The food was spread out on tables that had been brought to the folly by the servants. Chicken, goose and beef were spread out to tempt the picnickers. Freshly baked breads were still slightly warm, and a variety of eggs, vegetables and fruit adorned the tables. If there was any room left after filling plates, a range of cakes and jellies had also been provided to tempt.
Frances sat on a rug, eating the delicious food. She happily listened to the conversations taking place around her as she ate while watching the view. She smiled when Stuart approached her holding two glasses of wine.
“I thought you might appreciate one of these,” he said, crouching on the ground next to her.
“Thank you,” she smiled, reaching for the glass.
“May I join you?”
“Of course,” Frances replied, shuffling over to enable him to sit on the rug.
Stuart sat and took a sip of wine. “William was correct: the view is magnificent. He is very lucky, having the sea so close.”
“It is lovely to see, but I love where I live. I find comfort in knowing every place, every pathway, every person,” Frances admitted. “I have never wanted to live anywhere else.”
“I have wanted to travel, but I always knew I would return home when I was ready,” Stuart acknowledged. It was true; of all the places he had seen, he had never considered making any of them his home.
“Your mother will be pleased to hear you say that,” Frances smiled. “Do you keep in touch with your pupils after you leave them?”
“It depends on the pupil,” Stuart replied. “Some I am glad to wish well on their journey through life with the hope that our paths will never cross again, but others I am sad to say goodbye to. Not all are good letter writers though.”
“I expect not,” Frances smiled. “I’ve never been a big letter writer myself; my life is too tedious to make letter writing interesting.”
“Tedious? That is condemnation indeed; I always thought you were happy with your lot Frances: you always gave the appearance of being content,” Stuart said in surprise.
“I am; there are things I want obviously, but I am happy. It is just that I am not nearly as industrious as I should be, so I don’t have lots to tell.”
“Sometimes there is comfort in routine,” Stuart said with longing.
“Says the man who has not had a steady routine for how many years?” Frances asked with laugh.
Stuart held his hands up. “I admit defeat; I have been flitting about the Continent for too many years to be able to argue against you.”
“Stay home for a few months and then we can see how much you have to fill your letters,” Frances said archly. “You will be desperately looking for a new pupil to be off on your adventures.”
“You could always encourage me to stay home,” Stuart said, dropping his voice a little, so he would not be overheard.
Frances flushed immediately and looked down. “Oh.”
“Would it be too much of a strain for you to walk out with me sometimes and take a carriage ride?”
“No, that would be very pleasant,” Frances inwardly cursed herself. She had foolishly read something into his words, more meaning than there obviously had been. Of course, he only wanted her friendship; why would a man as sophisticated as he want a rustic like her?
“Would you walk with me now?” Stuart asked, standing and offering his hand to help her to her feet. “There are some trees beyond the folly that I would like to walk over to if you would indulge me.”
“Of course,” Frances said, rising to her feet and enjoying the feel of Stuart pulling her hand through his arm.
They walked in silence a little way before Stuart started to talk again. “You must be three and twenty by now,” he said conversationally.
“I thought it was rude to mention a lady’s age?” Frances asked with a blush.
“It is, but we have known each other for so long such limitations should be irrelevant,” Stuart said easily.
“You mean I may say anything I wish to you?” Frances asked, for once being bold.
“Yes, of course,” Stuart responded.
“Oh, if only I had the courage; I could use that to my advantage,” she said wistfully.
“But you are not the type of woman to take an unfair advantage,” Stuart said with a smile.
“No, I’m the type of woman who is on the shelf and being reminded of it by ungentlemanlike gentlemen!” Frances said, with an attempt at a huff.
Stuart laughed, “Oh, I have erred indeed to hear you call me ungentlemanlike! That is a grave error on my part, and I can only beg your forgiveness.”
“I shall consider it,” Frances said, raising an eyebrow. They had reached the edge of the wooded copse, and Stuart continued through the trees.
“I thought I saw water between the trees, but I’m not sure if I was mistaken.” He carried on walking and just when he had decided to turn back, he caught sight of a stream. They stepped into the open area near the stream and stopped.
“It comes from inside the hill somewhere,” Stuart said pointing to a hole in the higher ground that the water spewed from. “I imagine it travels down to the sea. Only a small outlet after all; I thought it might be wider. It looked different from the top of the hill.”
“Don’t be disappointed; it was a nice walk,” Frances said.
“I’m not disappointed; I’ve had some time with you,” Stuart said honestly. “I didn’t expect there to be nine of us when I suggested going for a picnic.”
“They are a nice group of people,” Frances responded.
“They are, but I would rather spend my days with you,” Stuart said, pausing and turning to look at Frances. “I ask too much; I know I do. I am ten years older than you Frances, but I can’t stop thinking about you or wanting to spend time with you. Tell me: would you consider me as a beau? I need you to give me encouragement or silence me.”
Frances took a little step back. “You don’t want me really; you are not thinking this through.”
Stuart frowned, “Why would I not want you?”
