by Aubrey Wynne
“Ah, I see.” He sat down across from her and crossed his legs, his head tipped to the side, swirling the amber liquid in his cut-crystal glass. “Still stinging from the last year?”
She nodded, defying the hot tears that stung her eyes. It had been excruciating.
No Evie by her side, no friend to have a decent conversation with – only girls shorter, rounder, prettier than her. The whispers in not-so-hushed tones about her height, the name-calling—long shanks, Amazonian, bluestocking. Every attempt at friendship had been met with insincere smiles and tart responses. And the men. Oh, the men.
Fenella had learned during the last season to stand, never to sit. It discouraged the shorter ones to approach her, eliminating the awkward silence when they had to look up to meet her eyes.
And then he had appeared like a knight on a white horse to rescue her from the malicious tongues.
Despite being escorted by her mother’s friend, a countess, her first season had truly been a disaster she did not want to repeat. “I do not belong in such society. I’d be happier locked in my room than try to be one of them.” She crossed her arms and lifted her head defiantly.
“No, you wouldn’t, my sweet.” His jaw clenched, his tone gruff. “But I highly disapprove of such misrepresentation. Are you ashamed of who you are? Of being a Franklin?”
Her throat convulsed and tears threatened again. Her heart ached with the knowledge she’d disappointed her father. “Oh, Papa, no. I never meant… I promise it won’t happen again.”
He chucked her under the chin. “There is more to life than Almack’s and the circle your mother craves. Now, please tell me about the tick your mother described. It sounds painful.”
A giggle bubbled up Fenella’s throat. “I was trying to smile seductively and wink.”
“I see. And the licking of your face?” Papa’s bushy brows drew together, more in an effort not to laugh, she thought, than a reprimand.
“I was wetting my lips so I would look kissable.” With a grin, she showed her father.
He shuddered. “God in heaven, child, no wonder you can’t get anyone to dance with you. How long did you practice to look so monstrous?”
“At least an hour in front of my mirror. Rose thought it quite entertaining.” She peeked at him through her lashes, hearing the laughter in his voice. “I just can’t go back to Almack’s. Please, Papa. I’ll do anything.”
He stood and held out his arms. “Come and give this old man a hug. I think I have a solution that may please both you and your mother.”
*
Early April
“You must swear to write me every week.” Evie hugged her sister after their mother had completed an endless list of instructions. “I shall miss you so.”
Fenella smiled. “You will be too busy with suitors to think about me. This has worked out for the best, you’ll see.” She climbed into the carriage and waited for her father. Their trunks were tied on top of the conveyance, letters safely packed to her grandmother and other relatives, and some fresh biscuits from Cook wrapped in paper.
“Where is Rose?” asked her sister. “She didn’t change her mind about accompanying you?”
“No! She’s bidding her mother farewell. We’ll pick her up on the way.”
Glasgow! She would spend the next six months with her grandmother. How her father had managed it, she didn’t know. He climbed in and settled across from her with a smile. Tapping the roof with his cane, the carriage lurched forward.
“Don’t make me regret this, Fenella.”
She chewed her lip, guilt nagging at her. “Will you miss me overly much?”
“A day without your smile is never easy, my sweet.” His eyes drifted out the window, the jovial expression fading. “But your mother is right, this is partly my fault. I need to make amends with both of you.”
“I’m the closest thing you have to a son, Papa.” She moved to other side of the carriage and sat next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “It’s so unfair Mother never had a boy.”
“I wouldn’t replace you with a male heir, even if I had three wishes from a genie’s bottle.” He moved his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “It’s not like I’m a peer of the realm. My life’s work won’t be entailed to some distant cousin who will put you and your sister out on the street.”
“I wrote a list of things you need to oversee while I’m away. It will be a terrible hardship to have me away.”
“I know you may find this hard to believe, but I managed without you for many years.” He kissed the top of her head. “I will persevere. Besides, I’m bringing you home in time to check in the next large shipment from India. And make sure our estate managers aren’t cheating us. I detest sitting at a desk, straining my eyes on those columns.”
