by Julie Matern
Thirteen
UV
ENGLAND
Mr. and Mrs. Barrington, Francesca’s uncle and aunt on her mother’s side, had sent an invitation to Francesca to tour the south with them, now that she was officially “out.” The couple were set to visit with Francesca’s mother for a week and then they would begin their holidays. This would be the first trip Francesca had ever taken unaccompanied by her parents and she was excited beyond measure.
Her parents had allowed her to purchase several new dresses and had even agreed to have them made in the London fashion. She had two new head dresses, one of which consisted of a huge white plume. She felt very fashionable wearing it.
She endured the week as best she could, reigning in her impatience with little success until the day finally arrived for departure. She kissed her parents a fond farewell and settled into the comfortable carriage, ready for adventure. Alas, the journey was so long that ere half a day had passed, she was already bored by the monotony.
They stopped for lunch at an inn in Surrey, and she was allowed to order for herself, which she felt was a little accomplishment. Brighton, their first destination, was yet six hours hence, and her uncle and aunt, hunger satisfied, dropped into a comfortable sleep. Francesca was left to occupy herself and allowed herself the luxury of remembering all her interactions with Mr. Ashbourne. Her heart gave a little leap as his perfect face swam into view. She imagined him leaning at the door to supper at her ball and his imperious studying of all present. She had thought him very proud in that instant, but then her mind replayed his change of countenance as her grandmother had approached. The pride had softened into a gentle benevolence that suited him very well. She imagined that even the Saints could not have produced a more tender expression.
The stage of her mind changed to her own introduction to the gentleman. His magnetism had been strong, and she had felt so drawn to him as she had never felt drawn to any other in such a manner that she had felt confused and agitated, impatient at her own lack of experience. Did she fancy that he had shown her any special consideration? In truth, at that moment, she did not.
The image altered to the intimate picture of Mr. Ashbourne in the window with cousin Katherine. She quickly wiped that vision away as it still made her unaccountably jealous.
She moved the memories forward to the unexpected dance he bestowed upon her and the way his nose had tickled her ear. Surely that was proof of his special regard, was it not? However, this portrait was pushed aside by his sudden departure. Truly, her head was beginning to spin.
She changed the performance in her mind to the walk by the brook at the picnic and his penetrating gaze as he spoke of his preferences in beauty. He had been very deliberate in his particular choices, and she remembered the way he had held her eyes, hypnotized by his own, imbued with hidden meaning. She was certain he had been hinting at his partiality for her, but again he had left abruptly and indeed, soon after, had left the whole party when they returned to Annabelle’s home, insisting that he was needed at his estate. His conduct was very bewildering.
She toyed with the idea of painting his likeness to hide in a little locket to bring out when fancy prodded, but, alas, she was not adept enough at the art and she could hardly ask Katherine to paint one for that would not appear appropriate, and she still was not satisfied as to her cousin’s own feelings for the man in question.
She leaned her head dreamily against the carriage window and presently fell into a very pleasant state of slumber.
T
Brighton was everything she could have hoped for with its white-tipped waves, screaming gulls, and enchanting promenades. It was her first view of the ocean, and the water, if not blue in color, was a pleasing jade. She felt as excited as a child and could barely stop herself from ripping off her shoes and stockings and plunging her toes into the icy, refreshing water.
The smell of the salty air was heaven, and she was intrigued by the bathing machines with their brightly colored red-and-white fabric, though the idea of plunging her whole person into the murky water was not one she relished.
They were staying in a very respectable boarding house on the front and spent most afternoons walking along one of the closer promenades. The bright sunshine and coastal vistas lifted Francesca’s spirits to an almost celestial level.
On one such afternoon, she had left her aunt and uncle sitting on a bench along the beach front and had walked a little way off to lean against the railing and raise her face to the sun, eyes closed. The warmth kissed her skin, and she basked in its glow, allowing her mind to empty.
“Why, I believe it is Miss Haversham.”
