Page 22 of A Bonny Pretender
He nodded again.
“Do you believe she is the most exquisite woman you’ve ever met?”
Blast! It’s like he’s in my head.
“Ha! I’m afraid you are indeed in love, Francis, or very smitten.”
“It’s more than an infatuation. She’s such a mixture of shy and bold, beguiling but daring.” Was he gushing? It didn’t matter. Miss MacNaughton had that effect on him. She was constantly changing, showing him a different side of herself. He found himself impatient to see what came next.
“I like conundrums. What’s the trouble?”
“We only met a month ago. There are things I haven’t told her about my background, and I barely know hers.” Would she scorn him for being a bastard? The illegitimate half-brother of her best friend? He didn’t think so, but Miss MacNaughton never seemed to do what was expected.
“Most couples don’t know one another well when the banns are read. They are attracted to each other, have enough in common to provide adequate conversation, and are suited by class.” Angelo pursed his lips and ran a hand over his thinning gray hair. “Does she come from a good family?”
“Her grandfather is a clan chieftain in the Highlands. They have a successful weaving business in Glasgow, owned jointly with the Earl of Stanfeld, her cousin.” Frank hoped to be accepted by the Scots since they were already related to an Englishman. Some of the clans still weren’t friendly to aSassenach.
“Well then, it doesn’t seem class is an issue. Do you dislike Scots?”
“Of course not.” He hadn’t even considered it.
“Does the lady return your affection?” Angelo smiled, getting to the crux of the matter. “For this is all for naught if she doesn’t.”
“I believe she does. Her response to my kiss was… enthusiastic.” The heat rose up his neck, wondering at his own audacity to speak of desire and women to Angelo.
“Ah, then she either is a good actress, or I don’t see a problem.” The fencing master rubbed his hands together. “My parents did not approve of my sweet Mary. Yet here we are, so many years later with no regrets.”
Frank thought of the bashful girl he’d met the first time in Hyde Park, unable to form an entire sentence. The second meeting, she’d met his eye. At the theater, their conversation had been effortless and constant. Each encounter had revealed another tidbit; it made him hungrier to know more. Yet, Miss MacNaughton in that tree…
He’d sensed a brashness in her, an unapologetic energy. And then the kiss. The kiss that had set his solid feet off-kilter. The voice niggling at the back of his brain, telling him there were many faces to this woman, silenced when their lips touched. It made no difference if there were a thousand more facets to Miss MacNaughton. He would accept each one.
For the first time in his life, Frank had felt at home. It had been the oddest sensation. How could a person convey that kind of comfort?
“Listen to your heart. It knows better than you. We tend to overthink emotions.” Angelo clapped him on the shoulder. “Take life as it comes, Francis. If you don’t, it will be your only regret in the end.”
*
That evening
White’s Gentlemen’s Club, London
There was nodoubt what was in his heart. If he listened to that, Miss MacNaughton would be married by special license and in his bed before the end of the week. Perhaps there was a compromise. Or was he overthinking it as Angelo had said?
Frank entered White’s and handed off his greatcoat and beaver hat. His preferred club was Boodle’s, but Charles had wanted to meet here tonight. The footman showed him to the dining room, and his friend waved from across the room. Another gentleman stood at the table, his back to the door. As Frank approached the pair, his gut roiled and twisted. The stranger was tall and blond. By God, it couldn’t be—
Sir Horace turned with a smile that froze on his lips. Frank stood several feet away, unable to move. He’d only seen his father at a distance, never face-to-face. He couldn’t breathe as they stared at one another, panic in his own eyes and horror in Sir Horace’s.
“Uncle, this is my old school chum, Frank. I’m sure you’ve heard me speak of him. Lord Raines, this is Sir Horace Franklin, my uncle.” Charles stood and looked back and forth between the two men. “Lawks, but the two of you could be related.”
“I must be going,” said Sir Horace, his face pale. “We’ll continue this discussion later.” The older man turned on his heel and walked away.
“Well, I must say this is odd.” Charles resumed his seat and beckoned to Frank to join him. “I don’t know what got into my uncle. He’s usually the most jovial of men.”
Frank swallowed, trying to find his voice. His father had just looked him in the eye, gave him his back, and walked away. It was rather anti-climactic. He’d had nightmares of a scene, yelling, disbelief. Definitely words of some sort. Not silence. He’d never imagined silence at their first meeting. Fiddling with his fork, he looked up to see Charles staring at him.
“I can’t say as I blame him, though. It must have been like looking in a mirror from the past.” Charles waved at a footman who appeared with a decanter. “You’re white as the first snow. Have a drink of brandy and get some color back in your cheeks!”
Frank threw back the brandy in one gulp and held a shaky hand out for more. “Thank you. I did need that.”
