Chapter Nine
Mr. Plimpton had implied it was important business that couldn’t be moved that stopped them from accepting Lady Wiltshire’s invitation, but Frances suspected her father wanted to make them wait.
She found it petty, but appreciated being able to spend the next few days in bed.
She told her mother it was to fight off a chill she caught in the rain, but it had more to do with an inescapable guilt over trapping Lord Lark into marrying her.
Her father didn’t want to wait too long and give the man an excuse to change his mind, so while Frances would have feigned illness to avoid the dinner indefinitely, her mother warned her weak constitutions were not what earls looked for in wives.
Not that Frances was prone to sickness anymore – not since she was a baby – but Mama gave a pointed look at Frances’ temple, reminding her she was flawed enough to need all the help she could get.
The marriage contract was safe in her father’s hands, signed by both parties, but he’d waited until the banns were read and an announcement was placed in the papers before telling even his closest friends, including Frances’ older sisters.
They wouldn’t be able to attend tonight, but would likely be at every other wedding event, waiting for her to fail—Iris to gloat, and Mary to swoop in and rescue her.
Not that Frances blamed them, but she had hoped that marrying an earl would grant her the tiniest modicum of respect.
Instead, Iris was quick to point out that she wasn’t married yet.
So, Frances rode to Wiltshire Manor in the fancy carriage with Mama, Papa, and Daisy, all three women in their best dresses. Unfortunately, dresses weren’t what made Frances feel unworthy. It was her very being. She felt like a fraud.
The ride went by mostly in silence. Even her mother, who always had something to say, seemed to be a pack of nerves.
“He’s already announced the engagement publicly,” Daisy pointed out after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. “If he goes back on his word now, his reputation will never recover. And he’s an earl. He’ll do the decent thing.”
Papa glared at her, so she stopped trying to be reassuring, but Frances felt the same. It only slightly annoyed her that her sister’s entire opinion of Lord Lark’s good character was based on his title.
“I expect everyone to be on their best behavior,” Mama warned as they got close. “Which means, Frances dear, that you keep him on your left side. Some deceptions warrant breaking an engagement, and we don’t want to give him cause. Just be pleasant and agreeable.”
Her mother smiled as if her words had been kind and encouraging, but Frances was a thousand times more nervous now.
Lord Lark had entered the engagement knowing her father’s character and just how disadvantageous the match would be for him, but her mother had graciously reminded her that he still didn’t know about that.
He knew her to be unremarkable though kind, but he had yet to see her biggest flaw.
“I’m sure Lord Lark isn’t so superficial that—”
This time, it was her mother who silenced Daisy’s half-hearted attempt with a look.
“Best to wait for the wedding night, just in case.”
Her mother’s smile made her feel like she’d swallowed cod liver oil. Had her mother’s assurances always been this insulting?
The carriage stopped in front of a large house on Hampstead Heath. There was a charity ball held there every year, to raise funds for the Foundling Hospital, but the Plimptons had never been invited.
One footman opened the door while another stepped forward to help Mama alight the carriage, followed by Papa and Daisy, then finally Frances.
Inside, more footmen in Wiltshire livery arrived to take their coats and shawls, but Frances was too in awe of everything to notice.
The entrance hallway was larger than their sitting room, and there was a sort of atrium that held giant paintings representing the Wiltshire family’s current generation.
Unlike the family portrait that hung in her house, everyone in these paintings looked happy.
They were so lively that she wouldn’t have been surprised if one of the boys simply ran out of the frame and down the staircase, chasing the family dog.
She recognized a young Nathaniel, mostly because he was the tallest of the boys and therefore most likely the oldest, but there was also something about his crooked smile that made her certain it was her intended.
There were fresh flowers on most surfaces, and though she tried to resist, Frances couldn’t help but get lost in the scents, so she arrived in the drawing room after introductions had begun. An elderly gentleman with a warm smile was beaming at Daisy.
“You must be Miss Plimpton.”
“No, your Lordship, this is our youngest daughter, Daisy. Newly out in society, but already has quite a few admirers,” Mama told him with pride.
“Of course. My grandson mentioned Miss Plimpton’s beauty, but I now see it runs in the family.”
