“Oh, Hetty, the baron is so handsome.” Fanny clasped her hands to her breast. “And so very charming. What is it about a French accent? It makes even the simplest sentence sound romantic. Everyone in the village talks of nothing but the prosperity the Baron’s return will bring to Digswell. Lord Fortescue told us of his plans to improve the house and grounds. I was rather shocked that Rosecroft Hall had become so shabby when Mama and I were last there. It is most exciting.” She trilled with laughter. “Mama is beside herself!”
“That will liven up Digswell society,” Hetty said, dismayed at being forced to keep secrets.
Fanny widened her eyes. “Is that all you can say? Dear Hetty, if you won’t take your nose out of a book, I declare you’ll end up a spinster. And you are far too pretty to be one of those poor wretches.”
“Not every woman who fails to marry is a poor wretch,” Hetty said. “I prefer my independence. Husbands have complete power over their wives. As a single woman, I may inherit, buy, sell, and own my own property. If I marry, I must relinquish it to my husband.”
“Oh, pooh.” Fanny gestured with a currant bun. “No woman would pass up someone like the baron for spinsterhood. And why would you want to worry about all that when a husband takes care of it for you?”
“To become devoted to the idle graces? Married to a nobleman, my days would consist of visits to the dressmaker, carding, and formal visits. Unlike my grandmother who lived a useful life and managed my grandfather’s estate after he died. Why, today, noblemen even have a means to prevent women bearing children once they have their heir and a spare.”
Fanny’s eyes widened. “My goodness, Hetty. You put me to the blush. Where do you learn of such things?”
“On a hot night in India, after a long-drawn-out dinner, and much wine, many topics were discussed by the guests, and I admit I eavesdropped.” Hetty laughed. “I learned far more from listening to the women in the drawing room after they’d left the men to their port.”
Fanny giggled. “How fascinating. You must tell me more. But your poetry won’t warm you at night, Hetty. And I’m sure the baron would.”
“He might be half-English, but not all the villagers will put out the welcome mat for him.” She sounded like a meanspirited old spinster. What was wrong with her?
“He’s an English nobleman by birth. And Mama has learned on good authority that, although his father’s French properties were seized during the Revolution, he continues to be wealthy.”
“Then he will be of great benefit to the district,” Hetty said grudgingly.
“Oh my, you are like a bear with a sore head today. What has happened?” Fanny didn’t wait for a reply before rushing on. “What are you wearing tonight? I have the most exquisite new gown. It has been made especially for my come-out, but Mama told me to wear it.”
“Father wants me to wear the bronze with the figured lace.”
“What? That old thing? Buttoned up to your chin? Finish your tea and let’s go up to your chamber. You must have something better.”
“If I had something better, I would wear it.” Hetty wished her father’s economizing didn’t extend to her wardrobe.
Fanny put down her napkin and rose, brushing her skirts. “We have hours to spare. Come, let’s see.”
In the bedchamber, Fanny pulled out all Hetty’s dresses and threw them on the bed. None were particularly alluring. There hadn’t been much call for glamour in this quiet place, but Hetty had a sudden urge for it.
“All right, it’s the russet silk,” Fanny said with a moue of distaste. “We might lower the neckline. Do you have any spare lace?”
“I do as it happens. It came from India. I’ll fetch my sewing box.”
Several hours later, Hetty tried the gown on again. Fanny had cut the neckline into a deep scoop and edged it with a border of fine old lace that Hetty had been keeping for a special occasion. What better occasion than now? There was enough lace left to embellish the hem, shortened to give a glimpse of the ankle. Fanny was an enthusiastic seamstress but had little chance to enjoy it, for her mother had all her gowns made.
Hetty gave her a hug. “You are the best of friends, Fanny.” She gazed in the mirror, and her hand fluttered over her chest. “But it is barely decent. Perhaps I should add a fichu.”
Fanny gasped. “You know they aren’t worn any more, especially in the evening. Why, Mrs. Braithwaite at the lending library might wear one, but she’s in her dotage and might have need of it. Someone young, like you, does not.” She took the scissors and cut a thread. “The neckline is perfect. You have lovely skin, Hetty. And the gown is quite modest, really.”
That evening, Hetty took an unconscionable amount of time with her appearance, and when she came downstairs, her father remarked on how well she looked.
“That gown complements your fine brown eyes, my dear. I don’t remember it being so…” He waved a hand across his chest. “Perhaps a shawl? We wouldn’t want you to catch a chill. Those curls frame your face so becomingly. I’m pleased you took my advice.”
More ringlets clustered about Hetty’s ears than she cared for, preferring smooth braids. Aware that Fanny would hate it, she had added a little black net to cover the crown of her head, like a dowager in mourning, in the faint hope it might disguise more of her appearance. The low neckline of the gown afforded her figure some womanly curves, and she trusted she now bore no resemblance whatsoever to the groom Lord Fortescue spent the night with. She bit her bottom lip in dismay. What a reckless fool she’d been! If their night together was discovered, the ramifications would spread far wider than she’d envisaged. But surely the baron would be too distracted by Fanny’s loveliness to notice her.
The carriage passed through the gates at Kemble Court and approached the three-story, symmetrical building of stucco brick. It pulled up in front of the porch flanked by two pillars.
The property was situated farther from the town than Malforth Manor and enjoyed a much larger park. However, it paled into insignificance beside the magnificent Rosecroft Hall. Lady Kemble had mentioned on more than one occasion that, although smaller, her property was far better laid out, with very little wasted space. Hetty thought her a fearful snob and considered it fortunate that her attitude had failed to rub off on Fanny.
A footman assisted Hetty down from the carriage. She eased her tight shoulders, sure that an awkward and disconcerting evening awaited her.
She entered the hall on her father’s arm where a maid took her evening mantle and her father’s coat.
