Sylvia Andrew (9 page)

‘Lydia is right to reproach me, Miss Beaudon. Lord Carne was in my late husband’s regiment, and we owe him a great deal. After Peter was killed, he helped us in all sorts of ways, and he still continues to take an interest in Lydia and my sons, even though he is a very busy man.’

‘We haven’t seen him in an age, Mama. Will he be in London for my début?’

‘I hope so. He said he would see to it that he was.’ Mrs Canfield turned to Francesca with an apologetic smile. ‘You must forgive my importunate daughter, Miss Beaudon. Lord Carne is a great favourite of hers. But recently he has been away in Paris a great deal of the time.’

‘I wonder if my father knows him.’

‘He will know
of
him, of that I’m sure. But unless Lord Beaudon mixes in diplomatic circles, he might not know him personally. Lord Carne’s work in Paris is chiefly concerned with the envoys of other nations.’

‘He is a diplomat?’

‘Not quite. The ambassador uses his skills occasionally, shall we say?’

The irrepressible Lydia broke in. ‘He’s a very important
man, Miss Beaudon. But you would never guess it from his manner. Oh, he would be a perfect match for you! And he’s quite old, too.’

A vision of a distinguished, grey-haired diplomat, a couple of years younger than her father, floated before Francesca’s eyes. ‘Well…’ she said hesitantly.

Mrs Canfield shook her head at her daughter again. ‘Please, do not listen to Lydia’s nonsense, Miss Beaudon. Lord Carne is in the prime of life and a very rich man. He must be considered one of the most eligible
partis
in London.’

‘In that case, he is quite beyond my touch,’ said Francesca, smiling. ‘I must restrain my ambition.’

‘No! Oh, forgive me. I do not mean to be rude. It’s just that he has been a target for matchmakers for so long, and no one has yet succeeded in engaging his attention.’

‘And I am not attempting to be one of the season’s sensations—I must leave that to Miss Canfield. But there’s something I have to confess…’

Mrs Canfield looked anxious, and Francesca hastened to reassure her.

‘It is not very serious, and I hope can be easily remedied. You see, Mrs Canfield, my life till now has been very restricted. I’m afraid to say that I have managed to reach the age of twenty-five without having had the smallest instruction on behaviour in polite society, and lessons in deportment and dancing. Your daughter probably has no need of such things, but I must find someone to help me.’

‘My daughter has every need of lessons in behaviour, Miss Beaudon.’

‘Mama!’

‘And she is in dire need of a few accomplishments. I am sorry to say that Lydia has never had instruction in painting, nor any foreign language. A fact I much regret.’

‘There I may be able to help you! I can soon find someone
to teach your daughter. In fact, I was hoping you would accept my own dear former governess as a member of our household, and Madame de Romain would, I am sure, love to instruct Miss Canfield. We shall both have time to improve ourselves, I hope, before next May.’

‘Excellent! I think we may deal with each other very well, Miss Beaudon. And Lydia will have the sort of come-out I have always wanted for her.’

‘Is it settled, Mama?’

‘Miss Beaudon?’ asked Mrs Canfield with a smile.

Francesca nodded.

‘Then, if you agree, we should put the business of finding a suitable house and servants in hand. These things take longer than one thinks. Your aunt’s death is of such recent date that it would not be suitable for you to mix widely in Society. But perhaps we could plan one or two modest social events before Christmas? It would give both of you an opportunity to experience London before the Season starts. We shall be able to visit dressmakers and modistes, too.’

‘A delightful prospect—I can hardly wait!’

Francesca reported this conversation to her father, not without some humour at Lydia’s enthusiasm, and thanked him for arranging it.

‘I might pay a visit to town myself, my dear. To see you in all your glory.’

‘I leave glory to others, Papa. Talking of which—have you heard of a man called Carne? Lord Carne? Do you know him at all?’

‘Carne? I haven’t met him, but of course I’ve heard of him. Everyone talks of Carne. You’d sometimes think he was the only Englishman the French regime can bring themselves to trust. His role in the Allies’ campaign against Bonaparte may be small, but it’s vital.’

‘Napoleon? But surely that campaign was won long since! At Waterloo!’

