A Love Laid Bare (15 page)

Richard spent time with Flora every morning when he
came in to break his fast, and he made it a point to visit her in
the evening before her bedtime. They went to the stables to pet the
horses, the barn to inspect the kittens, and they fed the ducks in
the pond. He’d even put her up before him in the saddle and taken a
short ride, something that had Frances’ heart in her throat. Having
come late to horsemanship, she was not as easy around the animals
as someone who had been raised with the creatures.

It was difficult at times to step aside and not
intrude on their playtime. Halcombe clearly adored Flora. That fact
alone kept her protests unspoken—that and her unquenchable hope
that eventually his desire for more children would spur some desire
for her. Sighing softly, as she had seen no change in his feelings
toward her, Frances quietly left the room.

Her new maid, Joan, had laid out a gown for her. It
was one of those commissioned in London and somewhat less plain
than she normally wore. Frances had several tradesmen scheduled to
call and a meeting with Mr. Compton, Halcombe’s steward. The earl
no longer kept a personal secretary on staff. Instead he depended
upon the steward that he had hired not long after her boating
accident. The man was likable enough and seemed competent. Even so,
she dreaded the upcoming session with him. It was past time she
knew the terms of the marriage settlements, something that had
never been discussed.
You were too timid and ignorant to broach
such a subject, and Richard was too…secretive?
No, more a case
of disinterest.

“He won’t be so unconcerned after today,” Frances
muttered, splashing water on her face.

“Did you say something, my lady?” Joan put a fresh
petticoat alongside the gown and eyed her curiously.

“Nothing of importance.” Frances wrinkled her nose at
her reflection, removed the pins from her
chignon
and
applied the brush briskly. She was tempted at times to have her
long tresses clipped to a more manageable length, but such
temptation was always overridden by vanity, since she believed her
hair was her best feature. She discounted her sea-green eyes and
creamy skin as too commonplace for beauty. One of those blonde,
blue-eyed belles that graced the ballrooms she was not.

Frances twisted the mass into a knot, pinned it
securely, and stepped into her petticoats. She waited for Joan to
slip the dress over her head and do up the buttons before looking
in the mirror. She was pleased with the simple gown of sprigged,
pale green muslin. The yellow flowers and dark green leaves
embroidered on the sleeves added a touch of contrasting colour, and
Frances thought the small ruff at the neck was flattering. She
rummaged through her jewelry box and picked out her favourite
piece—a cameo brooch that had been a gift from her father and thus
doubly precious to her.

“Please send word to Mrs. Blount that I wish to see
her later this morning,” Frances said. She glanced at the clock.
“At half-eleven, in my parlour.” That gave Frances enough time to
put her accounts in order and write the letters that had to go out
today.

Dismissing the maid, Frances picked up a light shawl
and hurried downstairs. She generally took a light meal with Flora
around noon and had no mind to miss doing so today. Halcombe was
seldom indoors during the day, so there was little chance he would
interrupt her.
Halcombe is rarely to be found at all! He has
been quite successful at avoiding you. How much longer do you
expect it to continue?

Forever, Frances suspected, if the man had his way.
He was out before she arose, closeted in his study whenever he was
inside, and he went late to bed. Nor had there been any other
dinners together in his suite. Instead, they dined in the huge
dining room, each seated at opposite ends of the long table. If
they spoke at all, it was a stilted conversation that annoyed her
to the point that she wanted to throw something at him. So far, she
had tolerated the routine, having numerous other matters in hand.
However, it could not be allowed to go on much longer.

Frances trimmed her pen, removed a fresh sheet of
stationary from the desk drawer, and began to write. Thomas had
delivered two letters from her correspondents recently and they
needed replies. There was not much news of Napoleon’s recent
activities, but what there was she would pass on to London. Thomas
Blount would copy the reply before sending it further along. It was
a precaution she thought wise in case Lord Summerton had occasion
to see a sample of her handwriting now that she was in England
again. Frances had tried to alter her hand somewhat in the previous
letters, although she doubted she was successful.

