Frances Sets the Fashion (Lord Dere’s Dependents #4)

Prologue

His colours laid so thick on every place,

As onely shew'd the paint, but hid the face.

Miss Frances Barstow was sixteen when she first laid eyes upon the man she would one day marry, though of course she did not know it at the time.

She sat on a bench watching a performance of Romeo and Juliet, neat, fair, and upon her good behavior, while he trod the stage (really the made-over tennis court) in the rough brown robe of Friar Laurence, chiding Romeo for transferring his affections so quickly to Juliet.

Frances had never paid any mind to Friar Laurence when reading the play, being far more interested in the star-crossed lovers, but on this occasion he quite arrested her attention.

It was not that he was handsome: he had drawn dark lines on his forehead and alongside his mouth and stuffed all his hair under a flesh-colored skull-cap to simulate baldness.

So perhaps it was his deep, musical voice which interested her.

Or his manly form, which no coarse cloth could disguise.

This monk she could imagine chanting in plainsong as he labored in the monastery grounds, leaving his feebler brethren to hunch over manuscripts, paintbrushes in hand.

Whatever the cause, her heart beat a little faster, and when his dark eyes drifted her direction—did they? surely not—her hand rose to her throat.

“‘Young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes,’” he philosophized, shaking his head and turning back to Romeo.

That was all. At no other point in the play did Frances draw a second glance from him, though she watched him with all her eyes.

She was not the only one upon whom he made an impression.

“A most prepossessing young man,” Mrs. Markham Dere declared to her old friend and schoolmate Mrs. Stanton Eveleigh, when they returned to the Eveleighs’ apartments at Oriel College.

“One might easily imagine him treading the boards in Drury Lane. I wonder he was not given a larger role in the production. He spoke far better than the Romeo, for instance.”

“I agree,” pronounced Mrs. Eveleigh, turning to her husband. “What can you tell us of this Friar Laurence, Mr. Eveleigh?”

“Almost nothing. His surname is Herbert or Harker or something of that sort,” the Oriel provost replied, frowning in the attempt to put his finger on it. “Christ Church, in any case, as were most of the cast. I believe he has just been made a fellow of the college, having taken his degree.”

“He would sound well in a pulpit,” remarked Mrs. Dere.

“That might be,” Mrs. Eveleigh put in, “but I hope he will act again, if he remains in Oxford. A stirring voice and most excellent delivery.”

“Though I am glad he did not play Romeo, Mama,” spoke up Miss Eveleigh, a tiny, elegant young lady just Frances’ age. “For though his voice was very good, he was hideous.”

“Oh! Hideous? What strong language, my dear girl.”

“It is hard to guess truly what Mr. Herbert or Harker looked like, however, underneath that heavy paint and the skull cap,” Frances ventured.

“For all we know, he might be quite handsome. Is he, Mr. Eveleigh?” (Being awed by the provost, this was the first time she had ever addressed him, and her impulse of boldness indicated how strongly Mr. Herbert-Harker had acted upon her.)

Eveleigh squinted upward, considering. “Mm. Unhappily I am not the best with faces. But surely if the young man were hideous, I would remember that.”

The ladies exchanged disappointed looks at the provost’s inadequacies as a source of information. First the vagueness about Mr. Herbert-Harker’s name and now the vagueness about his appearance!

Miss Eveleigh, being more used to her father’s shortcomings, dismissed this latest lapse with a shrug.

“He must be generally undistinguished, then. For I have seen undergraduate productions before, Miss Barstow, and must say that handsome young men are not so commonplace that they would waste one on a minor part like the friar.”

This was enough to silence Frances, because she could not boast of having seen any play before, much less could she make comparisons between productions.

Her experience of the theatre had been confined to family readings at home in the cramped parlor of Iffley Cottage.

Indeed, she would hate for Miss Eveleigh to know how eagerly she had looked forward to this amateur show at the tennis court in Blue Boar Lane, or how she already imagined regaling the other Barstows with her experience!

Nor was Miss Eveleigh’s familiarity with theatre her only advantage.

She was trim and graceful, while Frances had yet to emerge from her coltish stage and still seemed not altogether mistress of her increasing height and length of limb.

Where Miss Eveleigh’s father was a respected Oxford don of comfortable fortune, and she his only child, Frances’ father had died some years earlier, leaving his widow and five children penniless.

If not for the kindness and charity of Mrs. Barstow’s cousin Lord Dere, who could say what might have become of them?

The very roof over their heads was provided by the baron at a nominal rent, the education of Frances’ younger brother Gordon completely gratis, and countless little gifts of his lordship’s monies, influence, and kindness continued to smooth the Barstows’ difficulties.

While the baron never made them feel their obligations to him, the same could not be said for his niece by marriage Mrs. Markham Dere, and any favor the family enjoyed from her was attributable solely to Frances.

Yes, through early diligence in flattering and “handling” Mrs. Dere—efforts which had long grown natural through habit—Frances enjoyed the position of Favorite with the great woman.

Generally this meant no more than that she was spared Mrs. Dere’s criticisms, chose not to notice her high-handedness, and was occasionally given little presents helpful in making up an impoverished girl’s wardrobe.