‘This is the postwar campaign. The Bourbons are not at all popular in France. There are a good few perfectly honest Frenchmen who would be glad to see the back of King Louis and his hangers-on. Some of them would fetch Napoleon back from St Helena, if they could. It’s mess, Francesca!’

‘I had no idea…But what does Lord Carne do?’

‘It’s not so much what he does…the career diplomats do the real negotiating. But Carne seems to have the confidence of the French as well as the Prussians and the rest—and the English, of course. You might call him a link. They
all
trust him, you see. Why are you so curious about Carne?’

‘Mrs Canfield was singing his praises. And Lydia said he was the sort of man I was looking for.’

‘Carne! My dear girl…my dear Francesca—he’s a Nonpareil! The present top of the tree—you’d have a better chance of marrying the man in the moon! Every female in London would give her eye teeth just to be noticed by him! Dowagers, debutantes, heiresses—beauties all of them. And he ignores them all. It would be a triumph, of course…But, no. You must lower your sights a little. I’m afraid Carne would never think of asking you to marry him.’

F
rancesca’s life now changed radically. Her days were still as busy as ever, but she spent them, mostly in the company of the Canfields, in an orgy of shopping for silks, muslins and other delightful fripperies, looking at a selection of elegant houses in the best part of town with her father’s man of business, and approving the staff which he had engaged for her.

Then she returned to Hertfordshire and spent hours learning from Mrs Canfield, or her father, the social skills that had been so lacking in her life. It was not easy. She had to learn in a few short weeks what most girls had time to absorb over years of normal family life and training, but the self-control she had learned in her earlier life now stood her in good stead. The results were astonishing. Fanny Shelwood, no one’s child—shabby, dull, stiff and awkward in society—was replaced by Francesca, the accomplished daughter of Lord Beaudon.

This transformation did not happen overnight, nor was it without some difficulties. Francesca quickly found the company of the Canfields easy to enjoy—Lydia’s vivacity and humour, her loving relationship with her mother and her willingness to regard the world, including Francesca, as her
friend, warmed Francesca’s lonely heart, and after a while she slowly began to join in the laughter and conversation which resounded through the rooms in Mrs Canfield’s house.

But the relationship between father and daughter was a different matter. She still found it difficult to absolve him from all blame for her unhappy years at Shelwood. And, for his part, Lord Beaudon found it hard not to be disappointed in his newly discovered daughter. He looked in vain for a trace of his impulsive, laughing, loving wife in her. He was grieved by the formidable wall of reserve with which Francesca surrounded herself, and he regarded with some disapproval her lack of romance, her coolly cynical assessment of how to set about finding a husband.

But then he began to see that years of rejection lay behind Francesca’s refusal to depend on others. He had not suspected, not for one moment, that Cassandra Shelwood would hate her sister’s child, that Francesca would be the innocent victim of her desire for revenge, and was shocked to hear, chiefly through conversations with Madame Elisabeth, of Francesca’s unhappiness and deprivation at Shelwood Manor after her grandfather’s death. Though it helped him to understand her better, he blamed himself too bitterly to try to force her confidence, sadly accepting that the only contribution required of him before he returned to Paris was to find her a sponsor.

This he had done with great success. Maria Canfield proved to be the perfect choice. As well as learning to take her part in Society, Francesca was able to enjoy a loving, uncomplicated family life such as she had never known. And, as time went on, Lord Beaudon’s patience was rewarded. He was delighted to hear her laughter with Lydia Canfield, to see her pleasure in mastering the intricacies of the dance steps he taught her, her enthusiasm for improving her skills in riding and driving.

Through these minor activities he began to see behind his child’s defences, to catch glimpses of the real Francesca. He saw that her self-possession was only surface deep, that Francesca was, in fact, deeply uncertain of herself. Time and time again he cursed the Shelwoods for their part in destroying Francesca’s self-esteem, for his sister-in-law’s efforts to break the child’s spirit. Madame Elisabeth answered his questions about Francesca’s life at Shelwood as discreetly as she could, but it was clear that her own sense of loyalty to her employers had been sadly stretched.

‘Was there no one else for her to talk to, Madame Elisabeth? No friend of her own age?’ he asked one day.

‘No,
milord
. Miss Shelwood paid no visits herself in the neighbourhood, and received no one except her chaplain. Besides…’

‘Well?’

