fingertips tingled. Lord Devon, Marquess of Devon, was one of the eight names on her list. She was fully aware of the impoverished state of his inheritance and was stunned by how fashionably he still dressed. He must have bought the finest available clothing on credit to appear wealthier than he was, perhaps so that he could fool an unsuspecting woman into marriage, or an unwise man into a loan. Frankie had always known the ton to be deceitful, but never before had she been privy to inside knowledge about their finances, and with that knowledge, the lies took on new intent. She wondered if this was how Jasper always viewed nobility. They were not gods shrouded in tradition and wealth to him; they were mere mortals with debts that he owned and secrets he knew. If knowledge was power, then Jasper Jones was indeed a very powerful man.
A slow, catlike smile unfurled across Lord Devon’s lips. He reached for Frankie’s hand and pressed a wet kiss to her glove. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Turner.”
Frankie’s heart sped up. This was what she had come here for. She could not bungle her role. “Pleased to meet you, Lord Devon.”
Cecelia smiled widely at the marquess. “Lord Devon, we were about to take a walk in the gardens. Would you care to join us?”
“I am sure Lord Devon has better things to do,” Jasper said.
Lord Devon laughed. “If only that were true. Let me introduce my acquaintances. This is Miss Mary Harlan, Lady Charlotte, Mr. Tupper, Lord Foxwith, and Mr. Foster.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Lady Charlotte purred, deftly maneuvering herself between Frankie and Jasper and batting her eyelashes in tandem with her fan. Frankie instantly disliked the woman and her disgustingly perfect coordination. “I would adore a stroll in the gardens. We have only been here a few hours and I am already bored to tears. Mr. Jones, you shall have to regale us with all of your wicked tales.”
“I fear my reputation has been exaggerated,” Jasper said, politely holding out his arm. “I am but a modest proprietor.”
Lady Charlotte took Jasper’s proffered arm, and Frankie had the strangest urge to bat the woman’s hand away.
“Your modesty is misplaced, Mr. Jones. I fear I am an entirely wicked woman and I simply adore a wicked story.”
Frankie ground her teeth together and thought she would adore kicking Lady Charlotte in the shins.
Frankie invited Madam Margaret to join them, but as they were a large group and did not need a chaperone, the older lady declined. Just as the group was about to exit through the French doors with Cecelia in the lead, Frankie heard a familiar voice call out to her. Shocked, she turned, and with a confusing mixture of surprise, pleasure, and dread, watched as her mother bore down on her.
Mrs. Turner, although a few inches shorter than Frankie, swooped in and brushed her lips across Frankie’s cheek. As she did, she whispered, “Darling, this color does not become you.”
Frankie flushed, suddenly feeling self-conscious in the silver gown, and all too aware that Jasper was watching every minute reaction flit across her face. She schooled her expression and turned to the curious group. “I would like to introduce my mother, Mrs. Turner.”
Her mother smoothly exchanged niceties with the small party, and not for the first time in her life Frankie felt the insurmountable distance between them. Her mother was a beautiful woman, her rich hair threaded with only a few silver strands to give away her age. With a button nose, rosy cheeks, and a plump and curved body, her mother had never failed to make it known how disappointed she was that Frankie and Fidelia had inherited their father’s lighter coloring and straight figures.
Although Frankie had spent her youth wishing she could have been born with even an ounce of her mother’s beauty, it was really her mother’s ease in society that made her despair. Mrs. Turner slipped among the nobility as if she were born and bred to be one of them, and not for the first time Frankie wondered if her mother had wished to marry a man who would one day hold a title.
“What are you doing here?” Frankie asked when the others lapsed into conversation.
Her mother arched a brow. “I came to chaperone my daughter, who apparently is in possession of the largest dowry in London. Upon learning of our relationship, the duchess was kind enough to extend me an invitation.” Her mother laid a gloved hand on Frankie’s arm and nudged her to the side. “What happened, Francis? You told me you were taking a governess position that would help you track down your sister, and the next thing I hear, your employer has bestowed upon you an outrageous dowry. I was unaware that your governess position was with the Mr. Jasper Jones,” she hissed. “Had I known, I never would have allowed it! Did you keep it from me on purpose? That man is an upstart and beneath our dignity. Your grandfather was a baron , Francis. Do you know how poorly it reflects on our family to accept charity from a man like Jones?”
Her mother straightened and smoothed a hand down her skirt. “Nevertheless, what is done is done, and it seems our fortunes may finally be turning. With such a sizable dowry, it is possible even you will make a match and save our family. I no longer know if we can rely on Fidelia to do it, especially as you have been unable to locate her.”
Frankie was struck by the arrogance in her mother’s words. Her family was barely scraping by, and yet simply because of the circumstances of his birth, her mother dared look down on a man whose wealth rivaled the duke’s?