Such partiality might have provoked envy in the Barstows’ village of Iffley, if the other villagers did not believe Miss Barstow earned it twice over, having always to keep the woman well buttered.

Being invited to visit the Eveleighs in Oxford and to attend the play was an example of Mrs. Dere’s little boons, and whatever disadvantages life had burdened Frances with, stupidity was not among them.

She recognized even at sixteen that anything she could make of her life depended wholly on the Dere connection and her own wits.

While her two older sisters Adela and Jane made respectable marriages, neither of those unions could be called dazzling, nor could they relieve the remaining Barstows’ need for strict economy, apart from removing Adela and Jane from the list of mouths to feed.

And the marriage of Frances’ sister-in-law Sarah Langworthy did not even do that much, for Sarah married a navy man and continued to make her home with the Barstows while he was away at sea.

“Well, and how did you like Miss Eveleigh?” Mrs. Dere asked her, as the elegant Perryfield coach carried them homeward the following day.

“She is everything a young lady should be,” answered Frances. “Accomplished, pretty, and well-spoken.”

“Mm. She would make a very good friend for you.”

“Yes, madam. I should be pleased to see her again if our paths cross in the future.” Which was only the truth, but neither would Frances object if, when those paths did cross, she herself had a little more to boast of. Improved looks, say, or superior musical abilities, or more modish clothing…

There was only so much Frances could do about her looks or clothing, but certainly she could apply herself more diligently to her singing and playing.

And she might suggest the family read more of the latest novels.

Miss Eveleigh had named several which were unknown to her and goggled when Frances confessed ignorance of them.

“Dorothy is quite determined that her Jane will make a good match when the time comes,” continued Mrs. Dere abstractedly. “She had much to say on the subject of eligible gentlemen to be found in Oxford.”

“Miss Eveleigh is very fortunate, then,” Frances agreed. “If marriage is her aim.”

“A good marriage should be every young lady’s aim, if she has not the wealth for independence.

” Mrs. Markham Dere delivered this pronouncement with great authority, having married the nephew and heir of a baron, and being now a rich widow who did as she pleased.

And it pleased her very well to be mistress of Perryfield without the trouble of a husband and master.

“Yes, madam,” said Frances pleasantly. (Never mind that, to make a good marriage in the first place, a girl usually required a generous portion to buoy her up.)

“I will tell you something in confidence, Frances,” Mrs. Dere continued. “When Dorothy and I were in school, our family connections being equal, it was still thought by most that she, having the larger fortune, would make the better match…”

With ease Frances caught her companion’s unspoken implications: firstly, that Mrs. Eveleigh might have been richer, but Mrs. Dere had been fairer; and secondly, that even with a smaller portion, Mrs. Dere had prevailed in making the superior match.

“…And I would not have you think that the possibilities afforded a Miss Eveleigh are impossibilities for a Miss Barstow. Miss Eveleigh has the greater fortune, to be sure, but it is not nothing to be a cousin to Lord Ranulph Dere. Miss Eveleigh’s father, Mr. Stanton Eveleigh, however unexceptionable a gentleman he might be, is nevertheless a mere university provost. In short, a girl need not have every advantage, to set the fashion.

Only enough advantages and the cleverness to make the best use of them. ”

Frances’ lips twitched, but of course she did not smile, though she did wonder where such boasting had been when Mrs. Dere contemplated the marriage prospects of Frances’ older sisters. There had certainly been no talk of Adela or Jane holding her own against all comers!

“All I mean to say, my dear, is that, when the time arrives for you to ‘come out,’ you will not be friendless.”

“You mean Miss Eveleigh might—” began Frances disingenuously.

“Miss Eveleigh? Nonsense! I mean I myself will ensure you have the necessary advantages, opportunities and accoutrements. Dorothy spoke of working together to bring you two girls out in a few years because one cannot simply invite a young man to call upon one’s daughter and make his best offer.

Moreover, I know very well Dorothy imagines you might provide a pleasant foil to Jane—the amiable young friend who is always to be found in Miss Eveleigh’s shadow and whom no one can quite remember later. ”

Frances’ practical side could not prevent her saying, “If I were a young man, madam, I would choose Miss Eveleigh. She is prettier and has money, and when Mr. Eveleigh is gone, she will be his sole heir.”

“Stuff,” declared Mrs. Dere, surprising Frances equally by her choice of words and her vehemence. “We will see what can be done. You must only promise to be guided by me, Frances. If I recommend you look favorably upon certain gentlemen, I would appreciate you giving them due consideration.”

“I will do my best,’” Frances assured her. “But I hope if it does not come off, and no one can be brought to like me whom you approve and whom I can like, you will forgive me if I remain a spinster.”

“We shall see,” said her benefactress again. “It is one of the qualities I most value in you, Frances. You’re a biddable, reasonable creature, and I expect no difficulties from you.”

Had Frances been older than sixteen, a chill might have rippled through her at such words, but she was still young enough to think more of what Mrs. Dere planned to do for her in the way of dresses and balls, than of how she might feel about prospective husbands Mrs. Dere might put forward.

Because naturally they would be uniformly rich, handsome, and agreeable, would they not?