“I am here and available. I don’t mind you flirting, but please don’t talk of anything more; once you leave here your views are bound to change. I appear to greater advantage when there is no competition around. I know my limitations; I will not reproach you for seeking others once in our usual circle,” Frances had looked him directly in the eye. She was flattered that he enjoyed her company, but she was a realist and had spent too many years in the shadow of others to consider seriously his words.
Stuart looked flabbergasted. “I’ve never considered anyone else,” he said. “Not since that day you comforted me for being thrown from my horse. No one else has ever been equal to you in my eyes; I’ve just remained silent because of the age difference.”
Frances looked at him, her eyes slightly brighter than normal. “Please don’t be cruel. I am happy to offer you a diversion while you are here, but don’t allude to feelings that can’t be true.”
“You doubt my word?” Stuart asked dumbstruck. This was not how he had anticipated the conversation progressing.
“If you are going to continue in this vein, I beg you will excuse me and allow me to return to the party. I don’t wish to hear any more; I would not have expected you to continue when I asked you to stop,” Frances said, indignation making her words sharper than normal.
Stuart watched as the young woman who had haunted his dreams for more years than he cared to remember gave him such a look of reproach that he was fixed to the spot for a moment, unable to move. As the pink cotton of her dress brushed angrily across the grass he suddenly stirred into action.
“Frances! Wait!” he said, as he caught up with her.
Frances continued to walk, her cheeks pink from mortification, anger and disappointment. She was not going to stop; if she spoke now, she would regret her words.
Stuart easily reached her; even in anger, her strides were no match for him. He also had the motivation that he had to sort this o
ut before they cleared the thicket. Once back in the view of everyone else, his opportunity would be lost.
He reached out and grabbed her arm, turning her towards him. Her look of surprised anger almost stopped him, but he knew how important the next few minutes were going to be. “I meant every word,” he said, pulling her towards him.
A retort by Frances was caught in her throat when Stuart firmly planted his lips on hers.
Chapter 8
Frances had never been kissed like that before. In all truth she had never been kissed. For a moment or two, she had no idea what to do; in fact, thought was suspended. Stuart moved his frame to enable him to hold her more firmly, but he did not break contact with her lips. He moved his hands around her, placing one in the small of her back, the other between her shoulders. His lips moved gently showing her what to do.
Frances moved in response to Stuart’s guidance, the result being that her insides seemed to fizz and she lost the ability to do anything but focus on what Stuart was doing. She wrapped her arms around his neck, not knowing what else to do with them. Her hands touched his hair, and he moaned; Frances moved without thought, but the moan was enough encouragement to grasp Stuart’s hair and, in doing so, pull him further into her.
Stuart wrapped his arm fully around Frances; moving his lower hand to the swell of her bottom he squeezed to him. His kiss intensified; she was an innocent, but he had waited too long: once he started, he did not want to let her go.
They stayed entwined until Stuart had the presence of mind to pull away. He wrapped her against his chest while he caught his breath. She had every right to send him to the devil, but he hoped he had convinced her he was serious about her.
Stuart leant away slightly and took Frances’s face in his hands. The sight of her bruised lips and dilated eyes almost caused the kissing to start again, but he managed to control himself. “Now do you believe what I said?” he asked, his voice gravelly.
Frances looked at him, her eyes wide. “Why do you like me?” she asked. The past few minutes might have been the most thrilling of her life, but she needed to know she was not being used for a moment’s diversion.
“I think you and everyone else around you fail to see what I have seen for years. You are the prettiest woman of my acquaintance, and I love the way you are. You are everything I have ever wanted in a wife, and today was supposed to be me seeking your permission to court you; only you doubted me, and I had to prove I was serious,” Stuart explained, his voice sounding more breathless than usual. Later he would congratulate himself on being so coherent when all he could think of was the touch of her lips on his.
“I never expected kisses to make me feel like that,” Frances said quietly.
“I’ve kissed women, but I’ve never kissed anyone like that,” Stuart admitted. It was true: his legs still felt unsteady because of her effect on him.
“I don’t like the thought of you kissing anyone else,” Frances said shyly.
Stuart smiled. “Does that mean I have to give all my kisses to you from this day forward?”
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind when you return home? I couldn’t bear the thought before, but now….now, I really could not bear it if I were nothing more than a dalliance,” Frances said.
“Marry me,” Stuart said.
“What?” Frances spluttered.
“Marry me,” he repeated. “I’ve thought about little else over many months; in the past, the only thing that has kept me from speaking has been the age difference. I spoke today wanting to spend my time proving to you that the difference didn’t matter, but my aim was the same. If it will prove to you that I am serious, we will get married sooner. After that kiss, I am willing for the marriage to occur in the shortest time possible.”
Frances flushed at the meaning of his words. “I don’t know what to think,” she replied honestly.
Stuart smiled at her; she looked as if her mind was reeling. “That is not perhaps the answer I was hoping for; I want you to fall into my arms and shout yes to the world, but I realise, for you, this is sudden. I have been thinking of it for such a long time. I will wait for an answer; I know it is only fair.”
