Franny’s bravery had eroded with this letter, and she had wept in gratitude. She had been dreading Christmas this year. At Easter and Michaelmas, her brother had stayed alone at school, and she had stayed with Lady LeClere. That was the bargain she had made, after all. She would be Lady LeClere’s companion, and Lady LeClere would pay Ren’s tuition.
And how lucky that Lady LeClere had said she could spare Franny. Her daughters and their families were coming for Christmas, and they had all been invited to take part in the Christmastide entertainments—dinners, balls, musicales—at a lavish house party nearby. Franny must see it would be best for everyone if she made herself scarce?
Yes. Franny wanted to be as far away fromthathouse party as possible. Most things she could muddle through cheerfully, but she didn’t think she could bear seeing the house and the servants. Not to mention Michael. Too soon. Too painful.
And now Franny was free-as-a-bird in London with four days before Ren arrived so she could put her head together with Mrs. Tumney and plan a cornucopiousity of Christmas surprises for him. The joke book was a good start, but there should be so much more for him.
Her beloved Ren.
She gave a wide berth to the street on which her father had once owned a town house and where she had so many memories of a life vastly different from the one she led now. What good would it do to think on that? Much better to think about Christmas pudding. And holly. And wonderful Mrs. Tumney in an apron, smelling of cinnamon and cloves.
Franny found the duke’s elegant white town house just as Mrs. Tumney had described with its singular bright-red front door and went around the back to the servants’ entrance off the mews.Knock-knock-knockand Franny was enveloped by the warm arms and soft bosom of Mrs. Tumney. Franny’s first hug in ages! It felt so good. She hadn’t known how much she needed a hug.
But Mrs. Tumney was in a coat, not an apron. And there was a small portmanteau by the door.
“Lady Fran—I mean, Miss Cranwell, how splendid to see you, dear. I’m so glad you’ve arrived.” Mrs. Tumney had tears rolling down her round cheeks. “But, my . . . well, my husband has taken ill.”
Mrs. Tumney had a husband? She had never mentioned one before, and Franny had always assumed Mrs. Tumney was unmarried.
“We went our separate ways years ago, over some silliness. But I received a letter this morning from the vicar, and I must catch a mail coach within the hour.”
“Oh, Mrs. Tumney!” Franny squeezed her again. “How frightful! Is Mr. Tumney’s illness very serious?”
“I’m afraid so. Otherwise, I would never leave you and his lordship, I mean, Master Laurence. I’m only hoping I won’t be too late. I need . . . I need to ask my husband for forgiveness, you see.”
“Of course, you must go! And I’m sure anything you’ve ever done will be forgiven, you’re so good. Now, tell me how I can help you.” She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and put it in Mrs. Tumney’s hand.
“Oh, thank you, Franny.” Mrs. Tumney wiped her eyes. “There’s nothing you need do. Look at what a watering pot I’ve become! And there’s so much to say, but I must rush away for the coach.”
Franny felt dreadful for Mrs. Tumney, of course, but suddenly she felt dreadful for another reason. She was alone in London with no friends, no shelter, and not much money after her purchases today. She should not have bought the book or the pies. She was always spending impulsively on frivolities that had seemed necessities in the moment.
Mrs. Tumney put her arm around Franny and guided her down a passageway off the kitchen. “Let me show you where you’ll stay. See how snug it is? And the next room is for your brother. There’s plenty of food and coal for your Christmas together. And everyone below stairs knows you’re my guests.”
Then Mrs. Tumney kissed Franny’s cheek, pressed a key into her hand, and was out the door.
Franny sat down at the kitchen table and unwound her muffler. Well, it wasn’t the Christmas she had expected, but it would certainly be an adventure. She must look at it that way. A fantastic adventure. Her and Ren in London, alone. And staying in a duke’s house. For Christmas.
Do you suppose a duke might have a library?
Four
Yes. The answer was yes. The duke had a library. An astounding one. In fact, he had books in every room of his house.
She’d rather have spent Christmas with Mrs. Tumney, but if Franny couldn’t, how heavenly it was to be here with all these books. And in four days, with Ren. She’d still find a way to make a stupendous Christmas for him.
Balancing a pile of books under her chin, Franny stopped in front of a large portrait on the landing. Oh my, this must be His Grace, Mrs. Tumney’s employer. Rather dashing. Very serious. Extremely . . . what was the word? She couldn’t think of exactly the right one. It should be some combination of sumptuous and delicious. Scrumptious? Yes. That was it. The duke was scrumptious. What a grand new word she had made for a man whose muscled legs in tight breeches were definitely scrumptious.
Something about those legs? And his eyes were familiar. But she didn’t think she’d met the Duke of Kittredge during her one Season before her long engagement. And she’d have no reason to meet a duke now.
She leaned toward the painting.
Drabbit, she couldn’t see the details well enough. But there was no money for spectacles for her weak eyes. She’d have to try to save because if she couldn’t read aloud, what good would she be to Lady LeClere? It was her skill in doing all the different voices in Lady LeClere’s favorite novels that had helped Franny secure the post despite the scandal. That, and Lady LeClere’s brusque charity.
But no, after her earlier scare about affording lodging in London, Franny wasn’t going to regret spending money on the jest book and the pies. It was all in the name of Christmas. She’d find a way to afford spectacles soon. It would sort itself out beautifully.
Franny nibbled an apple from the larder and set herself up in a cozy chair in front of the kitchen fire with a wodge of cheese stuffed into a hunk of bread. She flipped open the topmost book in her stack and was soon lost in the wildering world of zoological philosophy.
Her head jerked. She had fallen asleep. She brushed crumbs off her dress as she got up to bank the fire.
