“My mother did not approve of Frances, was opposed to the marriage from the first and never missed a chance to do her a disservice.” Halcombe’s voice was rough with remembered anger.
“I’m surprised you allowed it. I imagine Frances was no match for Leticia. She was such a quiet thing.”
Halcombe lifted a shoulder. “Frances never complained and I was otherwise too occupied to pay much attention.” Something in his voice warned his companion that he had no intention of discussing the matter further, and the subject turned to a more immediate problem.
“What do you plan to tell your mother? Whatever it is will be all over town in a day,” Summerton cautioned.
“A good question,” Halcombe said. “Not the whole truth, but something as near to it as is possible.” He grimaced. “I’ve no wish to appear the deserted husband. I told my mother earlier that Frances was by some miracle rescued by some French fishermen. Half drowned and unconscious from a blow to her head, she lost her memory and was marooned in France, with no way to contact me once she regained her senses. Ultimately she was able to convince the fishermen they would be well paid if they took her to Portugal to her aunt. She fell ill there, was long in recovering, but as soon as possible she returned to England. Why, it’s the stuff of heroines! It should be more than enough for most people.”
Summerton’s roar of laughter brought a reluctant grin to Halcombe’s face.
“I admit it’s a bit far-fetched,” he admitted somewhat sheepishly.
“It is as good as any of those novels the ladies enjoy so much. You should try your hand at writing, my friend.” Summerton leaned over to fill Halcombe’s glass, a smile still playing on his lips. “It will do as well as anything, I imagine. You might mention pregnant and penniless, to garner even more sympathy,” he said with a sly glance.
Halcombe glared at him and threw up a hand in annoyance. “Very amusing. And I the faithful husband who never gave up hope, I suppose.” He drank the last of his brandy and rose. “It helps that we are going to Sussex tomorrow. We can avoid the worst of the gossip.”
Summerton stood also and reached out to lay a hand on Halcombe’s shoulder. “If there is anything I can do, let me know,” he said. “I’ll drop a few details here and there—with the utmost confidentiality, of course—and back up the tale. Send word if you have any information for me on the matter we discussed last night.”
“Of course.” Richard’s mouth turned down in a crooked smile. “Thank you, Colin. I appreciate your support.” He started toward the door.
“It will all work out. Give it time.”
“Of course,” Halcombe repeated, not believing it. Only a miracle could change this situation to the good—and he was mighty short of miracles these days.
Chapter Ten
“You are going to visit the dowager Halcombe before you leave for Sussex?” Aunt Livvy sounded so incredulous that Frances smiled in spite of her own apprehension over what was certain to be an unpleasant encounter.
“Even Leticia does not deserve such a slight as to not personally meet her grandchild,” Frances said, “and of course, see her wayward daughter-in-law for herself.” She took a few mouthfuls of coffee. “I am not looking forward to it, but I am no longer an easily-intimidated green girl. There are more worrisome things ahead than the dowager.” She sipped at her beverage, half-listening to Nancy and Flora in the adjoining room, and wondered if Halcombe understood Flora’s nurse was to accompany them.
“My dear child, that is beyond question,” Olivia said tartly, “but I admit I have serious misgivings about this reconciliation. Halcombe does not strike me as the most tractable of men.”
That produced a genuine laugh from Frances. “I don’t think ‘tractable’ is a word known to my husband,” she said with a grin. “He is, however, a fair man, and one who wants a family. Unless I conveniently cock up my toes, he is stuck with me.”
“Heaven forfend! Don’t even imagine such a thing,” Olivia admonished with a frown and shake of her finger. She picked up her cup and eyed Frances over the rim. Her voice dropped. “You mean to allow intimacies, I take it?”
Frances raised her brows. “If he so chooses. I’d like more children and that is the sole way to achieve them, after all.”
“So I’ve heard,” Olivia said, looking amused. “I almost wish I was going with you, but I do feel you are better left alone to work things out. You must write to me often and tell me how you go on. I will be no more than a day’s journey away and don’t plan to go back to Portugal until fall.”
