Chapter 12 A House by the Sea
Chapter 12
A House by the Sea
L ord Lilley was in a foul temper. He had already consulted his lawyer, but that had made things worse, for the lawyer had agreed with Frances, saying that the money from the late Lord Barrington was now hers to do with as she pleased, and that as she was of age she could indeed set herself up in a small house by the seaside, as she had always wished to do, and there was really very little Lord and Lady Lilley could do about it. Lord Lilley could, of course, hold back the money that would have come to her on her marriage, forcing her to live on only five hundred pounds a year, the interest from Lord Barrington’s ten thousand pounds, and indeed he was minded to do just that, but an objection arose in the unexpected form of Lady Lilley.
“She cannot live possibly on five hundred pounds a year,” Lady Lilley had wept. “She will have only two servants and will not be able to keep a carriage. She will be laughed at. We will be laughed at. It will bring the Lilley name into disrepute. People will think she is a mad old maid in a hovel.”
“She will be a mad old maid in a hovel,” stormed Lord Lilley.
“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 that Lord 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 the ton demanded.
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 laughed at 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.
“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 confessed at 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 tell you ?” 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 not inform you 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.
“No, I must see her at once,” said Laurence. “And besides, the house is closed up, there will be hardly any staff there.”
“As you wish, Sir.”
“You will drop me at Belle Vue Cottage, then take the carriage up to Northdown House, rouse the staff and tell them to make ready for me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The sunny day had faded to twilight and Frances had come back from the beach and spent an hour or so reading, although she had not turned many pages. Her eyes wandered from the book, looking about the room, before she tried again to pay attention to Donovan’s fourth volume on shells, which was failing to have its usual calming effect on her.
A sudden pounding at the door made her jump. It was an ill-mannered way to announce oneself, more suited to the back door for deliveries of coal or vegetables than the front. Who could it be? She did not have many visitors, especially after the dreaded Mrs Pagington had insisted on paying her a call in her first week and they had sat in chilly silence for half an hour, after which social calls had noticeably diminished.
The pounding came again. Frances had been used to dozens of servants, the door would never have been knocked on more than once. But here, with only half a dozen servants, sometimes callers had to wait longer. Idly curious after a boring day, she made her way into the hallway, but there was still no servant to answer the call. Sighing, she pulled it open herself.
Laurence.
He stood before her, his clothes rumpled from the journey, hair dishevelled beneath his hat brim, eyes red-rimmed with tiredness.
She stared at him before he broke the silence between them.
“Frances. Why didn’t you trust me?”
Unable to speak, she took a step backwards, but he followed her, coming close to her.
“I promised to marry you and you never told your parents, you set up –” he stared about him, “this – a – a home of your own without telling me, without…” He stopped. “Do you want to marry me, yes or no?”
A wave of relief and joy rushed up inside her and she nodded, a silent acquiescence, before bursting out with rage. “You – you did not write! You sent me away without our promise being made public – no-one knew of us, I could not claim you were my betrothed without proof. What would people have thought of me? And I – I waited and waited and you did not come and I thought –” She gave a little sob as the distress came pouring out of her. “I – thought you meant to forget all about me.”
Laurence stood before her, chastised. “I am truly sorry, Frances,” he said. “I did not think how it would seem to you, how it would feel to you. But I thought of you every day – I tried to write to you but it always went poorly – and I planned for us, for our marriage, I went to Woodside Abbey to claim you–”
“You went to Woodside? To my parents?”
“Yes. It was dreadful. They knew nothing of me, they treated me as if I were a madman.”
Frances uttered a tiny gasp of laughter and he seized the opportunity. “I am sorry, Frances, I humble myself to you. You will still marry me, fool that I am?”
She nodded again and he dropped his hat and gloves and pulled her towards him, kissed her lips softly and whispered, “Thank God. I thought I had lost you.”
She pulled away, straightened her back. “I stand by my promise to enter into a marriage of convenience with you. I am sorry to have doubted you.” She must make it plain that she had not simpered and pined for him, not let her feelings show, the overwhelming relief, the desire to have the kiss last longer, else he would think she expected more than had been agreed between them, and she had come so close to losing him once, she could not risk it again.
He stiffened, then nodded. “I am glad we are agreed,” he said. “I will go to Northdown House now, and expect to meet with you in London in a week’s time, to arrange our wedding.”
She watched him go from the window, then sank into an armchair, trembling with the violence of emotions coursing through her, understanding for the first time, but too late, that she had fallen in love with Laurence and yet was now bound to a marriage of convenience.