Aunt Olivia was also awaiting a reply. Frances was
encouraged by Livvy’s most recent letter to think that her aunt had
at long last realized Charles was perfect for her, that he wanted
to marry her and had for years. His name had been mentioned so
often that Frances expected an invitation to their wedding to
arrive any day—and would be pleased to see it.

The mantel clock chimed the half hour just as Rose
tapped on the door, opened it, and stepped inside.

“You wanted to see me, my lady?”

Frances smiled at the neatly dressed little woman.
Her grey-streaked dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun,
sensible shoes clad her small feet and her brown eyes held a serene
warmth that, even after many years together, still had the power to
infuse Frances with optimism.

“Come in and sit down, please.”

“I’d just as soon stand,” Rose said, “but suppose you
will badger me about it if I do.”

Frances gave the housekeeper an ‘of course I will’
look, and Rose obligingly perched on the edge of a chair facing
Frances’ desk.

“I have letters to give to Thomas and there is a book
to go with one of them.” Frances pushed a slip of paper toward her
newly appointed housekeeper. Dismissing Mrs. Carroll and installing
Rose here had been the most rewarding of many changes.

“I do wish Halcombe had left Father’s—
my
—books
at Clifftop. It would make things much easier. One day someone will
question why you are in the box room.”

“I’m careful to go when everyone is busy elsewhere.
And if they do ask, I will say you requested a book and entrusted
me with the errand, which is the truth,” Rose said in her calm
manner. She picked up the paper containing the name and author of
the book and put it in her pocket. “Leave the letters here. I will
see they get to Thomas.”

Rose sat up even straighter and narrowed her eyes.
“From the look of you, there is more than these letters on your
mind. I’ve heard naught that is amiss with Lady Flora, so it must
concern Lord Halcombe.”

Frances placed her pen in the inkwell, moved the
letter aside, and leaned her forearms on the desk. She laced her
fingers together and looked earnestly at Rose. “I am meeting with
Mr. Compton today. I hope to learn the terms of the settlements
Halcombe and my father arranged. He was much too careful to leave
me without resources.

“With the exception of the nursery suite, I have paid
for the work here. While I have not spent all of my funds, the
remainder will not be enough to entirely refurbish this house.
Besides, I need what remains to continue the business.”

“You should be asking Lord Halcombe about this,” Rose
began.

Frances’ jaw clenched. “Lord Halcombe rarely speaks
to me. I doubt he will tell me anything.” She slapped her hands on
the desk and jumped to her feet. “I should not need to ask at all!
Father meant for me to have some independence. I know he did, for
we spoke of it once. Halcombe was quick enough to appropriate my
dowry to spend as he wished. It is not like I’m going to indulge in
clothes or jewelry. All I want is some decent furniture, attractive
draperies, and rugs that are not worn and faded. I don’t care in
the least if some revered ancestor of his carried them back from
the Holy Land!”

Shocked at her near-shout, Frances felt a flush rise
in her face. She took an angry turn around the room, avoiding
Rose’s eyes.

“Perhaps Lord Halcombe wants much the same thing. His
mother—”

Frances cut her off. “His mother treated this house
like a shrine to the whole line of Ehlmans, preserving every
gimcrack and geegaw they trekked home with for centuries,” Frances
said in a hard voice. “I doubt the
King
has more pride of
family than the dowager—and she but an Ehlman by marriage!”

Frances plopped back in her chair, pushed the loose
pins holding her hair back in place and scowled. “No one can live
comfortably in a musty old museum,” she said more quietly.

Rose’s mouth curved down and she shook her head. “You
have been resty and out of sorts ever since I got here, Miss
Frances.” She touched her finger to her lips. “
Lady
Halcombe
, I meant to say. It appears to me you’d better make up
your mind what you want and go after it before you make yourself
miserable.”

Since Rose never called her Miss Frances unless her
patience was seriously tried, Frances’ scowl faded. Her eyes filled
and, both ashamed and embarrassed, she averted her head and groped
for her handkerchief. “I want a family, a pleasant home—and a
husband who does not hate me,” she confessed.