“I will be fine. We will be fine, Flora and I. You are to come to us in September, as we agreed.” Frances set aside her cup and leaned forward to take her Aunt’s hand. “I’ve treated Richard badly, staying away all this time. I need to at least try to make things right. If we can work out some kind of amicable relationship, why, it’s no different than many marriages.”
“I would wish happiness for you, child,” Olivia said softly, turning her hand to grasp Frances’ fingers.
“Children will make me content,” Frances said, injecting firmness into her voice, “and that will be enough.”
Olivia voiced her doubt with a simple, “umm,” but refrained from further comment. She released Frances, finished her coffee, and rose. “Go tend to your packing. I expect your husband to arrive soon and having to wait won’t sweeten his temper.”
“He is indeed a punctual man,” Frances agreed, and stood. She was not prone to tardiness, but children often waylaid the best of plans. “I’ve but a few remaining items to gather.”
“Frances. One more thing, before you go.” Olivia’s voice was strained. “Do you plan to continue the network?”
Frances met Olivia’s intent gaze straightly. “Yes, I am going to try. It is too important to stop. I expect it to be more difficult, but with Thomas Blount’s help it can be done.”
“Will you tell Halcombe?”
Frances felt her face harden. “No. It is making a difference, if purely in a small way, and I cannot depend upon his approval.” She would only bend so far. This she would not give up. “Besides, I have no intention of completely foregoing my business, and it and the network are entwined to such an extent it would be difficult not to gather information. Why should I not pass it along?”
Olivia nodded her approval. “If Charles or I can be of any assistance, you have but to ask.”
“I know it, Aunt.” Frances fought to keep her voice even. “I don’t believe it will be necessary. You are to go and enjoy your visit with Charles’ family. You have already done so much for me. It is time you thought of yourself.”
“Nonsense. Having you and Flora with me more than makes up for any trifling service I’ve given you.” Olivia sniffed. “Now if you are finished being maudlin, I will take Flora downstairs while you tend to whatever it is you need to do.”
“Yes, Aunt,” Frances said in a meek voice, but gave her a hug and a whispered, “thank you,” before she moved away. She went into her bedchamber and Flora ran over to greet her with her favourite doll clutched in one hand.
“Mama!” She tugged on Frances’ skirt. “Up, Mama.”
“Up, please,” Frances said. She smiled, but waited until Flora echoed her words.
“Up, p’ease.” Flora held up her arms.
Frances laughed as she lifted her and settled her on one hip. “That is close enough, I suppose. Are you ready to go bye-bye?”
“Baby go bye-bye.” Flora held up her doll. “See cows!”
Smoothing the loose tendrils of hair from her forehead, Frances shook her head. “No cows today, pet. Horses will have to do.”
“Horses,” Flora crowed and wiggled to get down.
Holding the squirming child firmly, Frances sat on the end of the bed and pulled her into her lap. “We are going in a big coach today, and you need to be a good girl. Your father is not accustomed to children, so you must try not to make too much noise.”
Flora stared at her, caught by her moth
er’s serious tone, but the reference to her father meant nothing. How could it, when she had seen him only once? But she knew “good girl”, and she patted Frances’ cheek. “I good, Mama.”
Frances looked into those guileless eyes, as blue as her father’s, and sighed. Flora was a well-behaved little girl most of the time, but being shut up in any kind of conveyance for long periods of time tried the patience of any child, not to mention their parents.
“I know you will.” Frances set her on her feet and looked at Nancy, who was closing the last trunk.
“Thank you, Nancy. Please take Flora to Mrs. Blake, and if you have all your things ready, send for someone to get this trunk. You can wait downstairs. I will be along soon.” She turned to her daughter. “Auntie is waiting for you, pet.”
Flora, who adored Olivia, dashed off without giving her mother a second glance. Frances exchanged a resigned smile with the nursemaid, who bobbed a curtsey and hurried after her charge. Flora was extremely attached to Nancy, and Frances was grateful she had been willing to come with them to England. Nancy had resided in Portugal since she was a babe in arms—her widowed mother was Olivia’s housekeeper.
