Chapter 2 #2
Then, there it was.
A flash of temper she would wager a hundred English shillings, or half crowns, or whatever the coin the British preferred to wager was not an emotion William Allerton, fifth Viscount Remington— she’d looked it up in Debrett’s —often exhibited to the masses.
A cross turn of his mouth she was determined to capture with her charcoals.
“A lot written about me in the rags is rubbish, Miss…”
“Shaw. Francine Shaw,” Franny replied, certain he wouldn’t know who she was.
Giving a false name was more of a charade than she was willing to construct.
She didn’t like lying even if she was moderately gifted.
Strolling down the hallway, she noted the vaulted ceiling rising three stories, the balconied floors leading off the central staircase bordered by imposing balustrades and chipped sculptures.
Faded carpets, tattered velvet drapes, threadbare furnishings.
Ancient stone and marble. It was shabby but glorious.
“The story about an opera singer leaving the stage to kiss you in full view of a slew of patrons is slanderous drivel then?”
“ Miss ,” Ada hissed, striving to dictate what a proper lady would do when she was only guessing herself. They both knew it was a waste of time. Franny was hopelessly improper in every way. In America and England.
Remington froze, her luggage bumping his muscular thigh.
Some mysteriously masculine scent drifted from him.
Spicy, perhaps citrus. This overruled only by the dour odor of spearmint.
On more than one occasion, her companion’s stinging fragrance had arrived before her, notice Franny had used to her advantage.
“That was the Duke of Leighton, who was sitting to my right. It was his box. Of course, they attribute the mischief to me. His Grace has the foulest temperament in London and a worse reputation but somehow gets away with everything. It’s the damned duke privilege. ”
She’d heard about the Duke of Leighton’s antics. Why, he’d recently gotten tossed in the Thames by Xander Macauley. The men traveled in a pack, Viscount Remington an oft-time contributor in their escapades. “I’m teasing,” she finally said when he didn’t seem to understand that she was.
Remington frowned, tiny grooves radiating from his eyes.
He looked bewildered; the kind of bemused charm Franny imagined his paramours overlooked.
“That must be an American pursuit. We English never, ever tease. Especially governesses. My tutors were dry as cedar. Smacked my knuckles with a ruler while expecting absolute obedience. The number of broken ones, rulers, that is, during those years was enough to make my father weep.”
She tilted her head, imagining how she was going to draw that lank of hair on the side of his head that kicked out a bit. She’d noticed it on two occasions now. “I don’t think that will be my approach.”
Remington grimaced. “You haven’t met the girl.”
Franny grinned. She couldn’t help it. She had two weeks to explore this monstrous medieval fortress and the complexities of a man she found fascinating. She’d brought enough charcoals for a hundred sketches. Plus, she loved children.
Truly, what an adventure.
Ada coughed from somewhere behind her, the scent of spearmint clinging to the air.
Catching her companion’s response, Remington eyed Franny with curious intent. “Why are you so delighted?”
Franny dragged her sodden slipper across the frayed carpet, working to erase her smile. “Christmastide is just around the corner.” Although there wasn’t one hint of cheer about the place.
He snorted, a dimple flaring in his cheek. How maddeningly handsome he was. It was unjust.
“This fascinating position as governess?”
He shifted her portmanteau to his other hand and flexed his fingers like he was working out a cramp. “Try again.”
“My un-English nature?” she said with a laugh.
A foxed baronet had told her it was the most sensual of sounds after he’d cornered her behind a settee at the countess’s dinner party last week.
She’d eventually had to bring her heel down on his instep to get him to move away from her person, but she’d been flattered, nonetheless.
Remington tried his best but, in the end, laughed with her.
His fist going to his mouth to cover it.
“That must be it.” Then, he shook himself from his reverie and jogged up the staircase, her gaze left with nothing to do but record his trim bottom shifting in meticulously fitted buckskins.
He must have forgotten the adage, ladies first.
But then again, she was no lady.
Ada hooked her arm through Franny’s and tugged her up the stairs.
“Stop it. I can see those scalding glances a mile away,” she whispered, thankfully so low only Franny heard.
“Flirting and your feeble inability to tame your base attractions is what landed us on this horrid side of the ocean. If I have to drink another cup of tea…”
“I’m not flirting. I’m talking to my employer. And what woman doesn’t have base attractions? Isn’t it normal to appreciate art? A fine form? Men are surely allowed this weakness.”
Ada sighed wearily. “Heaven help me, should your father find out about this scheme. Daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Pennsylvania acting as a servant. The girl who went through a governess a week herself. When he does, it’s off to live with my brother and his wife in Dyberry.
You’d do that to me when I changed your nappies?
Wiped your nose and darned your stockings?
Covered for you that time you snuck in the window after dark with blackberry brambles in your hair?
Dyberry is my pension, is that it? Why, it’s in the country, and you know I have allergies! ”
Franny drew Ada close. She was the only mother Franny had ever known. The only parent she’d needed . Her father certainly hadn’t been up for the job. “You’re going to change my children’s nappies someday. Where I go, you go. How could I live without you?”
Ada sniffed. “Are you sure, Franny darling? After all that happened last spring?”
Her breath tight, Franny paused at the top of the staircase, noting that the shabbiness continued on this floor.
Not even half of the lamps were lit. Dour paintings covered the walls, their frames coated in dust. Tattered carpets in worse shape than those on the main floor.
The sconce’s glow struck the viscount’s broad back as he continued down the hallway, in and out of shadow, unaware they weren’t following.
She didn’t want to think about that night ever again.
Sliding her arm from Ada’s, she sucked regret back through her teeth. “It’s very simple. I won’t let Gerald ruin me.”
Any more than he already had.
Her reputation was one thing, her happiness quite another. She would die before letting him take more from her.
Ada twisted her gloved fingers in the folds of her skirt.
“The English aren’t forgiving. I could tell this right off.
The way they gossip at these parties we’ve been forced to attend, it’s more of a lashing than high society back home ever thought to give.
Should the scandal reach this side of the ocean, your father’s money won’t be enough to buy a cobbler, much less that baron he has lined up.
Women aren’t allowed the mistakes men are, not in this world, not in any world.
I wish you’d get that through your lovely but thick head. ”
Franny watched the viscount halt before a door at the end of the corridor, his long body hidden in shadow. When he turned to her, his eyes glimmering in a flicker of candlelight, she made a promise.
Two weeks. To play this harmless game in a hidden locale where she might be able to take a full breath for the first time in years.
She didn’t deserve more. She didn’t deserve love .
She’d written the ending of her book during one fateful encounter.
After this impulsive respite, she would marry the baron who wanted her money—and follow society’s rules.
Every last one of them.