Chapter Three #2
“Ah.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon understood it all now.
No need to press the girl for more details.
A young sailor perhaps, or one of the troops being sent over to Ireland after the confinement of Bonaparte and cessation of hostilities after Waterloo.
She had no need of his name or rank as both were immaterial to the matter in hand.
Suffice it to say that he was dead and could not make an honest woman of Miss Frampton.
The girl looked her in the eye. “I should tell you that I have my own establishment and am in complete possession of my own fortune as from today. So, if I were not in this condition, I would be a desirable object to the young men of the ton, none of whom I have had the chance to meet, thanks to my aunt.” Another, deeper frown.
“And I know I could easily go into retreat on the continent or to my house in the country and have the child in secret, then pass it off as the child of one of my retainers. Or I could just have it adopted by a stranger. I also know I could support it myself by giving money to the adoptive parents and even see the child from time to time.” She set her jaw.
“But I don’t want that. I want my child and I want to bring him or her up myself.
” Her hand went to her flat stomach, and she spoke from the heart.
“I want to be a married woman with an excuse to keep my child.”
Commendable. Too often children born this way, as Mrs. Dove-Lyon knew all too well, were cast off by the mother so she could continue to live her life of indulgence without a baseborn brat hanging around her neck and ruining her prospects.
“How many people know of your condition?” She refrained from pointing out that the fewer in on the secret the better it would be.
“My aunt, but she won’t tell anyone. She was far too horrified about the shame it might bring on our family.
My maid, who is waiting near the entrance and has been with me since before my father died and is utterly faithful to me.
My best friend, Lady Fanny Fitzwilliam, the daughter of the new Duke of Denby.
It was she who suggested I should come here.
She had heard her papa and his friends discussing your establishment and suggested to me it might be the answer to my problems. She won’t tell a soul, I can assure you. ”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon couldn’t avoid a smile. “Yes, I am familiar with your friend’s father.
” With his friends too, and also, at this very moment, with his rakish nephew, lately come up from a five-year posting with the militia in Cornwall and busy gambling beyond his means every night.
The Fitzwilliam family were very much in evidence at her establishment.
She picked up her cup and took a sip, but it was tepid now and she preferred her tea scalding hot. She set it down again. “So, you would like me to find you a husband?”
Miss Frampton pressed her lips together in determination and nodded.
“But I should like to say right now that I have no wish to gull any man into marrying me without him knowing the full facts. I would not wish to deceive him into thinking my child is his. That would be too unfair. I wish to be honest with him from the start.” She paused.
“He must be more than willing to give my child a name and a home. Forever. I am happy to provide further children for him, but my first born must be treated equally with them.”
Also commendable. Many girls in her situation would have thought nothing of pretending the child was just an early birth, no matter the size of it.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon nodded sagely. “I find you to be a refreshingly honest young lady, who, I surmise, has been persuaded to give herself to a man without realising what it would entail. Might I ask you how many times this happened?”
Miss Frampton’s face, which had begun to lose its bright color, blushed afresh. “Just the once.” She dropped her gaze to examine her hands in her lap. She hadn’t touched her tea.
So in all probability it had been an unsatisfactory encounter on her side as so many “first times” were.
From the expression on her face, Mrs. Dove-Lyon felt this was almost a certitude.
Poor child. She had to feel sorry for her.
No need to ask if the young man in question had assured her he would marry her.
That was what they all said while persuading a girl to give up her most important asset.
Although, she conceded to herself, as the young man was now dead, there was no way of proving, or disproving, that he’d truly intended marriage.
In her experience with young bucks, they frequently did not.
Although, as he’d presumably known about her fortune, perhaps he’d cynically decided to mark her as his own in this way to assure himself of her devotion.
And no doubt the girl had believed his protestations of undying love.
She really must stop being so cynical herself.
She fixed her most reassuring smile onto her face, or at least the portion of it which Miss Frampton could observe. “I am sure we can fulfil your requirements, my dear. But first we must settle on a suitable fee for this service.”
The look of relief on Miss Frampton’s face was almost but not quite reward enough.
She must not allow herself to be distracted by any personal feelings for the girl’s predicament, familiar as it was.
This was a young lady who could afford a sizeable fee for her services, and she must be resolute. She had her business to think of.
In fact, she already had a particular young man of impecunious means in mind for this spirited young lady.