Frances glanced around to make sure nothing had been forgotten, but all was in order. Nothing but her correspondence remained. She opened the lap desk she had brought from Portugal. Several pens were neatly slotted into a recess fitted onto the lid. A vial of sand, some sealing wax and ink were tucked in a corner. The ink she set aside to leave here, not wanting to risk having it spill out and ruin the wood. She picked up the folder lying inside, studied it thoughtfully, and then slipped it into a small bag to join those items that needed to be accessible on the journey.
Once they arrived at the Manor she planned to send for Rose Blount. Then they would have a plausible link to Clifftop through her son, Thomas. He had the contacts with the fishermen—and others—who would carry the letters across the channel. Even though some of her sources were free to send letters quite legitimately, this correspondence could not come openly to her home. Frances was not ready to share this enterprise with Richard yet, but someday, perhaps. Supposing, of course, that he ever forgave her and a time came when he no longer hated her.
Did he hate her? Hate was such a strong word. Frances absently ran her fingers over the rough material of the bag. She did not hate him, had never done so, even when faced with the unmistakable evidence of his infidelity. Forgiveness is another matter, isn’t it, Frances? You think you have put it aside, accepted infidelity as something to expect in a marriage? What will you do if the affair continues?
Truth to tell, she did not know.
Chapter Eleven
The post chaise had arrived. Frances was so informed as soon as she descended the stairs into the lobby. Charles Reede was there to greet her and escort her to the door.
“Mrs. Blake is outside, with Flora and Nancy—and Lord Halcombe, who appears rather impatient, although I believe you are beforehand of the appointed time.”
“Halcombe will be anxious to leave as early as possible, since he intends to make the journey in one day,” Frances said. A post chaise. He had realized the larger vehicle was needed to accommodate all of them. Was he planning to ride in the chaise, or drive his curricle? Frances felt a moment of dread. Please heaven, let it be the curricle. Spending an entire day in such close proximity with her husband was not anything to wish for.
“You’ve a long day ahead and I hope for everyone’s well-being Flora sleeps much of the way,” Charles said. “I am surprised you will be taking the time to call on the dowager Halcombe.”
Frances gave him a quizzical look. “The truly amazing thing is that the dowager agreed to see us at this hour. Leticia is inclined to stay abed of a morning.”
“Like you, I don’t suppose the earl gave her any choice.” Charles halted just outside the entrance, turned to face her, and enfolded both her hands between his. “I admit to some uneasiness with this entire situation. I want your word that you will enlist our aid should the circumstances become untenable.”
The warmth in his eyes was shadowed with concern. Frances felt her throat close.
“I promise. Thank you,” she whispered. She disengaged from his grasp and hurried toward the chaise. Halcombe waited by the vehicle, watching as one of the hotel footmen assisted Nancy inside. Flora was jumping up and down with excitement. Frances suspected that without Aunt Olivia’s tight grip, the child would dash over to the horses.
Her mood lightened by her daughter’s enthusiasm—and by the sight of the curricle parked behind the chaise—Frances greeted Halcombe agreeably, lifted Flora, and undaunted by her husband’s stony silence, smiled at her aunt.
“Say good-bye to Auntie, pet.”
Flora leaned forward and placed a sloppy kiss on Olivia’s cheek. “Bye-bye. Kiss?” She tilted her head and waited expectantly.
Olivia smiled and returned the child’s kiss. Flora giggled, and taking advantage of this good humour, Frances handed her up to Nancy.
Annoyed at the impatience evident on her husband’s face, Frances suppressed the urge to invent some kind of delay, and after giving her aunt a brief hug, allowed the footman to hand her up the steps. Once seated, Frances leaned out the open door. “Thank you for everything,”
Aunt Olivia’s face was almost as stolid as Halcombe’s. “Write to me,” she said briskly. She gave the earl a pointed look and walked quickly to where Charles Reede waited with commendable patience—and the special smile he reserved for Olivia.
