“Which you now know makes little difference to me,” Gabe said, his voice quiet. Despite his request that no servants wait on them this morning, he could just imagine two or three of them on the other side of the door to the butler’s pantry, listening in anticipation of some tidbit of gossip. He suddenly straightened. “That’s not entirely true.”
Frances paused the forkful of eggs that were halfway to her mouth. “What isn’t?”
“Your son. I find I am rather enamored with him.” The comment was meant to be a tease, but he knew immediately that she didn’t take it that way.
Lowering her fork to her plate, Frances narrowed her eyes. “You cannot have him,” she warned.
“I don’t want him if I can’t have you,” Gabe countered.
She relaxed, realizing she might have overreacted, and she resumed eating. After a time, she said, “I can understand why you must be wary of women who would only marry you for your...” Rethinking her comment, she gave a huff. “Your what? You don’t have a title. You won’t have a title. Why would you be concerned I would only marry you because your father is an earl?”
Gabe drained his coffee and settled back in his chair. “For the money, I suppose. Although, in the interest of full disclosure—in the event you would marry me for money—I cannot collect my inheritance until I am five-and twenty.”
Frances blinked. “How old are you now?”
“Two-and-twenty.” He leaned forward. “Old enough to marry without my parents’ permission,” he added, giving her a wink. “Are you old enough to do so?”
She managed to suppress a laugh. “I fear I passed that requirement two years ago.”
Three-and-twenty. Old enough to wed.
“Good. Then I can procure a license on the morrow, and we can be wed in a few weeks.”
“But I’ve not yet given you an answer.”
He reached over and covered one of her hands with his own. “Then ask me whatever it is that has you hesitating.”
A blush colored her face, and Frances wished a servant would interrupt. Or that a caller might arrive. Or that Mrs. Watkins would require her help with David.
But no such interruption occurred, and Frances was forced to give him a reply. “I know you cannot help but be honorable, but I do not wish to marry you if the only reason for your proposal was because you feel... honor-bound to wed me.”
“Honor-bound?” he repeated. He appeared confused a moment before his eyes widened. “Oh, you mean because we shared a bed last night?” The edges of his lips turned up, but he quickly sobered when he saw that she wasn’t the least bit amused.
That, and the butler had just appeared on the threshold.
“What is it, Barclay?” Gabe asked of the butler. “I’m attempting to goad Mrs. Longworth into marrying me.” He was secretly glad to hear Frances’ gasp of surprise. “I don’t suppose you have a suggestion as to what I might do to convince her I would make a suitable husband?”
Barclay blinked. “Have... have you proposed, sir?”
“I did that first, of course.”
“Did you... give her a ring?”
“Two of them, actually.” Gabe reached over and lifted Frances’ right hand. “My grandmother’s emerald. The stone is perfect and goes quite well with her eyes, don’t you agree? The other is a sapphire, of course, because that’s to be expected.”
Frances seemed impressed by his comments but turned her attention to the butler, curious as to what he might come up with next in the way of a suggestion.
“Did you tell her you would be an excellent catch?”
Turning his gaze onto Frances, Gabe said, “Not exactly, but I think she knows.”
“Oh, I only suspect he might be,” Frances corrected, her attention still on the butler.
Barclay sighed. “Have you told her you hold her in high regard and that you pledge your undying love to her until the day you die?”
“Oh, he hasn’t done that,” Frances said with a shake of her head, rather enjoying the butler’s antics.
“But I do, or.... or I... I will,” Gabe argued, his attention going from Frances back to Barclay. Suddenly frustrated, he asked, “Barclay, did you have some reason for interrupting our breakfast this morning?”
Stiffening, the butler said, “You have a caller, sir. Mr. Tom Grandby wonders if you might be in residence?”
Gabe blinked. Sunday morning callers were rare. Either Tom was simply in the neighborhood, or something was wrong. “Bring him here, and he can join us for breakfast.” He reached out and snagged one of Frances’ hands before she was halfway up from her chair.