“Thank you for taking me to Grandmama’s. I know you have more pressing matters to take care of than escorting me across the border.”
At the age of thirty, her father had inherited Franklin and Sons, a wholesale company that purchased goods and sold them to retailers in the larger cities. The business had grown into one of England’s major agency houses, arranging the purchase and shipment of goods without ever actually handling them. The war had been excellent for business, and Franklin had become quite popular by procuring hard-to-find items for the rich and affluent. With two ships and representatives in Ireland and the Continent, his company had earned a reputation for acquiring anything rare or delectable the ton might desire.
These connections allowed her mother access to London’s social circles. But attending functions with the beau monde, and belonging, were two very different things. Hence, the need for one of her daughters to marry a titled man.
“Truth be told, I’m looking forward to seeing Aileen again. My mother-in-law is a clever woman. I’m hoping she’ll help with our present dilemma.”
“Finding me a husband?”
“Finding a solution to please everyone.” He chortled. “Your mother would never allow you to marry a Scot.”
The tension eased from Fenella’s tight shoulders as the distance lengthened between her and Lady Franklin. “Grandmama says she’s never found a problem she couldn’t solve.”
“Except for her own daughter.” Her father cleared his throat. “Did you keep your end of the bargain?”
“Yes, Papa. I’ll inform you of any new developments. Evie’s promised to write often.” Her father approved of Lord Brecken, and together they’d come up with a scheme. Fenella had endured two more social events outside of Almack’s, hoping to push the earl and her sister together again. The effort had met with success, and he had called yesterday afternoon. Lord Brecken was besotted, and Evie was impressed. With any luck, they would be engaged this season.
“You may enjoy the social life in Glasgow, Fenella. Your grandmother doesn’t move in quite the same circles your mother yearns for, but she’s well respected. I wouldn’t put it past her to find you a suitable match.”
“Not one Mother would approve of, I’m sure.”
“Aileen knows a good man when she sees one, and there are plenty of Englishmen in Glasgow. She favored me when I courted your mother.”
“Unfortunately, there is only one of you, Papa.”
“And don’t you forget it, child. Don’t you forget it.”
Chapter Three
A Dubious Dream or A Feasible Future?
Late April 1819
Glasgow, Scotland
“Och, girl, ye’re making me tired with yer pacing. Sit down and have a cup of tea.” Aileen Douglas frowned at her granddaughter, but amusement sparkled in her soft brown eyes. She put down her needlework, peeling off her wire-rimmed spectacles. “Did ye finish that book already?”
Fenella was bored. It had been three weeks since her father had returned to England. Her grandmother leased a two-story red brick in the lovely neighborhood of Grahamston, close to shopping, several garden markets, and even a theater. It was a residential area of merchants and tradesman,
and Fenella recognized many of them from her annual visits. Compared to the Franklin manor, the residence was quite small.
The first floor opened to a narrow entry hall with a parlor on the right for receiving guests, where they were presently occupied, and a dining room on the left. In the back were the kitchen and pantries and a small servants’ quarters. There were four bedrooms above, two looking onto the street and the other two over the back garden. Four more loft rooms were reserved for staff and storage.
“I’m sorry, Grandmama. I’m used to being busy all day, not this humdrum,” Fenella answered, recognizing the unfamiliar whine in her own voice. “Why didn’t you write and tell us that you’d sold your shop last month? I thought I’d be helping you there.”
“I didna think it mattered, and the money will keep me through my old age.” Aileen sipped from the blue and white china cup, then tucked a gray strand back under her white kertch. “So, we need to find something to occupy yer time.”
“What about the new owner? Perhaps he needs help?”
Aileen shook her head. “He has a large family and a son just home from Edinburgh and university. We could stop for a visit if ye’d like.”