More than a bit irritated to hear her voice shake,
Frances wiped her face and sniffed. With her expression now under
control, she met Rose’s gaze. “I am sorry for the outburst. Some
days I wonder why I ever returned. The future appears so…bleak.
Then I think of Flora and remind myself it is her happiness that is
most important.”

“I do not believe Lord Halcombe hates you,” Rose
said, getting to her feet. She walked around the desk to lay a hand
on Frances’ shoulder. “He is angry, hurting as much as you are, if
not more, because he cannot understand why you did not let him know
you were alive once you reached Portugal.” Rose patted Frances’
back several times, moved toward the door, and then stopped and
turned. “I am not sure anyone can understand why, my lady.” Her
voice broke and dropped to a whisper. “We all grieved.”

The expression of bewildered sadness on Rose’s face
tore at Frances’ heart. She went to put her arms around the older
woman. “I hope you can forgive me. I was selfish and thoughtless.
It’s unbearable to realize how hurtful it was to you all and my
reasons seem so unimportant now.”

Rose held Frances close for a few minutes and then
stepped back. “No forgiveness is needed, child. You are here and
that is what matters. Don’t waste this second chance, Miss Frances.
Make your peace with Lord Halcombe and rebuild your life.” Her
serious expression faded and she smiled. “It is always the woman
who has to bend. Menfolk are too prideful and don’t want to think
about how they feel, let alone act on it.” Her smile deepened and
mischief teased her eyes. “Get him in your bed, my lady. There’s
nothing like some loving to ease a man’s temper.”

Rose’s parting comment shocked Frances so much that
she stared at the door for an entire minute before returning to her
chair, not sure she believed her ears. Rose never said things like
that, being the proper, godly woman she was—something Frances had
good reason to know, since Mrs. Blount had stepped in as both
housekeeper and surrogate parent after the death of Frances’ own
mother. Rose had been part of the Nesbitt household all of Frances’
life. Her son Thomas was a childhood playmate and continuing
friend. Frances would be lost without Thomas. He was the brother
she never had.

Frances sighed noisily and resumed reading her
correspondence, but half her mind was fixed on whether she
could
resume relations with her husband. She felt sure he
would not come to her. If she wanted it to happen—which she did—the
burden rested on her shoulders. She longed for his touch, for the
feel of his strong warm hands caressing her. She wanted to breathe
in the scent of him and slide her fingers through his hair. Oh,
yes, she would gladly have him in her bed. But did she have the
nerve to risk rejection, when just the very thought of it flooded
her with anxiety?

Putting both the idea and the question aside with an
effort, Frances signed and sanded her letters and opened her
account book. She had meticulously recorded the work necessary to
renovate the Manor, in order of importance, and her estimate of the
overall cost. A formidable sum, yes, and some items might need to
be deferred until the estate was profitable once more. She knew
Halcombe had already paid off the mortgages, repaired the tenant
cottages, and purchased various tools, implements and
livestock.

Was all her dowry spent? Frances was good with
numbers and had some knowledge of investments from assisting her
father. Perhaps she could persuade Halcombe to invest in some
profitable trading companies. They should have other sources of
income besides the estate. The aristocracy generally frowned on
those ‘in trade’, but she had no idea of her husband’s opinion on
that subject.

The handful of rare books and maps her father had
sold for Halcombe were minor acquisitions that her husband’s family
had procured over the years. Halcombe’s father had been a serious
collector but many of his purchases had been sold before his death,
and the proceeds spent on what the prior earl meant to be his
crowning acquisition. That her mother-in-law and not her husband
had told her of the missing Legacy Folio of antique maps was a sore
point with Frances. The dowager had railed at her late husband’s
foolishness in wasting so much money and his further stupidity in
hiding it.

Frances closed the ledger with a snap. In her view,
the stupidity was not in hiding it, but in not informing anyone of
its whereabouts. But then, the poor man did not expect to suddenly
drop dead one day. No doubt the thing would be discovered
eventually when least expected. She was not going to spend any of
her time on the hunt. If Halcombe wanted it badly enough, let him
search for it.
Of course, should his efforts prove successful,
he won’t need your money—or you.