Sylvia Andrew (8 page)

Lord Beaudon took Madame Elisabeth’s hand and held it to his lips. In perfect French he said, ‘Madame de Romain, what can I say? It enchants me to meet you.’

Madame Elisabeth smiled and assured Lord Beaudon that he was too kind, and the little procession moved up the steps into the house. This took some time, for Lord Beaudon moved slowly, and the steps themselves were uneven.

‘Packards is not what it once was, I am afraid, Francesca. I have lived so long abroad that it has fallen into some disrepair. But I have managed to engage some people from the village, and hope to have it put back into a better state before long.’

‘You’ve been in the West Indies? I often wondered.’

‘No—I’ve lived in Paris for the last few years. Ever since the monarchy was restored, in fact.’

Francesca wondered what her father’s establishment in Paris might be—was he married? Did he have a family? It was not the sort of thing she felt she could ask. So she smiled and asked if she and Madame Elisabeth might refresh themselves after the journey. They were given into the care of a housekeeper who took them upstairs to two very handsome bedrooms.

A short while later, refreshed and tidy once again, Francesca collected Madame Elisabeth and went downstairs to seek out her father. She found him in the library, sitting in front of the fire, but he put down his book as soon as he saw them. There was a small silence, a silence which Francesca found difficult to break. At last she said, ‘You must have been working your servants hard, Papa. Our rooms look beautiful.’

‘I’m glad you like them,’ he said simply. Then, as he saw that Madame Elisabeth was standing by the door, he added, ‘Come, Madame de Romain—you must join us.’

‘You are very kind, Lord Beaudon but, if you don’t mind, I should like to have some fresh air before it gets dark. And I am sure that you and your daughter have much to say to one another. Will you excuse me?’

Francesca did not want to be left alone so abruptly with a father she had not seen for nearly twenty years, but Madame Elisabeth smiled reassuringly and disappeared.

Lord Beaudon seemed to find the situation just as difficult. He started by making the usual kind enquiries about her
journey, such as any host might of any guest. But his mind seemed to be elsewhere during these exchanges, and he seemed to be observing his daughter’s movements and gestures rather than listening to her replies. His eyes seldom left her face.

After a while, however, they both felt easier in one another’s company and he began to talk of old Sir John and the Shelwoods, about the district and people he had known there. He even made her smile at his description of Sir John’s battles with the owners of Witham Court.

‘And now they’re all dead,’ he said suddenly. ‘You are all that is left of the Shelwoods. Sir John, Cassie and Verity—they were the last of the line. It was tragic that Verity should have been the first to go. She was younger than Cassie by a good ten years.’

‘So much?’

‘Cassie was the eldest child, then there were two boys who died in infancy, then lastly your mother. Everyone wanted me to marry Cassandra Shelwood, you know—and I very nearly did. It seemed a fair exchange.’

‘A fair exchange?’

He smiled kindly at her. ‘I expect your head is full of romantic notions about marrying for love—but in the world I was brought up in, we married for advantage, and sought pleasure elsewhere. And that is what I fully intended to do. You wouldn’t have liked me in those days, Francesca—I was even more cynical than most of my contemporaries.

‘I met Cassandra Shelwood just at the point when my fortunes were at their lowest, and I was beginning to feel that I ought to settle down, but was without the resources to do so. In my youth I had indulged in every folly known to man, and my reputation was such that no parents in their right mind would entrust a young girl to my care.’

‘They told me you were a rake. Rake Beaudon, they called you.’

‘I deserved the name. But then someone introduced me to Sir John Shelwood. Sir John didn’t approve of me, but he was quite content to see me marry his elder daughter. Cassie was past thirty when I first got to know her, and he wanted to see her married. They both thought she was perfectly capable of keeping me in line.’

‘You…you didn’t ever pretend you loved her?’

‘Oh, no. There was never any question of love between us. An establishment was what she wanted, and preferably a title. But then I met your mother…Against all the odds, I fell in love. I could never have married anyone else after that.’