There were a number of things Frankie could have said in that moment. She could have told her mother she was being a horrid hypocrite to act as if they were worth more than the very man who’d given her daughter an outrageous dowry. She could have said it was unfair that her mother had put the onus of finding Fidelia on Frankie, while she continued to flit about society pretending they were not courting destitution. As the beauty of the family, her mother had spent a lifetime expecting everyone else to cater to her and clear the way so that she might continue doing the one thing she loved above all else: socializing.
Frankie could have told her mother how guilty she felt for failing to secure a marriage match. Marriage wasn’t only about prestige, it was also about financial security, and Frankie’s oddities and inability to find a husband had thrust them toward devastation and heaped too much responsibility on Fidelia’s shoulders. Frankie’s guilt was why she’d taken on the governess positions, and why she had agreed to shoulder the burden of tracking down Fidelia.
She could have said all of that, but instead what came out of her mouth was, “You are mistaken about Mr. Jones. He is both kind and honorable, and more than worthy of our respect.”
“Oh, Francis.” Her mother gave a world-weary sigh. “You know nothing about men.” She peered over Frankie’s shoulder at Jasper, her eyes narrowing as if he were a bug she wished to squash. “I cannot fathom why he chose you unless… he has not taken liberties with you, has he?”
“No.”
“No, I did not think so. I have heard that Lady Evelyn Barker has set her sights on him, and she is both graceful and beautiful.”
While Frankie was not. Her mother did not have to say the words for Frankie to hear her message. Frankie twisted her fingers together, feeling the familiar guilt that she was not, and could not be, more of the daughter her mother wished for.
“Now that I think on it more, it makes sense that he chose to sponsor you. If anyone needs help securing a marriage match, it is you. Well, I suppose if his money is good enough for Lady Evelyn, then it is good enough for my daughter. As long as you do your best to distance yourself from him, I think you will have options. I heard Lord Benton is looking for a wife.”
“Mother, he is in his eighth decade!”
Her mother gave her an impatient look. “Darling, you may have a generous dowry attached to your name now, but I have also heard you’ve been causing quite the stir with your insistence that women are equal to men, especially in mathematics. Do not say I have not warned you how men react to a woman with your intellect. You would be lucky if Lord Benton agreed to marry you. Thank goodness I have arrived. I can take over as your chaperone and help you secure a proper match.”
“That will not be necessary,” Frankie said with a tinge of panic. “Madam Margaret is chaperoning both me and Cecelia.” With her luck, her mother would put her in a compromising situation before the Dowry Thieves could. Her stomach twisted at the thought of spending the next few days flinching under her mother’s digs about all the ways she was inferior to every other woman there. Frankie thought her mother loved her, or at least she hoped she did, but that hope rarely soothed the stings of her mother’s barbs.
“Madam Margaret?” When Frankie pointed out the woman half-asleep beside the piano, her mother scoffed. “That simply will not do, Francis.”
Before Frankie could protest, Jasper approached and sketched a half bow to her mother.
“Mrs. Turner, it is a pleasure to meet you. I can see from whom Miss Turner inherited her beauty.”
Frankie’s mother sniffed at his address and extended her hand as if she were the queen. Frankie wanted to sink into the ground with humiliation, but Jasper only flashed Frankie an amused look before he brushed his lips across her mother’s glove. Involuntarily, Frankie imagined those lips on her , and she flushed harder.
“Mr. Jones,” her mother said coolly, “I must extend my gratitude for your charity toward my daughter. As a spinster, she would not make a marriage match without your generosity.”
Jasper let go of her mother’s hand and his gaze cut to Frankie. “Oh, I doubt that. Miss Turner’s unique attributes are quite enchanting. Even without the dowry, she could have her pick of bachelors.”
That was patently untrue, and her mother seemed taken aback by the lie. “Er—how very kind of you.”
“Uncle Jasper, can we please go? Oh, Miss Turner, is this your mother?” Cecelia swept into a dramatic curtsy. “Miss Turner is—was—my governess, and she was the best one I ever had.”
Again, Frankie’s mother seemed speechless. Frankie could understand. Both Jasper’s and Cecelia’s statements had been outrageous. Not a man in the room would have looked twice at Frankie without her dowry—as her four Seasons had already proven—and she was not even a passably good governess.
Lord Devon chose that moment to interlope, and he proceeded to do what neither Jasper nor Cecelia had managed to do: sweep her mother off her feet. By the time he was done with his flowery compliments and useless niceties, her mother was as rosy-cheeked as a girl. Knowing what Frankie did about Jasper’s character compared to Lord Devon’s, she was disgusted with her mother’s shallowness.
“We were about to take a walk in the gardens,” Lord Devon said, smoothing his hand over his perfectly coiffed hair. “I would be disconsolate if you did not allow me to walk with your delightful daughter.”
Her mother tittered and nodded, and Lord Devon shot Frankie a smile that was more calculating than charming. “After you, Miss Turner.”
Left with no choice, Frankie stepped forward. She snuck a quick look at Jasper, but his expression was flat and unreadable. For some reason, it made her stomach clench.