Chapter Seven
A cool bath and a brisk stroll to The Silk Knuckles invigorated Franny so much that she now eagerly anticipated tonight’s meeting of The Ladies’ Autonomy League. Pride overflowing, she stood beside Josie surveying their inviting parlor.
Thankfully, they had followed Lady Davenport’s decorating advice because the light purple wall coverings juxtaposed against the dark purple upholstery and draperies made what could have been a very ordinary room exceedingly elegant.
Colorful landscape paintings adorned the walls, and a gilded clock ticked from the fireplace mantle.
The large table in the center of the room held pastries, sweetmeats, and the hand-painted teacups that Lady Davenport had gifted them.
Franny stepped up to the polished rosewood side table that held a variety of libations. She poured two glasses of brandy, handing one to Josie. After settling into the plush wingbacks, they sipped as Franny relayed the details of their uninvited afternoon visitors.
The old Josephine Martin would have thrown a tantrum at being invaded and insulted. The new in-love Josie attentively listened, and then calmly said, “We will survive the unfortunate circumstances of the last few days, so I believe we should put on brave faces for the other ladies this evening.”
“I agree,” Franny said. “However, I think we should be honest about having an adversary.” She feared they might have multiple enemies. However, she kept this disconcerting notion to herself.
Although Josie nodded her acquiescence, her brow furrowed. “Franny, has it occurred to you that Edward Robinson heard about the fire and remembered you from long ago because he was, and still is, attracted to you? Mayhap his offer to help is sincere.”
“Have you forgotten how arrogant he was?” Franny asked.
“That was years ago. Could he have changed?”
Franny snorted. She adored Josie, but ever since falling in love, Josie had become much too trusting of the male species.
Not that they were all hideous. There were Papa and Harry and a few of their students.
But Edward Robinson did not fit into this category.
It was obvious that the Bow Street Runner thought himself the most handsome man in the world.
He just might be, but still, he did not have to strut around like a cocksure fool acting like she was insane if she didn’t bow at his feet.
And the way he’d flirted with and charmed Mrs. Brown and her entourage soured Franny’s stomach.
“Nicolas heard from Viscount Davenport this morning,” Josie said. “Harry slept well last night. The doctor said he is ready for visitors.”
It never ceased to amaze Franny that Josie, an incorrigible foundling, called aristocrats by their given names.
Not that Franny minded or begrudged her for it.
In fact, she very much appreciated that she benefitted from Josie’s new status.
The Davenports even graciously shared their exquisite Mayfair townhouse and fabulous cook with her and Papa.
If only their next visit was under more favorable circumstances.
Poor Harry lying in bed with painful burns was far from a joyous occasion.
“I passed Papa on the way upstairs,” Franny said. “He is going to The Spotted Octopus for a drink while we are meeting. I’m worried though. He looks so very tired.”
“He does,” Josie said. “But do not fret over much. Your father is resilient. What other man would give up his own career to support his daughter and ward? A man who is as strong and heroic as a titan, that is who.”
True. Papa was Franny’s hero.
“Are you speaking about Calder?” The Dowager Viscountess Davenport swept to them, her green skirts swishing against her ankles.
A pearl dangled from each ear and a delicate strand adorned her neck.
Her gray hair was piled high in an intricate updo.
The woman looked as if she was attending a ball instead of a weekly female-only meeting.
It was not lost on Franny that the lady overdressed for her Papa, or that every time he entered the room, the dowager’s eyes and smile brightened even more.
“Good evening, Agatha. You are the first to arrive.” Josie stood and kissed the viscountess on her cheek. “Yes, we were discussing Coach. He looks quite tired, but I suppose we all are. We worked hard to fix the damage so that we can reopen.”
Agatha Davenport wrinkled her nose. “I can still smell the smoke. But the building looks much improved. Where is Calder? I did not see him downstairs, and he is not in his office.”
“At The Spotted Octopus,” Franny said.
The normally smiling Lady Davenport frowned.
“Fiddlesticks. I had hoped to say hello.” She sighed.
“Oh, well. You will visit Harry tomorrow, will you not? I believe he is enjoying our maids’ attentions.
Still, I am quite sure that he would be pleased if the two of you visited.
He has been asking after you.” She winked at Franny.
The viscountess needed to stop turning everything into a romance. Franny and Harry were simply friends. They may have kissed years ago, but that had been curiosity, not love.
“I will come around tomorrow early afternoon,” Franny promised.
“As will I,” Josie said.
“I do hope Calder will join you,” Lady Davenport said, a faraway expression in her eyes.
“I am sure he will,” Franny assured her.
Lady Davenport smiled, her green eyes twinkling. “I shall have one of his favorite trifles prepared.”
“Trifle? I do hope I am invited?” Bridget Wentworth, Josie’s sister-in-law and feisty aristocrat extraordinaire entered, bringing with her a palpable energy and a few young bluestockings.