“You have a guest, and I should check on David,” Frances murmured, attempting to escape his hold.
“I have two guests,” Gabe corrected her. “Three, actually,” he amended, wondering how David was getting along in the nursery. He urged Frances to take her seat, and after a moment, she did so. “Perhaps Tom can talk you into marrying me,” he added.
Frances was about to respond, but Tom Grandby appeared in the doorway, and Gabe stood up to greet him, Frances immediately following suit.
“Good morning. I do hope you’re here for breakfast,” Gabe said as he shook Tom’s hand.
But Tom had noticed Frances, and he gave her a deep bow, an impressive feat given his height. “Good morning, my lady,” he said.
Frances dipped a quick curtsy. “Good morning, Mr. Grandby.”
“Have you met Mrs. Longworth?” Gabe asked as he directed Tom to the chair across from Frances.
“I’ve not had the pleasure. It’s good to finally make your acquaintance, seeing as how I am familiar with your work at the museum,” Tom said as he took the proffered chair. “I have read your character, of course.”
Frances’ eyes widened. “May I ask how you were privy to the document?”
Tom removed his gloves and set them on an adjacent chair. “I am on the board of directors for the museum. I, in fact, recommended you be hired after both my youngest sister and I read your character.”
He gave Gabe a curious glance when his cousin set a filled plate before him and asked if he wanted tea or coffee. “Coffee, please.” Then he grinned. “I forgot that it’s Sunday. No wonder you’re playing at being a footman. For a moment, I thought you’d gone and dismissed the staff.”
Gabe gave him a quelling glance as he set a cup of coffee next to Tom’s plate. “So, you’re not here because something awful has happened?” he half-asked of his caller as he settled himself in his chair. He darted a quick look at Frances and was relieved to see she had resumed eating, although he could tell she was nervous.
Tom shook his head. “At first I thought to let you know that contrary to what I wrote in my note to you yesterday, I wouldn’t meet you tonight at White’s, but perhaps we should still do so.”
His eyes widening with concern, Gabe asked, “Has something happened?”
“Oh, nothing bad, I assure you,” Tom replied. “But I thought I should take a ride out to Woodscastle and check on my sister. Maybe spend the night in my old room.” He turned his attention to Frances. “Emily is my youngest sister—about your age, I should think—and she has been staying at the family estate all alone whilst everyone else went off to Derbyshire for the holiday.”
Frances angled her head to one side. “She is not yet wed?”
Tom shook his head. “I’ve often wondered if she will ever take a husband. I learned only recently that she was betrothed, but apparently the young man died before they could arrange a wedding.”
“How awful for her,” Frances murmured, at the same moment Gabriel let out a gasp of disbelief.
“I didn’t know anything about it until Burroughs mentioned it at the bank on Friday,” Tom said, turning to Frances to add, “James Burroughs is a mutual friend of ours who just recently returned to town from Bath.”
“The same one who made the donation of the Greek pots to the museum,” Gabe put in.
Frances nodded her understanding.
&n
bsp; “Emily offered him a guest room at Woodscastle until he can arrange other lodgings,” Tom explained, his comment again directed to Frances.
“How kind of her,” she replied, his words reminding her that Gabe had done the same with her. She liked how the older gentleman included her in the conversation. “May I ask how it is you both know Mr. Burroughs? I only ask because I believe I might have met him at the bank this past week.”
Tom allowed a brilliant smile. “He’s my age, as blond as I am dark-haired, but not quite as tall.”
“He’s actually a cousin of Tom’s,” Gabe said. He angled his head, just then remembering how Tom and James were related. “In fact, we were very near to Tom’s grandmother’s house just last night. She lives... only a few houses from where you have... had your rooms.”
Curious, Tom turned his gaze to Frances again. “Have you met my grandmother? Mrs. Simpson? Mrs. James Simpson?”
Frances’ eyes widened. Although she had only been introduced the one time whilst passing the older woman in Kingly Street, Frances had learned from that chance meeting that Mrs. Simpson was the same Mrs. James Simpson that was included in the list of the museum’s most generous patrons. That her grandson would hold a position on the board now made perfect sense. “Sophia Simpson?” she asked, just to be certain.