Frances smiled to herself. Aunt Olivia was a fortunate woman. This long visit with Charles’ family might be what was needed to bring her aunt to acknowledge what she surely must suspect—that she loved Charles. Now if Charles could bring himself to the point, they might be planning a wedding by the end of the summer. Frances certainly prayed so.
She put Flora on her lap so she could watch the passing scene. Smelly and clamorous as the city was, it was better to have Flora entertained while possible. In any case, it was not far to the Halcombe town house—a place Frances had never before seen. In fact, this was her first time in London, and she was sorry that she had not had time to see something of the city. They halted before a tall, stoned-faced building, one of a row that lined three sides of a quiet square.
Frances stepped down onto the wide pavement. “You can wait here, Nancy,” she said, reaching for Flora. “I don’t believe we will be long.”
“I will take her.”
The hand Halcombe laid on her shoulder was as startling as his firm statement. Frances spun around and was gently moved aside. “She is not used to strangers. She may not come to you,” Frances said in a low voice that conveyed none of her apprehension. Why in heaven did he choose to do this now, when Flora was experiencing so much that was unfamiliar? Frances did not want to meet his mother with a crying child in hand. Shifting nervously, her breath short, she was ready to intercede at the first sign of a tear.
“But I am not a stranger,” Halcombe said in a manner that relayed his calm conviction that his daughter instinctively knew him. He waited for Nancy to help Flora onto the top step, put his hands around her tiny waist, and settled her in his arms. “Hello, Flora. I see you have another pretty dress today.”
Her face scrunched up, Flora eyed him warily. “Pretty dress,” she repeated. She pointed one stubby finger at his chest. “You.”
Halcombe hesitated.
“Father. My name is Father,” he said, and smiled.
Frances’ breath eased. His smile was sincere and Flora smiled back.
“Fa…der.”
“That will do. Now, it is time you were introduced to your grandmother.” He glanced at Frances. “You are ready?”
“Of course.” She picked up her skirts and moved to walk beside him, then, her voice very soft, said “Thank you.” For being so caring—and careful. How could you have thought anything else of him, Frances? Sometimes you are an absolute idiot.
***
Did Frances think he
would harm the child? Halcombe had not missed the worry in his wife’s eyes. Does she fear you will blame the child for the parent’s transgressions? Damn it! Surely she knows you better than that.
Did she? The question niggled in his head as he automatically responded to his mother’s butler. Mason knew they were expected, and no doubt why. The servants seemed always to be aware of these things. He could only trust that news of Frances’ return had not yet spread outside this house.
“Lord Halcombe, Lady Halcombe, if you will follow me? Lady Halcombe is in the small salon.” Mason gave Flora a quick perusal and she stared back at him with bright-eyed interest, a frank curiosity that put two spots of colour on the man’s cheeks.
Unabashedly amused by Mason’s discomfort— the man was as stiff-necked and pretentious as the dowager—Halcombe walked past him. “I know where it is, Mason. No need to announce us.” Such informality would further annoy his mother, and to describe Leticia’s horror at the entire situation was a monumental understatement. When he told her earlier of Frances’ return, along with a child, he had feared she might succumb to apoplexy, so furious was she.
The dowager’s expression of cold detachment was exactly what Halcombe had expected. He allowed that she had reason to dislike the situation. Leticia thrived on scandal, as long as it was of someone else’s making. Regarding this affair, however, she would be wise to put a good front on it. To do otherwise would reflect badly on her.
“Mother.”
Leticia was seated regally in a high-backed chair, her expression as disapproving as a queen faced with a disobedient subject. Halcombe’s glance at Frances, pacing beside him, caught the glimmer of humour in her eyes. He suspected his mother was not going to find this Frances as easy to cow as his young bride—a suspicion confirmed when Frances moved forward, dropped a brief curtsey, and said amicably, “You are looking well, Mother Halcombe.”
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