Madame Elisabeth looked uncomfortable. ‘The neighbours were as deceived about your daughter’s birth as she was herself. It was unfortunate, I think, that Sir John, no doubt with the best of intentions, changed the child’s name to Shelwood. It gave rise to rumours after he was dead, which the late Miss Shelwood did nothing to dispel.’

‘From what I hear, she probably fostered them. Damn the Shelwoods! He was an arrogant old man and she was a cold-hearted witch. How on earth Verity came to be a member of such a family, I shall never know. And to think I abandoned her daughter to their untender mercies…’

‘Sir John was very fond of Francesca, Lord Beaudon, but he was old. He died five years after you left her with him. It was a pity, perhaps, that he did not see fit to trust me with all the facts when he engaged me. Though I am not sure what I could have done…’

‘He wouldn’t have imagined it necessary. No one, no one at all, could have suspected the depths to which Cassie would
descend. Not even I, who thought I knew her. It is a miracle that Francesca survived her treatment. With the exception of yourself, no friends at all, you say?’

‘There was once talk of a man…He was not a desirable acquaintance, but I always thought Miss Shelwood treated Francesca with undue severity in the matter.’

‘A man? From the village?’

‘No,’ said Madame Elisabeth reluctantly. ‘He was staying at Witham Court.’

‘Oh, my God! That, too?’

‘Francesca always swore that he was harmless, that she had only met him once. I believe her. She was always a truthful child. But…’

‘But what?’

‘Something had made her deeply unhappy at that time. If it was not this “Freddie”, then something else had caused her great distress. It took her a long time to recover her spirits. I do not know who or what it was.’

‘That might explain her cool approach to marriage—I thought there must be something! Madame Elisabeth, Francesca owes you a great deal, and I too would like to tell you how grateful I am for the friendship you have shown her. I hope you will stay with her during this coming season. She needs a friend to support her.’

‘Of course I will stay! But…may I say something?’

He nodded.

‘It is you she needs, Lord Beaudon. It is your approval she seeks.’

Lord Beaudon shook his head. ‘I wish I could believe that. But I fear she still blames me for what she sees as my neglect of her.’

‘Perhaps a little at first,’ said Madame Elisabeth, ever the diplomat. ‘But no longer, I think. Her view of you has been changing, and now, for the first time in years, Francesca has
someone of her own to love. Someone who belongs to her. I assure you,
milor
’, your presence at her début would give her all the assurance she needed.’

Lord Beaudon thought long and hard about this conversation. Madame Elisabeth seemed to think that he had some influence with Francesca, after all. And if it was indeed important to his daughter that he should be present during her Season in London, then he would be there, at whatever cost! He began to look at her with new eyes, to listen to her laughter with new pleasure and pride. And as he looked, he began to catch reminders of his beloved Verity in his daughter, though there was no physical resemblance.

Francesca was tall, but she moved with her mother’s grace, and the timbre of her voice, which had tended to be stiff and cold, now had her mother’s warmth and flexibility. Her laughter was slow to come in his presence, but when it came it was an exact echo of Verity’s expression of delight with the world. Some of Francesca’s former reserve was still there, but this merely gave her an air of distinction which entranced him.

‘My dear child, you will be a sensation! You may have my looks, but you have all your mother’s spirit! And when I hear your laughter, I can imagine she is in the room with me again.’

‘Your
looks, Papa? People always said I was like my aunt.’

‘Like Cassie? Don’t be absurd! They must have been blind. Look at yourself, Francesca!’ He led her to the large mirror at the side of the fireplace. ‘Look!’

They stood side by side in front of the mirror, a tall, distinguished man, dressed for the evening in sombre colours, and a slender girl in a dress of palest green
peau de soie
. As she stared at their reflection, Francesca could see that she was, in truth, the feminine counterpart of her father, that any resemblance to her aunt Cassandra had been pure chance. Aunt and niece had both been tall, but any possible likeness ended there.

Lord Beaudon was tall, too, and his daughter’s bone structure and features, though more delicate, were those of her father. Her hair, no longer scraped back as her aunt had required, had proved to be thick and lustrous, and, dressed by an expert maid, it was coiled on top of her head in a loose knot. A few curls had been allowed to escape to frame her face, softening, but not disguising, the pure line of cheek and jaw. Her hair was still not the honey-blond she had so longed for, but its pale gilt brought out the sparkle in her gray-green eyes, and flattered the delicate colour in her cheeks.

