Chapter Two
Fanny eyed Mr.Benson while he spoke softly to the servant, shut the massive double doors, and turned to peer at her, hands behind his back. Realization dawned that she had just been closed into an unfamiliar house—a great palace of a house—and was alone with a stranger. She might be putting herself in danger, but she didn’t feel threatened.
She found his hair a plain brown and his eyes predictably brown as well. Attractive enough, this one, but no hero. He might do for the feckless younger brother or hero’s best friend.
“If you would follow me, perhaps we can hear your story, and you can tell me why you need the earl so urgently.” Up close, the earl’s man had a peaceful manner, graceful hands, and an expression bright with intelligence. He didn’t wait for a reply. When he gestured to a hallway to the left of the stairs, she followed him past rooms closed behind ornate doors and fancy woodwork. She imagined each of the spaces to be as opulent as the entrance.
He led her deeper into the house, and a frisson of alarm crept up her back. Mam would not approve of this entire escapade. Fanny glanced at Mr. Benson’s back. Slender. Taller than Fanny, but most men were. Not as tall as that giant footman. They turned a corner.
He might be a villain, one who uses charm to lure maidens to… But no, not this one.
A huge desk, all dark wood and carved edges, dominated the room he led her to. Books lined most of the walls, floor to ceiling. She glanced up at him.
“This is the earl’s own study,” Mr. Benson said. “If you make yourself comfortable, I’ll be a moment.”
Study? The reading room at the Royal Manchester isn’t much larger.At a loss, Fanny looked around her. She set her bonnet on a side table by the door but clutched her reticule in her hand. She did not sit in any of the massive leather chairs that would likely make her look even more like a child if she sank into one. She didn’t want the man looming over her when he returned.If he returns…
He did, and a young woman carrying a tray followed. At Benson’s orders, she placed the tray with porcelain cups, a teapot, cream, and sugar on a small table in front of the window, flanked by two of those overbearing chairs.
“I thought tea wouldn’t go amiss. Shall we sit, Miss… But I didn’t get your name. My manners have forsaken me,” he said.
“I am Miss Frances Hancock. I didn’t come for tea.” She glanced at the maid.
“This is Sally, Miss Hancock.”
The little maid dipped a curtsey. “I’ll stay nearby, Miss. Don’t you fret.” She took a seat on a stool by the door.
Chaperonage. As if I’m a lady instead of a store clerk.The courtesy warmed her heart until it occurred to her the girl may have been called to protect Mr. Benson from false accusations just as well.
“That settled, shall we sit? I could use tea if you don’t mind.” He sat in one of the chairs by the window.
At least he isn’t looming over you, or behind that gigantic desk.Fanny sat on the matching leather chair, perched on the edge, hands primly in her lap, still clutching her bag. She was afraid to sink back for fear the chair would swallow her.
He poured a cup of tea and put it on her side of the table before pouring one for himself. “Now, Miss Hancock, tell me why you came here.”
“I need help. The earl is my father. My natural father. He must take responsibility.”There. I said it. She lifted her chin. She felt shame burn up her neck, but she refused to let it shake her. The circumstances of her birth were her father’s shame, not hers. Oddly, Mr. Benson didn’t look shocked.
“What makes you think that’s the case?”
She reached into her reticule and pulled out the paper she had found in her mother’s sewing basket. She handed it to Benson. She knew the words by heart. Darling Fanny. I never wanted to tell you who your father was. Never wanted you to know the evil man, but…
He read it, winced, and read it again. When he looked up at her, compassion simmered in his eyes. Warm brown eyes, she noted. Definitely a best friend type.
“I’m afraid you’re wrong about one thing,” he said.
When she opened her mouth to object, he raised a hand to stop her.
“The current earl is not your father. That person would be the previous earl, dead these five years.”
Dead? How can I confront him? How can I tell him what I think of a man who charms and violates a young woman?Fanny had no doubt that was what had happened.How can I tell him only a bounder would refuse to support his offspring, that…But Benson was still talking.
“…left out of the will, I’m afraid.”
“What will?” Hope soared and crashed down again. He’d said “left out.”
Benson spun a fantastical tale about the earl, how he’d listed children fathered by many women, leaving a bequest to each. If Fanny had been tempted to think him generous, she remembered he’d ignored her—and her mother—her entire life. Besides, he had apparently cut out his legitimate children. What kind of man did that?
She’d known she had been sired by a man who was disgusting, irresponsible, and selfish. To that list she now added spiteful.