Francesca kept very still. This was a very different tale from that of the heartless rake who seduced his fiancée’s sister! She felt she was hearing the real story for the first time.

‘Cassie was very bitter. Although I had not actually committed myself, she expected me to marry her. Nothing I said could pacify her. Sir John stormed and ranted. He was prepared to accept me as a husband for Cassie, but would not contemplate entrusting his precious little girl, his lovely Verity, to a rake and adventurer! But Verity…’ he gave a laugh ‘…Verity said we should have to run away.

‘Up to that point I hadn’t even realised that she was in love with me! I told her it was impossible, that I had nothing, and that her family would almost certainly cut her off without a penny if we eloped. She didn’t care. I was twice her age and twice her weight—but she outclassed me and everyone else I knew for courage. Gaiety, too. She was always laughing.’

‘I don’t remember her very well, but I remember her laughter. And her bedroom—it was pretty.’

‘Yes, she liked pretty things. I had a rundown estate in the West Indies. We ran off to Gretna, were married and went out to St Marthe. Then, soon after you were born, she became ill…and eventually she died…’

There was a pause while Francesca composed herself to
ask the question that had tormented her for so many years. She carefully suppressed any feeling of resentment and her voice was neutral as she said, ‘Why did you send me away, Papa?’

‘I was no fit company for a child after I had lost your mother. What else could I have done? Your grandfather sent word to say he was prepared to give you a home—’

‘But I already had a home with you on St Marthe!’

‘It wasn’t a home without your mother. I couldn’t bear to stay there, but I didn’t know where to go or what I wanted to do. I certainly didn’t want to return to England. I thought I was doing the right thing for you by sending you to your grandfather. But it was a pity that they wouldn’t keep Maddy.’

‘Papa, what happened to Maddy? Did she go back to St Marthe?’

Lord Beaudon hesitated, then said, ‘Yes…’

‘I missed her so much. I’d like to think she is well and happy. Is she, do you know?’

‘I think so, yes.’ The was a touch of restraint in Lord Beaudon’s voice, but before Francesca could pursue the question of Maddy he went on, ‘My dear, I hope you will believe me when I say it simply didn’t occur to me that Cassie would be so vindictive.’

‘I…I think you were mistaken about her feelings for you, Papa. I think she really loved you. She kept your last letter to her, even…even showed it to me when she was dying.’ Francesca’s voice trembled as she remembered that dreadful scene. ‘It’s possible that you ruined her life, Papa.’

‘Oh, no! I shan’t allow you to say that. Cassandra Shelwood’s life was spoiled before I ever met her and, if we had married, it would have been hell for both of us. I have no regrets on that score. The thing I do regret most bitterly was that I let Sir John impose the ban on writing to you. I should never have agreed to that.’

Francesca remained silent. What a great deal of misery could have been avoided if she had been able to communicate with him!

‘And now, my dear? What are you going to do? And how can I help you? Do you wish to make your home with me—in Paris?’

‘Thank you, but I would rather stay in England for the moment. I…I should like to marry. Like my aunt Cassandra, I should like to have an establishment of my own. But I recognise that this will not be easy, for, like her, I suffer from certain disadvantages.’

Her father looked sceptical, but asked, ‘And they are?’

‘I am plain, and I ampast the age of your average debutante.’

‘My dear girl, forgive me, but you are talking rubbish! How old are you? Twenty-one, twenty-two? And you are far from plain.’

‘Please, Papa! You are trying to be kind, and I am touched. But you really need not pretend. I am five-and-twenty and perfectly accustomed to the notion of being plain. But my newfound wealth—’

‘No, no, no! I must stop you. You are so wrong, Francesca! I will allow that you have not learned to dress to advantage. Nor have you acquired the arts women customarily employ to make the most of their looks. But these are superficialities—easily changed. A well-trained maidservant would soon deal with them. You must not believe otherwise.’