On previous visits, she’d worked in her grandmother’s bookstore, swearing her sister Evie to secrecy. Their mother would have had an apoplexy to learn her daughter was acting as a clerk.
Instead of working this visit, they had taken walks in the neighborhood, gone to Glasgow Green—the city’s version of Hyde Park—attended several dinners, and the theater. While there was always something to do late in the afternoon or evening, it was the daylight hours that were so tedious. Fenella could only write so many letters. But her social life was anything but dull.
Glasgow, she’d realized, was quite different from London. It was a bustling merchant town, industrialization attracting a wide variety of businesses, tradesmen, and migrants. Her father said it might soon rival Edinburgh in size and importance. The city boasted schools, libraries, and a university. Children who worked could attend Sunday school to learn to read the bible.
The Glaswegians were a practical and devout lot, the majority giving less importance to social classes and titles. Here, no one whispered behind her back because she was not a London beauty; no one looked at her as if she had three eyes or horns protruding from her head. Fenella had not felt out of place or awkward at any of the events they’d attended. The people she met were intelligent and lively. They enjoyed discussions of politics and commerce. Scottish society—or perhaps only Glasgow society—was special, at least for Fenella. To her surprise, she felt comfortable here, as if she belonged. She even entertained the idea of living somewhere other than with her parents, spreading her wings. Independence. It was a heady idea.
“How in heavens do women survive with nothing to do but drink tea, write letters, and visit with one another? I’m ready to pull my hair out.”
“Dinna touch those blonde locks. I tell ye, lass, ye’ve turned into quite a beauty. Do no’ go out alone, always bring the footman with ye or yer companion, Rose.” Her grandmother wagged a plump finger. “I see the lads looking at ye. Ye’re quite tempting and turn heads wherever ye go.”
Fenella’s mouth fell open. “Me? You’re mistaken, they’re only being polite. Or I had something in my nose or my hat was tilted. Those are the kind of looks I get from men.” She’d been relieved, and a little thrilled, that several males had sought her company without a push from her mother. Enjoying the intelligent conversation, it hadn’t occurred to her one of them might be interested.
“Those English welps are eejits. Excluding yer father, of course, and yer poor dead grandfather, though he was only half English.” With that, she pushed her spectacles back on her nose and returned her attention to the needlework.
The ensuing silence was broken only by the creak of Aileen’s rocker and Fenella’s foot thumping against the carpet. A loud sigh. Then her fingers drummed on the arm of the stuffed velvet chair. A second loud sigh. More foot tapping. Again, a loud sigh.
“For the love of my sanity, lass, we must find ye something to do!” Her grandmother placed the circlet in her lap again. “Did yer father mention how long ye’d be here?”
Fenella guffawed. “I do apologize, Grandmama. I’ll find an activity to keep me busy. Please don’t send me away.”
“Never!”
“He said Mama agreed to six months. So, I’ll return in September.” Suspicion scratched at the back of her mind. “Why? Did he tell you something different? Am I to return sooner?”
“Och no, he only mentioned a long stay, and I didna ask the particulars,” her grandmother soothed.
“Is he thinking I remain here permanently?” She was aghast. Her father adored her. How could he want her to live across the border? Her throat swelled, and she blinked as her eyes began to burn. “You must have misunderstood him.”
“Humdudgeon! Dinna jump to conclusions. Horace kens how much ye dislike London society and wants ye to enjoy yerself. Ye must admit ye’ve been happier in my society than ye ever were in yer mother’s.” Aileen paused, her brown eyes glistening, too. “He only wants ye to be happy, lass.”
Fenella nodded.
“This is only a respite, ye ken. Both yer parents still want ye to find a husband.”
Silence reigned again as Fenella chewed on this new information. Papa knew her too well. He didn’t want her to leave home, but he would make sacrifices for his daughters. “Do men in Scotland allow their wives more independence than in England?”
“Depends on the man. They’re no’ so different from any other man. We believe in education for both sexes. More so than the English, I think, because we believe everyone should be able to read the Bible.”