‘Papa!’ Francesca turned in astonishment to her father. ‘I hadn’t realised…They all said…I thought…But I’m not an antidote, after all!’

Her father burst out laughing. ‘No, you’re not an antidote, my dear. Far from it.’

‘And all because of a few fine feathers! How absurd! Aunt Cassandra should have tried them!’

Her father sobered instantly. ‘Clothes and the attentions of a good maid enhance the picture—it would be stupid to say otherwise. But you are a delight to look at, Francesca, because something now shows in your face that your aunt never had, and never wanted. I’m not sure I can put a name to it…a generosity of spirit? A love of life? That’s your mother’s gift to you, and it’s more valuable than anything the world can do for you. People call it charm.’

Francesca looked uncertainly in the mirror again. She was not sure what her father meant. ‘I think you’re being over-partial, Papa. But thank you.’

‘Well, we’ll see what your effect on Society will be. You and Lydia Canfield together will take the
ton
by storm, mark my words.’

‘Now I know you’re being absurd, Papa! Lydia, perhaps, but not I.’

Her father paused, then went on, ‘And though I ought to
be back in Paris, I have decided to spend the Season in London after all. I…I wish to be with you.’

‘With me?’ Francesca turned to look at him. What she saw in his face moved her as she had not been moved for a long time. Her own face lit up and she said joyfully, ‘Oh, Papa! Oh, thank you! I didn’t dare to hope you would be there. Oh, this makes all the difference!’ She threw her arms round her father and hugged him. It was the first spontaneous gesture she had ever made towards him.

Lord Beaudon cleared his throat and said, ‘I must be there to see your triumph, Francesca. And so…this seems to be the moment to ask you how you intend to be known in London. You have had the name of Shelwood for so many years—and I expect you still think of yourself as one. But you
are
my daughter, my only child…’ He stopped.

Francesca, faced with a decision she had been postponing for too long, realised that it was in fact very simple. She smiled at her father and swept him a magnificent curtsey. ‘The Honorable Francesca Beaudon presents herself to you, my lord. She can’t promise you a triumph…but she will do her best not to let the Beaudon name down.’ She looked up at him, her expression, had she but known it, exactly like one of her mother’s—an enchanting mixture of mischief and anxiety.

‘My dearest girl!’ Lord Beaudon took her hand and then pulled her to him and held her close.

The wall of reserve which lay between father and daughter had at last been breached by this decision of Lord Beaudon’s to stay in London. It had only needed Madame Elisabeth’s encouragement for him to do so, for he was already beginning to feel protective of this girl, this precious inheritance Verity had left him. But from the moment Francesca had spontaneously embraced her father, there was nothing and no one who could have prevented him from doing all he could to make her happy.

One result was that he showered her with presents—a fur tippet to keep her nose warm in the January frosts, an exquisitely painted fan to keep her cool in overheated rooms, books and flowers by the dozen to keep her amused and happy. When he produced a necklace of beautifully matched pearls on the evening of her first introduction to Society, she was overcome.

‘Indeed, you are too good, Papa! You should not spend so much money on me!’

‘My darling child, the pearls were your mother’s. Who else should I give them to? And for the rest…’ With a look of wry amusement, he went on, ‘The Beaudon fortune falls short of the Sheldwood riches, I admit, but it is far from negligible. I am not the pauper your aunt undoubtedly led you to believe.’

‘But…but they said you wanted to marry Aunt Cassandra for her money!’

‘I did! And it’s true that life would have been more comfortable if your mother had been given a dowry. But that is many years ago now. I have lived a fairly quiet life since your mother died, Francesca, and the Beaudon assets have increased. If you had permitted me, I would have been able to give you a London Season without the help of your Sheldwood inheritance.’

‘Then I shall have no more qualms and will accept your gifts with great pleasure. You see, apart from Madame Elisabeth, no one has wanted to give me anything before.’

‘Well, that situation will be remedied the minute you make your bow in Society! I prophesy that you will be showered with flowers and the rest.’