Page 8 of A Bonny Pretender
“So, when you found out you were with child, you kept your secret.” His world was tipping; he felt off-balance. “And now you want to ease your conscience.”
Who was this woman?
Who the bloody hell was he?
“By that time, I knew what kind of man my husband truly was. I was afraid. So afraid.” The rattling began again, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Forgive me.”
Frank thought about his last trip to London taken several months after his mother’s death. He and Charles Wilkens, his school chum from Eton, had met up with Wilkens’ cousins at Hyde Park. It had been a beautiful day, and the Serpentine had frozen over. He’d liked the Franklin girls, Fenella and Evelina, immediately. The elder sister had the same light hair and gray eyes that Frank had thought he’d inherited from his grandfather. Now he wondered; did he look like his father? He comprehended now that those two young women were his half-sisters. That would make Charles his cousin. At first, he’d rejoiced. He had family, siblings.
Frank had returned to London, determined to meet Sir Horace, and announce himself. The younger sister was still in London, and Miss Evelina had been welcoming when they’d met at a ball. He’d asked about her family. She pointed out her father, and Frank’s heart had stopped when he saw an older version of himself. When Sir Horace weaved through the crowd to join his daughter, Frank lost his nerve. As he made his escape, he heard Miss Evelina mention his name and Sir Horace rant about the late viscount. Obviously, the two were not friends. If Sir Horace disliked the elder Lord Raines, Frank doubted he would welcome the son.
He’d decided to keep his secret and take comfort in the fact he had none of his stepfather’s blood running through his own veins. Sir Horace was a successful merchant, quite wealthy from what he’d learned. The baron might think Frank was after his money. His jaw clenched at the idea.
Frank trailed a finger along the top of his mother’s headstone. He loved his mother, but a year later, he was still reeling from her admission. Her last words had been a final request. She had endured a miserable life and did what she could to shield him from an angry, spiteful man. Regardless, he couldn’t get past the years—after the viscount’s death—when she could have told him.
“I want you to know, Mama, I haven’t given up. Your final request was forgiveness, and I will continue to try.” He squatted down, eye level with the stone and its etched flowers and vines. “For now, I must go. I’m lonely. I’ve decided I need a wife and a family of my own. Someone who will share this life with me, share my evenings, and my bed. A dozen children underfoot and laughter echoing in our halls.”
He stood, a long breath escaping his lips. His plan was to go to London, look up Wilkens, and see what this Season had to offer. His requirements were a woman who was kind, competent in household management, and content with living in the country rather than Town. He had no desire to stay in the bustling city longer than he must. Nor did he have any desire to confront his father.
Franklin!So close to his own name, Francis. His mother’s silent revenge against a cruel man who’d made her life miserable. He thought of his half-sisters and considered getting to know them better. Perhaps confide in Wilkens.
The trick would be avoiding Sir Horace Franklin.
*
February 1820
Home of Sir Horace Franklin
London, England
Brigid fell backonto the mattress and let out a dramatic sigh. “If I endure one more session of standing still, only to be poked and prodded, I will scream. It will echo all the way to the Highlands and summon the faeries to my rescue. Ye dinna want Scottish faeries making their mischief in London.”
Lady Brecken’s soft brown eyes twinkled with laughter. “I’d love to meet one, but without the mischief. Put your mind at ease, for all the fittings are done.”
“Promise?” she asked.
Aunt Maeve had returned to their country estate. Lissie was still in mourning and couldn’t attend any events, so her aunt had devised a new plan. She knew her niece would do best with a society friend closer to her age. To help Brigid through the Season, she’d arranged for her to stay with Evie, the former Miss Evelina Franklin. They were already family, in-laws of sorts, since Evie’s sister Fenella had married Brigid’s brother, Lachlan. The couple lived in Glasgow and worked at the family mill. With this in common, the two young women had become fast friends.
“I swear on my grandfather’s grave that your wardrobe is complete,” Evie said gravely, holding up her hand, palm out. “Next, we will continue the lesson on polite conversation.”
She groaned again. “I’ve been trying to think before I speak. Aunt Maeve said it would be the hardest task of all.”
“I’m so glad your aunt thought of this arrangement. Introducing you in London is just what I needed to keep my mind occupied.” Evelina had married in the autumn but found herself homesick. Her husband, Lord Brecken, had escorted her to Town for an extended visit while their home in Wales was under renovation. “I know Madoc only left yesterday, but I miss him so.”
Brigid snorted. “Ye’re homesick for yer papa, and once ye’re here, ye’re homesick for yer husband. I canna blame ye, though. Brecken is a verra handsome mon.”
“He is, isn’t he?” She tipped her head, observing her new friend. “What do you miss the most?”
Brigid studied her nails and blinked. “Besides my family, I miss my animals. Especially my pup, Brownie. My deerhound goes everywhere with me. It was like leaving my own child behind when I left.”
“I’ve never had a pet, though I had a favorite cat once. It lived in the kitchen when I was young. Now, let’s take a look at your hair.” Evie picked up an ivory comb, frowned at it, and exchanged it for a brush. “This will be less painful.”
“I warn ye, it’s a losing battle with my curls. They willna be tamed like yer lovely honey-brown waves.” She stuck her tongue out at her reflection. “My hair is as contrary as I am.”
“Please! My color palette is brown and brown compared to your auburn and vibrant blue. I’d give anything for the color of your eyes.” Evie pulled the brush through the chestnut tresses and sighed. “Will you let me add some ribbons? We’re at-home today and sure to have visitors.”
“Och, do yer worst.”