Her eyes flew open and proved that she was not dreaming. Mr. Langley Ashbourne was standing right beside her. He bowed. “I must apologize for not warning you of my presence,” he said as he studied the look of astonishment on her face.
She quickly recovered. “What an unexpected surprise!”
“Unexpected, though not undesirable, I hope.” His eyes were alight with mirth and warmth, so unlike the coldness he had shown when she first espied him at her ball.
“Indeed not! But what are you doing in Brighton, Mr. Ashbourne?”
“I have an aunt here that my father visits each summer. She came first at the exhortation of her doctor but found such a circle of new friends that she has never moved away! Truth be told, she is a little eccentric, and the society here suits her. Where are you staying?”
“Marine Parade at the White Heart boarding house.”
“But I know it well! Is Mr. Higgins still the proprietor with the wife who has the lazy eye and the pesky cat?”
“You paint them very accurately,” she replied with a wry grin. “I should hate to be the target of your description to strangers. I tremble to think what a caricature you would paint.”
“In your case, Miss Haversham, I would have no need to resort to wit,” he said, much more seriously. Francesca felt color creep to her cheeks. Seeing the redness, he continued, “Why, Miss Haversham, I appear to have discomforted you! It was certainly not my intention. I would never disparage the virtues of a young woman of high birth. Indeed, I described you to some of my acquaintances just yesterday and sang the praises of your beauty and talents.”
“For shame, Mr. Ashbourne. You flatter me too much!” She raised her fan and batted it near her face while her reticule hung from her wrist. She looked over his shoulder in some confusion, searching for her aunt and uncle. Why did this man so undo her composure?
On seeing her distress, he said, “Shall we take a walk? Where are your companions? Are your parents here or perhaps your maid?”
She was grateful that the attention was now no longer focused on herself as it made her vaguely uncomfortable, and she replied hastily, “I am here with my aunt and uncle. They are just yonder. Pray, walk with me, and I will make the introductions.” She proceeded to walk along the front, and he fell in beside her until they reached the bench whereupon sat her relatives.
“Aunt, Uncle, may I present Mr. Langley Ashbourne? He is an acquaintance of Grandmother and a friend of cousin William and was a participant at my ball.”
Langley bowed to her companions and took her aunt’s hand with the same theatrical flourish as she recalled from the picnic. The expression of delight on her aunt’s face proved that he had quickly made a convert. “Why Mr. Ashbourne, it is delightful to make your acquaintance,” she purred.
“I was just asking your delightful niece if she would honor me with a stroll along the promenade. Would you care to join us?”
“Indeed, we would, sir!” said her uncle and they rose from their bench to accompany the pair.
After some pleasantries, the older couple tactfully fell back to allow the young couple the opportunity to talk in some degree of privacy.
Francesca, while trying to listen to the unusually talkative Mr. Ashbourne, examined her feelings. Here was the man she had been thinking of for months. She shrank at the thought. She had desired his at
tentions for some time now and here he was, with no distractions. Why did she feel a faint sense of foreboding? She shook her head to dispel the ugly notion and enjoy the moment.
“Do you not agree?” asked Mr. Ashbourne.
Abruptly, she was pulled from her reverie to realize that she had absolutely no idea upon which subject Mr. Ashbourne had been speaking. To cover her blunder, she made a pretense of dropping her reticule which Mr. Ashbourne immediately recovered. As he handed it back, his fingers brushed her own and a jolt of electricity surged up her arm. Her eyes flew to his face, and she was caught off guard again as she met the intensity of his gaze.
Modestly dropping her eyes, she thanked him for rescuing her property and proceeded to continue their walk along the promenade. “I am so sorry, what were we talking about again? I seem to have forgotten.” And she bestowed upon him a very pretty smile.
“I was asking you your opinion of the quality of sound between a harpsichord and a pianoforte.”
“Oh, I cannot say as I do not play either.”
“Do you not? Then what do you like to do with your time?” he asked.
“I sincerely love to sing. My mother and I often sing duets as she plays the pianoforte.”