“What if I fell in love here? In Glasgow?”
“Yer father might give his blessing. Yer mother, however, is a different story,” her grandmother added. “She’d never condone ye marrying a Scot.”
“Unless he was titled.”
“Hmph. He’d have to be a duke, and there are few enough of those on either side of the border.”
“I told Papa he’s spoiled me for marriage. Can you imagine me as a titled wife, worrying over nothing more than the week’s menu or what dress to wear on morning visits or the next rout?”
Aileen chuckled. “I think ye have a blurred image of marriage, most likely fostered by yer mother. However, the circles I move in are a bit more relaxed. A woman such as myself is treated as fairly as a merchant here and shown respect if she earns it.”
“I could have been happy managing the shop for you. Perhaps even owning it someday.” She looked wistfully at her grandmother. “If I could find a husband like Papa, I could be happily married.”
“Well, then. That’s what ye must look for. It’s a tall order, though.” She picked her needlework back up.
Fenella stood, slowly circling the room. She fingered the little bells on the shelf. Her grandmother’s collection had grown to fill two shelves over the years. Picking up the latest find, a small pink porcelain with a hummingbird handle and hand-painted flowers on the flute, she gave it a gentle shake. The light, clear tinkle made her smile. She perused the row of books on another wall and found nothing that piqued her interest. Returning to the hearth, she laid an elbow on the mantel and rested her chin in her palm. While her other arm dangled at her side and fingered the metal poker, she studied the miniature portraits of her great-grandparents, grandparents, and mother.
“Today is Friday. Doesn’t the Glasgow Herald come out on Mondays and Fridays? I’ll read that. Did you know that young boy we saw last Sunday at the park—he couldn’t be more than six or seven—works twelve hours a day?”
“He may be a lucky one, depending on where he’s employed. Some put in fifteen or sixteen a day. For a pittance, mind ye, but a family has to eat.” She set down her tea. “The wee ones are often given dangerous jobs because of their size and ability to wiggle into tiny spaces. Their small hands reach places in machinery
that grown folks canna reach.”
“If I were a man, I’d change that,” Fenella said, passion raising her voice. “I’d pass a law that fined every employer who hired a child. I would never send my son or daughter to work at such a young age.”
“Of course no’. Then again, ye’ve never gone hungry, either. That’s what would happen to many families if their wee ones couldna bring home a penny.” Aileen studied her granddaughter. “Perhaps I’ll show ye another part of Glasgow, the darker side of town. It might make ye a bit less judgmental.”
That hurt. Fenella had always considered herself a champion of the less fortunate, not judgmental. “How can you say that when I’m the best of friends with my own maid?”
“I thought we decided to call her your companion? A maid would not be sharing our meals and joining us on our outings.”
“I forgot.” Fenella giggled. “Mother would have an apoplectic fit if she knew, but Rose is enjoying herself. And it makes me happy to see it.”
“She’s been a good friend to ye over the years,” agreed her grandmother. “But she’s an equal in my eyes and welcome wherever we go. Where is she, by the way?”
“Next door at the modiste’s. She’s having one of my dresses refitted.” Fenella picked up the latest broadsheet and laughed at a caricature by the popular George Cruikshank, browsed the announcements of upcoming theater productions, and skimmed the advertisements. Her eyes stopped at the bottom of the page. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?” her grandmother asked, not looking up from her embroidery.
“An advertisement for a bookkeeper. The MacNaughton Textile Mill. It says to apply within, during working hours.” Fenella’s mind was already whirling. Managing ledgers for a company. She was familiar with the types of goods the mill would buy and sell. It was like a gift from heaven. “I must apply.”
“Hold on, lassie. What will ye tell this employer? Ye’re here visiting your grandmother for the summer and would like to work for a bit because ye need something to occupy yer time?” Aileen’s lips pursed. “And ye’re a female. That’s typically an educated man’s position.”