“Indeed! She is my grandmother. My father’s mother. Her twins were born the same night as my oldest sister,” Tom happily explained. “Rather odd having an aunt and uncle who aren’t much older than me,” he said with a shrug. “But I suppose it works out fine for Emily, given she’s so much younger,” he mused, his manner sobering somewhat. He turned his attention to his breakfast.
Still thinking of Emily and the dinner party, Gabe said, “I must not have known Miss Grandby’s betrothed, for I don’t recall learning of anyone’s death among our acquaintances. Well, other than Henry Burroughs.” He turned to Frances and said, “He was Mr. Burroughs older brother, and he was always a bit on the sickly side. He died of influenza last spring,” Gabe added.
“How awful,” Frances murmured.
Gabe waited a moment, thinking Tom might offer a name, but when his cousin continued eating, he added, “The last time I saw Miss Grandby was at Worthington House. Last month, when we learned Hexham had proposed to my sister, and Sir Benjamin was about to propose to Lady Angelica.”
Tom guffawed. “A rather momentous night, that was,” he said. He turned his gaze on Frances. “We refer to the Grandby twins—my cousins by way of the Earl and Countess of Torrington. They are both married now and on their wedding trips.”
“They should have made it to Rome by now,” Gabe remarked.
“How nice for them,” Frances said. “And your sister, Emily? Is she... still in mourning?”
Rather surprised by the question, Tom had to give it some thought. “If she is, she hides it rather well,” he murmured.
Emily had always been more reserved than her sisters. Less apt to display her emotions. But she had taken to spending more time in the library of late. “I think she has become a bit of a bluestocking, what with all the reading she does these days,” he added. “It’s good of you to ask. I think you two would make fast friends.”
“She’s sounds lovely,” Frances replied.
Tom glanced in Gabe’s direction before he redirected his gaze on Frances. “May I inquire as to what brings you to Trenton House on this fine morning?”
Frances struggled to keep from blushing. “The promise of a very good meal,” she replied as she indicated her nearly empty plate. “And a long discussion about Greek pottery. If we should have a need to get into the museum this afternoon, would you know of a way we might accomplish that?”
Staring first at her and then turning his attention on Gabe, he asked, “What’s this about?”
“Burroughs’ donation. It’s possible one of his pots may have been used to hide the theft of another just like it,” Gabe said. “But I have to the check the bottom of an amphora just to be sure.”
“Some of the personnel live there,” Tom warned.
“I know,” Gabe said. “But I’d hate to bother any of them on a Sunday.”
Tom sighed but pulled a key from a waistcoat pocket. “Only works on the front door to Montagu,” he warned as he passed it over to Gabe. “And I want it back just as soon as you can give it to me.”
“Understood. Hopefully, this is all just a mistake. That both versions of the Apollo are there and one has just been misplaced,” Gabe explained.
“If not?”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “We’ll be in search of an amphora that may already be in someone’s private collection.”
“Probably purchased from a museum employee for a hundred pounds,” Frances added with a look of disappointment.
Tom shook his head. “Keep me apprised,” he said on a sigh, his brows furrowing as he turned to regard Frances. “I cannot imagine this is what you expected to be doing when you accepted an offer of breakfast.”
“Not exactly, but it is a curious situation. May I refill your coffee?” she offered
“This morning has also been an opportunity for Frances to see how my mother displays her fine creations,” Gabe said before Tom could reply. He stood and reached for the coffee pot. “Vases and pots that my father commissioned.” He directed his next comment to Frances. “Do not be concerned, for Mr. Grandby will appreciate knowing the truth of the matter.” He set the pot down on the table as he retook his seat and then pulled Tom’s letter from his pocket. He extracted the letter from Viscount Henley and gave it to Tom, remembering the missive was intended for Tom and the other members of the board.