“Then I should very much like to hear you!”
“I did not say I was very good!” She laughed.
“I am sure you are too modest, Miss Haversham.”
“No indeed! I know for a fact that you have heard my cousin Katherine sing, and her voice is that of an angel. Mine is nothing by comparison, but I do love to sing.”
Langley hesitated slightly. “Ah, yes, I do recall. Your cousin is blessed with a pure and clear voice, to be sure.”
“Aha, so you did spend time with my cousin! How do you like her? She is a fine girl, is she not?”
Langley’s tone became more guarded. “I did sing with her at an evening of cards in Bath for the entertainment of those present, but we did not associate other than that evening, so I cannot say anything as to her character. She appeared to be a very pleasant young lady.”
His chiseled profile had become taut, and, though intrigued again at the denial and the paradigm shift in his personality, Francesca decided to let the matter drop. She looked out at the sea and noticed another bathing machine. “Have you ever used a bathing machine, Mr. Ashbourne? I should so like to use one, but my aunt and uncle say they are too old for such frivolities. What say you?”
“I did use one several years ago, and I have to inform you that it is not as fun as you might imagine, Miss Haversham. The bottom of the sea is very sharp with lots of pebbles, and the water itself is glacial. Add to that the very unpleasant feeling of the seaweed wrapping around your ankles and you should be very glad that you have not had the misfortune to attempt it!”
She looked at him in earnestness, but on seeing the amusement in his face, she realized that he was hoodwinking her. She clapped her hands in delight, the earlier uneasiness swept away. “No, really Mr. Ashbourne.”
“It is certainly cold and wet, and I have not tried it since. I prefer swimming in the lake on our estate. It would damage your curls Miss Haversham. Honestly, I would advise you against it.”
As they reached the end of the promenade, they came upon a little puppet theater where a spirited performance of Punch and Judy was under way. Francesca stopped to regard the puppets and enjoy the countenances of the enthralled children. After several minutes, she became aware that Mr. Ashbourne was looking out at the sea and back along the path they had traversed. His expression was one of impatience, and it occurred to Francesca that there were many sides to Langley Ashbourne and that she was not yet sure which was the genuine and which the mask.
“Are you not diverted, Mr. Ashbourne?”
“Oh, to be sure, to be sure,” he said weakly.
“Perhaps you would prefer to take tea in a tea house?”
“Yes, I am a little thirsty.” Turning, he asked Francesca’s aunt and uncle if they would enjoy a beverage, to which they assented.
Upon finding a suitable establishment, they had a very pleasant half hour together before Mr. Ashbourne begged their pardon and left to return to his aunt, who was expecting him.
“What a charming young man!” exclaimed Francesca’s aunt. “He was most agreeable and paid prodigious attention to me. Not many young men would do the same. And to favor his aunt with his company shows an uprightness of character, do you not think, Francesca?”
“Yes, Aunt, he was all manners and politeness but, I confess, I have witnessed other moods which cause me some degree of concern. I want very much for him to be as good as I hope, but I am never quite sure which Mr. Ashbourne will make its appearance!”
Fourteen
UV
ENGLAND
Phillip dropped his head into his hands and groaned. As he lifted his head, he came face to face with the calendar in his father’s office. He was to begin his law career on September seventeenth, which gave him only two months to try for Francesca. If he failed, he would dive into his career and hope one day to meet someone who might not fade by comparison with her and with whom he could whittle out a tolerable life. He would settle, as many of his friends and acquaintances had done.
There were really so few happy marriages in his experience. His brother had been fortunate, and Phillip loved to spend time at their home with its palpable aura of happiness. Francesca’s parents were another example of what he truly desired. Unfortunately, his own parents did not have passion in their marriage so much as friendship, and although their house was not unhappy, he wanted more for his future home. But without Francesca, he feared that was not possible. Verity Fairweather with her blond ringlets? Perhaps.
