Page 49 of Crash Landing
“Thank you, Mrs. Albright. It is a lovely display.”
The housekeeper smiled and nodded. “One of the footmen will serve the tea once Lady Frampton arrives.”
Trajan and his cousins stepped out of his study when Timmons informed them that a carriage was approaching. Florence happened to step out of the ladies’ parlor at the same time, eager for what thisafternoon visit would reveal.
Sebastian whistled at her. The others grinned.
Trajan bowed over her hand. “You look lovely, Florence. These lighter colors become you.”
“The bees would attack me if I ever dared go bird watching in these softer colors,” she said, blushing as she glanced at her lavender gown. “They would mistake me for a flower and…” She meant to add “and pollinate me,” but that sounded too lewd, so she said, “and sting me.”
Lady Frampton descended her carriage followed by her maid, who looked quite a surly thing, while her mistress was all smiles.
Florence was not certain what she had expected Frampton’s wife to look like, but it certainly was not this delicate woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties and had the kindest eyes and warmest smile for her.
Her maid was completely the opposite in character—cold, hard, and seeming to be in charge even as she took a position in the corner of the room as any subservient companion would. Some maids had the ability to blend into the furniture and be forgotten, but not this one. There was such a disquieting hardness about her that immediately caught Florence’s attention and held it throughout.
She had no doubt Lady Frampton’s companion was more of a guard rather than a servant or companion, which meant every word spoken would be reported to Lord Frampton.
For this reason, Florence was glad when Aunt Hermia took the lead in their conversation, which resulted in a twenty-minute discussion of embroidery patterns and which shops sold the best threads and yarns that left Florence numbingly bored and probably did the same to the maid watchdog.
That boring conversation was followed by another one, a yawn-inducing discussion on the various teas available in England, which London shops carried the best ones, and which were their favorite blends.
Only after the topic of tea varieties had been wrung dry did they move on to discussing the latesttonscandals.
The maid’s ears instantly perked.
Having been made to see sense by Trajan, Florence was going to give up this love-letters quest. She meant to steer the conversation away from any mention of Lady Simmons or government leaders, but her aunt inadvertently brought up the very thing she had hoped to avoid.
“I hear Lady Simmons has taken on a new lover,” Aunt Hermia said with gossiping glee. “Poor Lord Simmons. I wonder whether her antics will cost him politically.”
Lady Frampton paled. “Oh? I hadn’t heard. In truth, I pay little attention to political intrigues. It seems such a dirty business.”
“I agree, quite low and dirty. Nor do I care for it,” Florence said. “But I am curious to learn more about the upcoming crop of debutantes. I hear the Earl of Mowbry’s daughter is quite the beauty.”
Lady Frampton let out a breath and smiled. “Oh, yes. She is quite pretty, and kindhearted, too. Those traits rarely go together in one of her station. Beauty often seems to walk hand in hand with vanity, don’t you think?”
Florence nodded. “Yes. Too often these girls are taught that their good looks will grant them all the entitlements one can offer. There is never any stress on independent thinking or consideration of the feelings of others.”
Lady Frampton set down her teacup and took Florence’s hands in hers. “I think we are of one mind, Lady Florence. I am so looking forward to your marrying the Duke of Weymouth and settling here permanently. We shall become fast friends, I think. Would you and your aunt be available this Thursday? I would love to have you over for tea at my home.”
Florence ought to have refused, for after this morning’s conversation with Trajan about the dangers of involving Lady Frampton in herintrigue, she had decided to drop the matter of retrieving those letters.
But this was about a desperately lonely woman reaching out for friendship, and she understood this feeling quite well. Having been raised unloved, she could not leave Lady Frampton stranded. “We would love it. Is that not so, Aunt Hermia?”
They spent the remaining time with Florence taking Lady Frampton on a tour of Gull Hall’s main rooms, ending with a brief sojourn into Trajan’s study, where he and his cousins were hard at work. The men set their papers aside to engage them for several minutes before resuming their tasks.
Next, it was on to the garden for a quick turn about the flower beds. It turned out Lady Frampton was an avid gardener and had cultivated some prize roses. “I hope to enter my cinnabar rose in next year’s flower competition at the Weymouth Fair. Most fairgoers are drawn to the pie competitions, and the local farmers love the hog competitions, but we have a small circle of horticultural enthusiasts in Weymouth, and it would be quite an honor to win the garden award for the best rose.”
“Does your husband share your love of flowers?” Florence asked.
“Him?” Lady Frampton gave a curt laugh. “He would sooner tread on them.”
“Oh, I see. But do tell me more about your rose cuttings. I would love to have some for Gull Hall’s garden.”
The afternoon turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. Florence sincerely liked Lady Frampton.
They addressed each other by their given names when it came time to say farewell. “The afternoon was delightful,” Lady Frampton said before climbing into her waiting carriage. “I’ll set aside some of those flower cuttings we spoke about and give them to you when I see you on Thursday, Florence. Thank you again for a lovely afternoon.”