“Thank you,” Frances said.
“But I insist on doing this again before we return,” Stuart said, closing the distance between their lips. Once again he showed her with kisses more than he could with words.
*
The party moved down the hill slowly. Dusk was changing the sky from blue to orange and golden. As the sun set, the sky would turn red before they reached the house. Everyone was tired, but relaxed; some had more to think about than others, but that did not make them any less happy as to how the day had gone.
Frederick was walking down the hill between Caroline and Annabelle. He had watched Annabelle throughout the picnic wondering what had happened to her to cause such fear. He suspected after their conversation at the ball that she had been hurt, but, it was different now that she had confirmed it. He was determined that, whatever it was, once she had plucked the courage to confide in him, he would do whatever it took to sort it out for her so she would never have to worry about anything again. He was determined that every day she would have cause to smile without the fear lurking behind it.
His marriage was still not what he wanted it to be, but he was happy. They were becoming close, getting to know each other and thankfully it seemed as if both were happy with what they saw. He could be patient.
“So, Caroline, what other plans for our entertainment have you?” he asked jovially.
“I still want to know what you have done with my unsociable brother; those are words he would have never uttered,” Caroline responded.
“He obviously never before had a beautiful wife to show off to the locality,” Frederick said, laughing at Annabelle’s embarrassed groan.
“In that case I think a trip to the theatre is in order,” Caroline said, not one to miss an opportunity of an outing. “What about tomorrow?”
“Annabelle?” Frederick asked.
“Perfect, if you are sure,” Annabelle replied. The group continued their walk, happy with the prospect of further entertainments.
*
Annabelle was disturbed from her evening toilette by a knock on the door. Expecting to see Frederick as he was developing a habit of coming to give her a goodnight kiss since the ball, she was surprised when Frances opened the door at her command.
“Frances! Is anything amiss?” Annabelle said, pausing in brushing her hair and turning to her friend.
“Everything is well; I just wondered if I could speak with you?” Frances asked, blushing at what she was about to divulge.
“Of course,” Annabelle said, moving to the sofa, which was near the fire place. She dismissed her maid; there was obviously something wrong or Frances would not be seeking her out at such an hour. “Come and join me.”
“I’m sorry to intrude, but I know sleep will evade me unless I speak to you,” Frances said cryptically.
“You have my undivided attention,” Annabelle said, her curiosity aroused.
“I received a marriage proposal today,” Frances said flushing.
“Really! Well I never! When did that happen?”
Frances explained about the walk into the copse and repeated what had been said; she did not divulge the details about the shared kisses. She did not want to speak about those, because they were too personal to be discussed even with her friend.
“And what will you say to his proposal?” Annabelle asked.
“I hardly know,” Frances admitted, finally reaching the issue that was in danger of keeping her awake through the night.
“Do you like him?”
“Of course, who wouldn’t? He is charming, polite, handsome and has reasonable wealth. He is everything a girl could wish for,” Frances said, feeling as if she were listing the attributes of a horse, but she was trying to be practical; if not, she would likely marry him for his kisses and care about little else.
<
br /> “Well, say yes, then,” Annabelle said with a laugh. “He sounds faultless. I know William thinks highly of him, and he seems to be a decent young minim Adams’ influence has obviously been positive.”
“I just keep thinking, why me?” Frances admitted. “I have nothing to offer in return.”
“Now listen to me, Miss Frances Latimer!” Annabelle said sharply. “I will have none of that silly talk! You are a lovely person and a good catch for any discerning gentleman! He would be lucky to have you, and it shows he has good sense by seeing exactly what you have to offer and proposing to you!”
Frances laughed. “You are a good friend, but be realistic Annabelle; he is a man of the world: the furthest I have travelled is to visit you. He would soon tire of my lack of knowledge. Marriage is based on matching people who are compatible; we are not, in any sense of the word,” she admitted, her doubts seeming even more relevant now that she had voiced them.
“I have little experience of men,” Annabelle said, “but I know he would not have made such a declaration if he was not serious; even on such a short acquaintance I know he would not make such an offer if he did not mean it. You must know him well enough to know that surely?”
“I do know him; I feel that he has always been there, but I never expected to hear a marriage proposal from him. I admired him a great deal and still so; he was so wise and handsome. He was always the one I felt the most in awe of, the one who always seemed to be watching us with a smile on his face,” Frances said, recollecting Stuart always being there in the background; he would only come forward when begged by one or other of the younger ones.
“Perhaps he was watching just one of the group?” Annabelle suggested.
“He would never have watched just me. I thank you for the compliment though. You just don’t realise the personalities people who were in our social circle; there were people there who were far more attractive and appealing than I am,” Frances said frankly. “I accepted a long time ago that I am not the type of person who would instil a grand passion in someone. I am far too ordinary for that.”
Annabelle: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters' Series Book 2) Page 8