“Oh? And what matter might that be?” Tom asked as he straightened with interest and took the letter.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Frances said, her eyes widening with fright. She reached over and poured more coffee into Tom’s cup and then into Gabe’s, hoping her hand wasn’t shaking enough for them to notice.
“But you deserve the credit for your creations, Frances.”
Tom narrowed his eyes. “You’ve made some pottery on commission?” he half-asked.
Frances looked as if she were about to cry. “I did, yes. But it was while I was still at Wedgwood, of course,” she replied. “I assure you, I haven’t done any of my own at the museum. I only work on museum pieces whilst I’m in my workroom.”
“Of course,” Tom murmured, wondering at how quickly she had paled. “No one is accusing you of impropriety,” he assured her.
“The pieces she created are some of my mother’s favorites, including the vase on the hall table,” Gabe said, completely missing why it was his words had Frances so worried. When he saw how Tom was regarding Frances with a strange look, though, he cleared his throat. “Now see here, Cousin. Frances is already spoken for.”
Tom turned to regard him, a slight grin touching his lips. “As I recall from her character, the young lady is not married,” he replied carefully. “
Gabe’s eyes darted to one side.
Should he further the fiction that Tom had first suggested at White’s? That she had suggested the night before? That Frances Longworth was a widow? The claim would help her case when Tom learned she had a son.
He was prevented from saying anything, though, when Frances answered on her own behalf.
“I am a widow, Mr. Grandby,” she stated. “However, Mr. Wellingham has surprised me by proposing—”
“Just this morning,” Gabe said, a huge grin on his face. Then he remembered the bet that Tom and James had placed at White’s. He desperately hoped Tom wouldn’t blurt out anything about it.
Tom’s eyes widened and then his brows furrowed in confusion. “And I interrupted?” he guessed.
Frances shook her head. “You arrived in the nick of time.”
Gabe sobered. “She has yet to give me her answer.”
“Which is her right,” Tom said, barely able to hide his humor. He was still a bit bothered by the earlier talk of c
ommissions, though. Francis—Frank—Longworth was supposed to have been the potter responsible for some of the studio’s most prized custom pieces. Mrs. Longworth’s character had not mentioned that she, too, had been an artist of commissioned works whilst at Wedgwood.
He turned his gaze back on Frances. “Let me guess. Gabe didn’t tell you he was Trenton’s son.”
Frances’ eyes widened in surprise. “He did not,” she affirmed. She was about to mention she learned it from a maid, but then thought better of it. There was no reason for him to know that she had spent the night at Trenton House.
“He didn’t mention that he’s to inherit a fortune upon his twenty-fifth birthday?” Tom went on.
“Hmm. He mentioned an inheritance, although he didn’t say it was a... was a fortune, exactly.”
“Oh, it is,” Tom said matter-of-factly. “And will be even more so when he’s of an age to claim it.”
“How do you know?” Gabe asked, shocked his cousin would say such a thing.
“Because your father had me invest it on your behalf,” Tom replied. He turned back to Frances and said, “I’d list all the railways in which he has a stake, but I don’t wish to bore you.”
Frances was about to encourage him to do so when Gabe made his familiar sound of surprise. “Railways?” he repeated.
“There’s a shipping company, of course,” Tom went on, “and I thought it wise for you to have a stake in Wellingham Imports, seeing as how your father’s cousin has done so well with that business.”
Rather enjoying Tom’s banter, Frances said, “That does seem ever so wise.” Then she noted Gabe’s continued look of shock, and her grin widened.
“Did he tell you he is illegitimate?” Tom asked, sotto voce.
“Thomas!” Gabe scolded.
Frances ignored Gabe and said, “He did. Before any of the rest of it, I’m afraid.”
“He doesn’t sell himself well, does he?” Tom continued, acting as if Gabe wasn’t sitting just a foot away from him.
“He does not,” Frances agreed. “But it’s quite refreshing in a man, really.”
“And he probably hasn’t yet plied you with words of love and affection.”
The Puzzle of a Bastard Page 22