Page 68 of The Duke of Kisses
Chapter 12
Dinner at the Snowden house was to be a family affair to celebrate John’s wedding the following day. The kitchen was abuzz with preparations for the wedding breakfast, which would take place immediately following tomorrow morning’s ceremony at the parish church in Pickering.
Fanny gathered with her family in the dining room, where her father offered a toast. “To John. May you and Mercy enjoy a long and happy marriage.” He bestowed a proud, paternal smile on his second eldest before taking a sip of wine.
Everyone lifted their glasses to John before drinking. As Mother, seated at the opposite end of the table from Father, set her wine down, she said, “It’s so nice to finally be celebrating a wedding.” She cast a glance toward Fanny that was laced with disappointment.
Fanny bit her tongue lest she tell them they could have celebrated Ivy’s if they hadn’t been so horrid. But then if they hadn’t thrown Ivy out ten years ago, her life would have been vastly different. Indeed,shemay have found herself married to Mr. Duckworth.
Her conversation with David floated through her mind—things often didn’t go as planned and sometimes, maybe oftentimes, that was for the best.
“Perhaps there will be another wedding soon,” John said, looking toward Fanny.
For a brief moment, she wondered how John could possibly know she would be marrying David within the month. But of course he couldn’t. The only person who knew was Barker, and she wouldn’t tell.
“Very soon, if only she would accept Mr. Duckworth,” Mother said. “You had a nice visit yesterday, didn’t you?”
Fanny had arrived to find Mr. Duckworth in the sitting room, tapping his foot impatiently. He’d stared derisively at her rumpled clothing and asked if she’d tumbled out of a tree.
She’d laughed and given the excuse Jacob had offered—that she’d fallen asleep by accident. She’d then sought to bore him with talk of birds, but he’d maneuvered the discussion in the direction of mating habits in an effort to be flirtatious.
Fanny had pleaded the need to tidy herself up, which had thankfully drawn the visit to a close. “Yes, it was fine,” Fanny answered.
“She doesn’t fancy him,” Jacob said, once again surprising Fanny. Why was he being so…helpful?
“She could if she wanted to,” Father grumbled before taking a bite of boiled beef. His gaze fixed on her while he chewed. Once he swallowed, he asked, “Why were you in town this morning? Henry said he saw you and your maid near the Black Rabbit.”
Blast.She’d looked around to see if anyone might have noted her presence, but she’d somehow missed her father’s assistant. If she’d encountered anyone, she’d been prepared with an answer to just such a question. “I was looking for property for a workhouse. I am working with a group of patronesses to fund a workhouse for young women and orphans who need to learn a skill. It will better prepare them for a life of meaningful and gratifying employment, which will improve their livelihoods.”
Her mother and father gaped at her while John continued attacking his plate of food. Jacob, who sat beside her said, “That sounds very useful. Do you truly know people who can make such a thing happen?”
She nodded, ignoring her parents’ reactions. “I do—through Ivy.”
“Fanny.” Her father’s sharp voice cut through the tense air.
“I can’t very well call her Mary,” she said, indignant. “She is Ivy now. And why should you care anyway? It’s not as if you want to recognize her as a member of this family. Never mind that she’s a duchess with considerable standing in Society.”
“Watch your tongue, gel,” her father rumbled, his graying brows gathering above his wide-set eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind about letting you go back to her house.”
“I’m old enough to make my own decisions,” she muttered, poking at her food.
“Bad ones,” Mother said. “This workhouse nonsense is a terrible idea. You’ll encourage young women in ways they ought not be encouraged.”
Fanny blinked at her mother as anger boiled within her. “And how should young women with no means to care for themselves be encouraged? Should we put them into a workhouse where they can’t hope for a better life, for freedom or independence?”
“Fanny, you’ve always had lofty ideas,” John said, laughing. He seemed oblivious to the aura of stress hovering around the table. “Spending time in London with Mary and her duke hasn’t helped.”
Stifling a groan of frustration, Fanny speared a piece of potato and shoved it between her lips.
“Pickering doesn’t need a workhouse,” her father said. “No one wants that here.”
Fanny stared at him. “You can’t see the good it would do?”
“I can see it would be a blight on our town.
“If she’s thinking of starting a workhouse here, that must mean she wants to come home for good,” John said. He looked over at Fanny with an encouraging smile. “Perhaps she’s considering Mr. Duckworth after all.”
She worked to keep her ire in check. “I’m not.”