Lord Wiltshire locked eyes with Frances and came forward to place a kiss atop her gloved knuckles.
She doubted Nathaniel, or anyone, would have said anything about her beauty, other than that it was non-existent, or paled in comparison to her sister’s, but she liked Nathaniel’s grandfather instantly.
“Yes, this is Frances,” her mother said with less pride, especially since adding ‘soon to be the Countess of Lark’ wouldn’t carry the same power here.
“I am so pleased you were all able to make it tonight. We’ve been dying to put a face to the name. And you do not disappoint.” Lady Wiltshire was equally as savvy. “Please take your seats. The others will be arriving shortly.”
“Weren’t they also dying to meet her?” Mama said under her breath.
Frances couldn’t tell if her mother found it rude that the rest of the family was absent for their arrival, or if she was judging them for being excited to meet her, of all people.
It made her wish, more than anything, that she could go back in time and not attend the garden party in the first place.
“Oh, Miss Plimpton, it is so wonderful to see you again!” Miss Turner rushed into the room, followed by the rest of the Sutton clan.
Though Nathaniel was the eldest brother, he was no longer the tallest. Which was saying something, because Nathaniel was nearly a foot taller than her father.
The family resemblance was strong, not just within the siblings, but the grandparents as well.
Lady Wiltshire’s eyes were the exact same green as Lord Lark’s, who walked in after his siblings, looking like this was the last place he wanted to be.
Not his grandparents’ sitting room, but in the company of her family.
It did nothing to comfort her, though she couldn’t fault him for it.
“Good evening, Miss Plimpton. I see you’ve met my grandparents, Lord and Lady Wiltshire.” He turned to his siblings. “Then, in order of age—”
“And nothing more,” a little girl who looked to be about eleven piped up.
“We have Elizabeth, James, Rebecca, Harrison, and Grace.”
“You forgot yourself,” the little girl, Grace, warned, getting an indulgent smile from her older brother, finally breaking his coldness.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Frances said politely. “These are my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Plimpton, with my younger sister, Daisy.”
“My brother Theodore is away with the Royal Navy, and while my niece, Abigail, made a valiant effort to stay awake so she could meet you, the excitement proved too much for a two-year-old. I promised to arrange a future meeting,” Nathaniel shared once the greetings were out of the way.
“I look forward to it, my lord.”
Frances looked to Elizabeth, the only sibling of his to have married, who smiled in acknowledgement that the child was hers.
“I came out with one of your older sisters,” Elizabeth told her. “I believe she married a vicar.”
“Yes, Mary,” Frances agreed, relieved it wasn’t Iris. She would hate for the dowager countess to think she was anything like her second oldest sister. Mary had a heart of gold, but Iris was all jealousy and making herself look better by bringing down whoever challenged her.
“And you have another sister, correct?” Lord Lark asked.
“Iris,” she said, but Mama quickly jumped in, explaining that Iris was now Lady Dodd, running a large estate and considered very important in certain circles.
“Any grandchildren?” Lady Wiltshire asked Mama while guiding her to the dining room.
For formality’s sake, Lord Lark should have accompanied the countess at the lead, but as Grace went in first, this was clearly an informal meal.
“My eldest, the one married to a vicar in Kent, has three beautiful children, two of them strong lads with excellent heads on their shoulders.”
“Does the other not have a head? Or just not a good one?” Grace whispered for her brothers to hear, but Frances was close enough to catch it as well. James gave Grace a very severe look, but then both he and the younger brother, Harrison, smiled.
“Mary is always taking in local foundlings, or the forgotten elderly no one else wants,” Mama continued, oblivious to Grace’s remark. “She has always been most kind and generous, ever since she was a child. She would creep into the nursery to watch over Frances.”
Thankfully, her mother realized she was veering into a story she wasn’t supposed to mention until after the wedding night, so she cut herself off, making it sound like Frances was one of those forgotten undesirables.
“Where is his vicarage?” the countess asked.
“Ospringe,” Mr. Plimpton answered, which wasn’t quite a lie, although George was the vicar of a single estate, not the entire town.
“Our son’s property is in that area,” Lord Wiltshire informed them.
“I thought he died?” Mama’s shock excused her speaking out of turn. “Begging your pardon, of course.”