Chapter 2
James
James leapt out of the carriage, the vehicle swaying behind him. As soon as he laid eyes on the house before him, he let out a deep sigh.
“Perdition… Blast and confound it! This looks like more than minor damage,” he said to his valet.
“I dare say that the butler might have downplayed the damage in his letter,” Franklin agreed, taking in the sight before them.
The grandiose Saint James’s townhouse looked as though it had seen the most vigorous of battles. The top two stories looked as they usually did: stunning, grandiose, a marvel to the eye… and whatever superlative his father might have affixed to the structure.
But the bottom three? No, from the servants’ area up, the outer walls were charred. The windows were broken, curtains flapping out into the breeze as though they were somewhere in Islington or another part of town where the paupers lived.
All that was needed was the stench of urine wafting through the road, and he would have thought he was in the rookeries. No, his house was a proper disgrace when compared to the beautiful ones all around him.
James ran a hand through his neatly cropped hair. “Well, let us see what the damage is like inside,” he said. “It’s the back I’m most concerned about.”
He strode down the pavement toward the back of the property.
The sight there was no more encouraging. Worse, in fact. The entire servants’ area was blackened.
He groaned as they stepped inside, Franklin walking up ahead with a candle he had quickly lit.
The kitchen, where the fire had started, was a complete loss.
There was nothing recognizable left but the stone walls.
Likewise, the servants’ dining room, the stillroom, the pantry, the butler’s pantry, and the housekeeper’s quarters. All of it was a loss.
And the stench… He’d never liked making his way down here because of the stench of the tallow candles, but he would have paid handsomely to have this horrible, putrid, biting smell replaced by the unpleasant one of the tallow candles.
The first floor was in slightly better shape. Some of the walls were blackened along the servants’ stairwell and leading into the family areas. However, there was water damage, and the smell, though less intense, was still there.
“It is a good thing that you will be staying with your godmother,” Franklin remarked.
“We will be staying with my godmother,” James corrected. “You are coming with me.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“I had hoped not to trouble the old lady for too long, but I would think a fortnight was generous. Perhaps I should have stayed in Somerset,” he said.
But then he shook his head. No, he didn’t want Somerset Trust plaguing him most dreadfully, breathing down his neck. Besides, he had to escape from them. The last few meetings had been most uncomfortable, and he didn’t think he was able to keep his temper for much longer.
No, Aunt Eugenia, as he had always called her, was a much better option. The food was better there, too.
What misfortune that his sanctuary, his beloved London townhouse where he had spent so much of his time when he had been merely the Duke of Somerset’s second son, should catch fire right when he needed it the most.
The cook, a doddering old lady quite in her dotage whom he knew he should have let go years ago but hadn’t been able to make himself, had accidentally caused the fire, which had spread quickly by way of more stupidity he was not quite sure about.
He would have to speak to the butler. However, he was in no condition, having inhaled far too much smoke.
He had visited the old man to check on him earlier in the day.
He had been quite alarmed to hear him coughing and looking terribly unwell.
He sent his own physician to check on him, not trusting the one who had looked after him and the other servants thus far.
The concern had been the smoke his trusted butler had inhaled while doing his best to save the servants and the home.
He closed his eyes as a pain started behind his left eyeball as he thought of the cost. Not just the cost of the medical care for all of the servants affected, but also the accommodations he would have to find for them. They all had lived with him at the house, after all.
The servants’ quarters under the attic were not affected by the fire, but if he wasn’t willing to stay in the house with the horrid smell, he could hardly expect them to.
“Shall we press on to there at once?” Franklin asked.
“We will fetch a few things first. I have to get my suit for tonight’s ball.”
“Ball?” the valet echoed.
James sighed. He had forgotten to tell him in his haste to get here.
“Yes, I received an urgent message from Sanderson at Somerset Trust. His sister, Lady Farside, is hosting a ball, and he told me it was imperative that I attend. They want titled gentlemen there. I suppose it will be another event for those on the marriage mart.” He shrugged.
“Women looking to set their caps at anyone with a title above baronet.”
“But you are not looking to marry,” Franklin said.
“That is why you are my valet and among my dearest companions, Franklin. You understand. But as things stand with Somerset Trust, I must indulge him in this foolishness. So, we will get ready here, then stop at my godmother’s house, and you will unload my trunks while I press on.
There will be two carriages, of course. A blessing that the carriage I left here did not burn down. ”
With that, he nodded for his valet to follow him up the stairs.
Here was to hoping that his suit did not stink as badly as the
rest of the house. Although if it kept the vultures at the Farside ball away, perhaps that would not be the worst thing.
Frances woke up in the huge bed with a breathtaking view of a church adjacent to her chamber.