‘You are very kind,’ Francesca said politely, but in a tone which dismissed the possibility. ‘But to return to our original topic—the time-honoured way to find a husband is to become part of polite society—London society. And that is what I would like to do. Can you help me?’

‘Of course I will help you all I can, but…I have been away from London for too long to help you directly. You would need a chaperon—’

‘I thought Madame de Romain could act as my chaperon?’

‘Very well. But in that case you would need a sponsor—someone who is familiar with London ways,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘She would need to be part of the great world, of course. A dowd won’t do. And it would need to be someone who would teach you how to make the most of your appearance. Give you a little town polish…Let me sleep on it, Francesca. I’m sure I can find someone.’

Lord Beaudon slept on it to good effect. The next morning he suggested that his daughter might like to make the acquaintance of a lady who would make an ideal sponsor.

‘I think she would do it. Her father-in-law was a good friend of mine. The Canfields are related to half of the top families in England, one way and another, but they are no longer as wealthy as they once were. Maria Canfield’s husband was killed at Waterloo, leaving her with three children to bring up, and a limited income with which to do it. Her two sons are at Eton still, but she has a daughter she would like to bring out this next season. She might be pleased to share the expenses of a London season with me.’

‘You, Papa? You are kind, but I have no intention of being a burden on you,’ Francesca said firmly. ‘I have more than enough to meet any expenses.’

‘My dear—’

‘No, Papa. I would be grateful for any help you can give me in finding my way through London society. But the expense must be mine.’

Lord Beaudon regarded her with a frown. He seemed prepared to argue, but she stared back at him with cool determination. Finally, his expression of displeasure gave way to one of great sadness, and he shrugged his shoulders, merely saying, ‘Shall I arrange a meeting with Mrs Canfield?’

‘Please do.’

Francesca liked the Canfields immediately. Lydia Canfield was a small, dark, lively girl with a great deal of self-confidence, and a wicked sense of humour. Her mother was still a beautiful woman, but she dressed quietly, and her manner was reserved. Lydia was her only daughter, and it was obvious that Mrs Canfield’s dearest wish was to see her safely established. For this reason she was prepared to take on the task of introducing Francesca to Society in return for assistance with costs.

But she was taking no risks. Though her manners were exquisite, Mrs Canfield subjected Francesca to careful inspection, and some close questioning. Far from being offended by this, Francesca understood perfectly, and answered all enquiries as frankly as she could.

‘I am somewhat older than most young ladies who seek to enter London Society, I know, and I am not looking for a debutante’s “come-out”, such as Miss Canfield will have. I will be open with you—my aim is to find a respectable man of moderate birth and fortune who is prepared to marry me. I do not seek a brilliant match, but it is important that the person I marry is honourable and considerate.’

‘That may be more difficult than you think, Miss Beaudon! London is full nowadays of men who are rich, powerful, dashing, elegant—what you will. Honour and consideration for others do not play an important role in their ambitions.’

Francesca was slightly taken aback at hearing herself addressed as Miss Beaudon, but said nothing. It was her name, though only a month ago she would have denied it. She would soon have to make up her mind how she wished to be known in London.

‘Mama, do you not think that Lord Carne would be the very man for Miss Beaudon?’

‘Lydia—I had forgotten you were there. You should not be
listening to this.’ Mrs Canfield shook her head at her daughter, then turned to Francesca. ‘I am sorry, Miss Beaudon. Lydia has been such a comfort to me since her father died, that I have perhaps indulged her too much. She is a dear girl, but…over-enthusiastic, shall we say? I am hoping she will acquire some discretion before next year.’

Francesca smiled and said she was quite certain of Miss Canfield’s discretion.

‘I wish I were half so confident,’ said Mrs Canfield. ‘She should not have interrupted us, however.’

‘But, Mama—I had to! Lord Carne is a very kind man—you have said so a hundred times. And you have said more than once that he should think of finding a wife.’