He pushed back in the chair and his hand touched his father’s dog, Hermes, and he began to stroke its head. He let his own head fall back until he was looking up at the ceiling. He still had not found anything to impugn in Langley Ashbourne’s character so his attempt for Francesca would begin with a serious disadvantage. How could he seriously compete against such a paragon of masculinity? He conjured up the image of Francesca’s expression as she caught sight of Ashbourne at the top of the stone stairs at Annabelle’s house the day of the picnic. Would that she looked at him in such a way! He tried to remember how she had seemed when he had begun to hint at his feelings by the stream that day. She had peered into his soul with—was it incredulity? Had he imagined a connection as her face softened in realization that he found her beautiful? Or did she turn to see Langley approach because the thought that he had feelings for her was appalling? Five more minutes would have solved the mystery, but alas, the wretched Ashbourne had chosen to make his appearance at the critical moment.
He kicked the leg of the desk in frustration and caused the dog to jump up. “Sorry old boy. Come here.” He let the dog’s velvety ear slide between his fingers. The dog settled down again and grunted with pleasure.
How to move forward? He was too honorable to invent a story about Langley, though he was sorely tempted, and besides, he respected Francesca too much for that and honored the code that the best man should win. However, could a man really be that flawless? His gut told him that men who appeared perfect were displaying a carefully crafted facade. But how to find out? William had been very little help as it turned out and only knew of Langley in a vague, distant sort of way. What he needed was to find someone who was more intimately connected with Langley’s family. Where was the man from? Hampshire? He needed to find an acquaintance in the area. He decided it was time to pick his mother’s brain.
Lady Waverley sat in the bay window in her private parlor, enjoying the warmth of the sun and working on her needlepoint. Her cap made a sort of halo, highlighted as it was by the sun’s rays. His parents may not have the kind of marriage he desired, but he had no complaints about their parenting. His mother was devoted to her children and a true friend. He noticed, for the first time, that her cheeks were slightly wrinkled and her hair more peppered with gray. He smiled a
t the picture she formed and went to sit by her.
“Phillip! My dear boy, how nice it is to see you this fine morning.” She laid down her needlework and gave him her full attention.
“Mother, I feel that I would like to do some traveling before I start practicing law. I don’t know when I might have the chance again for some time. I would like to visit an area I have not been to before. Do you have any friends in Hampshire?”
“Hampshire? Why, that is a very good plan! Perhaps your father and I could come along and make it into a holiday? It is too long since I went on an adventure.”
“I should like that very much, Mother.”
“Let me see … I do believe that your father has a friend from his days at Oxford with whom he has kept in contact and whom he has not seen in far too long. I believe he hails from Hampshire. Let me make some inquiries and see if your father is willing.” She clapped her hands together in delight. “On the way back, perhaps we can stop in and see your brother and my dear grandson. How I do miss him!”
As fate would have it, the old college chum was celebrating his sixtieth birthday and had mentioned mounting a small hunting party to celebrate the occasion to Phillip’s father. He had wondered whether he had the energy for such a journey, but on hearing that his son wanted to do some traveling, decided to accept the invitation.
Charles Gray had turned to the church for his career, as he was the fourth son of a gentleman. He had been awarded a comfortable living by an uncle on his mother’s side in Hampshire and had enjoyed ministering to his flock in the village of Thanet for the last thirty years. He was beloved by his parish and led a quiet life with his wife, and an unmarried daughter. Four sons were married but lived close by.
As the Waverleys approached the vicarage, they beheld a solid brick house of quite regular architecture bursting with clematis on the front wall. Flower boxes under every window gave the home a very merry appearance.
Charles and his wife came out to greet them and were most welcoming. Behind them, hanging in the shadow of the doorway was a woman whose beauty was without parallel. Phillip regarded the parents and then looked again at the shadow in the hall and could hardly believe that they were kin. He admitted to himself that when he had heard of an unmarried clergyman’s daughter, he had imagined to himself a plain little wisp of a woman who was neither suited to romance by countenance or disposition. How far from the truth he had been, at least in view of her appearance.