Just like every morning since arriving here a week ago, she felt decidedly ill at ease, quite the fish out of water.
This magnificent, beautiful home still didn’t feel like hers, even though her aunt made it clear that it was.
She swung her legs out of bed and placed her bare feet on the floor. The hardwood felt nice beneath her feet, smooth, not like the rough wood she was used to at home.
She walked to the door and looked at the long cord that hung beside it. She knew that if she tugged it, a maid would be at her side immediately to help her dress. But she didn’t want to be dressed. She wanted to dress herself.
She walked to the armoire and shook her head. There were so many dresses here. They didn’t all fit because she was shorter than all the Langley girls, and so the dresses were all too long on her.
That was going to be fixed, her aunt had said. In fact, some of them had already been sent away.
She selected one of her own dresses, put it on, pinned her hair up as she always had done, and, after finishing her morning toilette, made her way downstairs for breakfast.
Her aunt was already sitting at the table, biting into a hot cross bun. Frances smiled. She had always loved hot cross buns and had eagerly anticipated Easter every single year so she could eat them.
“There you are,” her aunt said. “I see you’ve finally slept in.”
Frances nodded. For the first few days, she had woken up at five o’clock every morning because that was what she was used to. But her body was finally allowing itself to sleep a little later.
A maid appeared at her side and poured a cup of tea.
Back home, it was Frances who poured tea. Another thing she had to get used to.
She picked a lump of sugar while her aunt looked at her over the rim of her glasses. “You can take more than one lump if you like.”
Frances took a second one.
“I know you were raised to be frugal, but there is no need now. I might not be the richest woman in London, but I do very well for myself.”
Frances nodded again. She was feeling more at her ease here now, settling in tolerably well.
It was nice not to have to look around every corner in fear that her half-sister was trying to find ways of getting her into trouble.
She didn’t have to watch her every step because her stepmother was ready to admonish her for every little misstep.
And she didn’t have to worry about impressing her father, a futile effort if ever there was one.
She was free, finally free.
And Aunt Eugenia had filled their days with stories of her mother, something that she had never thought possible, something that had filled her heart with so much joy she thought it might burst.
The newspaper rustled beside her as her aunt placed it down.
“Now, there’s something we must talk about. I told you that I wanted you to enter Society, to make your debut.”
“Yes, Aunt Eugenia.”
Frances still couldn’t quite imagine how her aunt thought this was going to go. She, essentially a gentleman’s daughter who was little more than a farmer, moving amongst high society? She, a girl with no dowry?
“Well, the time has come. Lady Farside is hosting a ball tonight, and you will attend.”
It was not a question, but a statement.
“I do not know that I am ready,” she said. She had finally confessed to her aunt that she had no accomplishments to show for herself. “I don’t know how to—”
“It will be quite all right. You will not be alone.”
“You’re coming?” she asked hopefully.
Her aunt chuckled. “Me? No. Your cousins are all coming, all three of them. Their husbands are away on a hunting trip, but the three ladies will be there. They will come this afternoon and collect you. The maids will do you up, and you will let them. You will go to Lady Farside’s, and they will find you capable partners, gentlemen who are light on their feet, to dance with, so you do not have to worry about not knowing the steps.
They will also tell you which dances are easy and which are not. ”
Frances bit her lip, her stomach fluttering. This wasn’t what she wanted.
Dancing? Conversing? With none but her cousins for company, cousins she had not seen in years and years?
It did not sound like something she would enjoy. But she knew she couldn’t go against her aunt, who had been so kind and generous to her.
If Aunt Eugenia thought that she could find her a husband despite all the evidence that stood against her, Frances was not going to stand in her way. Perhaps her aunt simply had to learn with time that all Frances could ever hope to be was a lady’s companion, nothing above her proper station.
“It will be splendid,” Aunt Eugenia said and placed one hand over Frances’s, patting it lightly.
Even such small displays of affection made Frances uncomfortable, not because she didn’t like the sensation of her aunt’s hand on hers, but because she wasn’t used to it.
Her father hadn’t shown her affection since she was a small child, and even the idea of Isabella ever showing her any kindness was laughable.
“Before I forget, we are going to have a guest.”
“A guest?”
“Yes. My godson, James Ellery, the Duke of Somerset, will come to stay with us for a while.”
Frances’s stomach dropped. She had just gotten used to being here and somewhat acclimated to the daily routine, and now someone was coming to stay with them. Someone of such consequence, no less. She didn’t know how to behave around such an elevated gentleman. She had never met one before.
“Do not look so alarmed,” Aunt Eugenia said with a laugh. “He will not trouble you, and he will only stay for a fortnight at most.”
A fortnight. A fortnight might as well be an age.