Lady Helena Siddons and the pinch-faced, skeptical Lady Lucille Hillcaster arrived within moments of the debutantes. Following enthusiastic greetings, the ladies chose drinks and arranged themselves around the room.
“Are we ready to begin?” Lady Siddons asked.
The ladies chorused their yeses.
“Let the Merry Maidens of Mayhem commence their battle plan,” called the never serious Bridget Wentworth.
Franny chortled so hard she choked on her brandy.
Lady Davenport tried to stifle her chuckle with a palm over her mouth, but it did not hide the sparkle in her eyes.
With a smug grin, Bridget opened the leather-bound meeting notes.
Lady Siddons waited for the ladies to stop sniggering and then projected her voice. “I call this meeting of The Ladies’ Autonomy League to order.” She shot Bridget a look that screamed ’tis time to be serious.
The irreverent Bridget was so busy attending to her notetaking she did not seem to take notice.
“As I am sure you have all heard,” Lady Siddons said. “Someone tried to burn down The Silk Knuckles Saloon a few days ago, and Harry was injured.”
Moans and groans of disgust echoed.
“My nephew, the Duke of Griffendale, hired our brave Bow Street Runners to look into the fire,” Lady Siddons declared.
Franny had mixed feelings about Tristan Keats.
According to rumors, he was an arrogant rake of the worst sort who bedded women in alarming numbers and seemed to take pleasure in breaking their hearts.
Conversely, he had made Josie his champion in the Duke’s and Dame’s Mill where she won a large purse.
He also supported Nicolas’s marriage to Josie even though she was not of his class.
Additionally, Lady Siddons, who Franny respected, loved him like a son.
Furthermore, he cared enough about Josie to go to the magistrate on her behalf.
Come to think of it, someone should tell the duke that Samuel Baker was an incompetent arse since it was his coin the man was wasting.
“The Duke is not our only ally,” Lady Siddons continued.
“Josephine’s husband, Nicolas Wentworth, the future Earl of Shiredale, has taken up our cause in The Daily Dispatch of London.
And Viscount Davenport, Agatha’s son, is prepared to lend additional resources to uncover who might wish to harm The Silk Knuckles Saloon. ”
“Hear, hear,” chanted all of the ladies except Lady Hillcaster. Why the dreary woman came to these meetings was anyone’s guess.
“On to our next topic,” Lady Siddons said. “Has everyone started reading A Vindication of the Rights of Woman?”
Franny had only read about thirty pages since she’d been busy rebuilding the gymnasium wall.
“I have been reading from it every night,” Bridget said. “I find Mary Wollstonecraft to be quite forward thinking. She states that women are only inferior to men because they lack education.”
“She also believes in social order founded on reason,” Isabelle Stewart, a rather intelligent young woman Franny favored, said.
Lady Hillcaster let out a long, dramatic sigh. “But women are not equal, and Wollstonecraft never claims that they are.”
“Psh, Lucille.” Lady Davenport flicked her wrist. “ ’Tis obvious that she believes the sexes would be equal if women had better educational opportunities.”
“I agree, Agatha,” Lady Siddons said. “We shall tackle equal education, and changes to coverture laws so that women have economic rights.”
Franny wholeheartedly agreed. One of the reasons she’d never marry was because she refused to be some man’s property. No man would ever become custodian of her share of The Silk Knuckles. No man would ever own her existence.
Luckily these high-born ladies always welcomed Franny’s opinions. “Both married and unmarried women must be able to own property,” she declared emphatically.
Lady Siddons raised her fist. “First women’s property rights. Then educational rights. Someday we will even have a place in Parliament.”
Everyone in the room, except for Lady Hillcaster, cheered as they raised a fist in solidarity.
“My nephew has agreed to discuss our concerns with his fellow lords,” Lady Siddons said. “If he garners enough support, he will petition our ideas at the next session of Parliament.”
Franny had dared to hope as much, and now it seemed as if her dreams might come true. She would definitely give the duke another chance since he had some redeeming qualities. Edward Robinson, not so much.
Augh! She needed to push the insufferable lawman from her thoughts and concentrate on the meeting.
“ ’Tis so very exciting,” Bridget said.
“Can you imagine?” Lady Davenport sighed. “Maybe there will come a time when women take their own concerns to Parliament. But for now, I am grateful for His Grace’s assistance.”
A giddiness bubbled through Franny. If the Duke of Griffendale, the future earl of Shiredale, and Viscount Davenport took up their cause, it would be easier to encourage other men to support them and eventually change the status quo.
“Ladies, excuse me,” Edward Robinson called, his deep voice slicing a chunk out of Franny’s elation. “Does anyone have a carriage?”
The bloody man needed to leave her alone. Franny swung toward the door, preparing to lambaste him publicly.
Instead, she gasped in horror because he supported her severely beaten, bloody-faced father’s body weight.
“He needs a physician,” Edward said.
Franny dropped her glass as she rushed to the men.