Ten

UV

ENGLAND

Francesca was dozing in the warmth of the sun when the wheels of the carriage hit a hole in the road and jerked her awake. A smile still played on her lips and her mother suggested that she had been having a most interesting dream. She had in fact and her eyes widened and she pretended to cough into her handkerchief to cover her embarrassment. She had been dreaming that she had been riding with Mr. Langley Ashbourne, but not on her own horse; scandalously, she was riding with him on his horse and holding him around the waist to stay on as he galloped the horse along the meadows. She tried to grasp at the memory as the dream disappeared like wisps of smoke from her consciousness. She sighed and leaned her head against the carriage window.

Annabelle and her family had left a week earlier, and Francesca and her family were now on their way to Annabelle’s family home to participate in the picnic. Bella had already sent her two letters full to the brim about Mr. Doyle. Francesca was beginning to be bored by the poor man already, and she had scarcely met him.

As they arrived, the servants were bringing the wicker baskets of food into an empty carriage and the dogs were barking all around them. Mr. Pike, the butler, was sweating profusely and shooing the dogs away, directing the servants and mopping his brow. His face was flushed and his wig askew. All seemed in a pleasant pandemonium.

“Careful, now, careful,” Pike directed. “Oh Sally, you will break the china! Have a care, have a care!”

Annabelle glided down the staircase looking bubbly and eager and came to embrace the Havershams affectionately. “Mr. Doyle arrived an hour ago and Phillip Waverley about a half an hour ago, and the Dillworths and the Ashdowns and Edwardses arrived just before you. We shall make such a merry party!”

“Phillip is here, then?” said Francesca, happy to know she would have a friend to distract her from Annabelle and the vexatious Mr. Doyle.

“Oh yes, and I forgot to tell you that cousin William has invited Mr. Fine!”

Francesca’s stomach leaped up like a carnival dog at the unexpected but welcome news. She swallowed and cleared her throat so as to appear nonchalant. “You mean Mr. Ashbourne?”

“Yes, yes of course! Isn’t that fun?”

Francesca became instantly critical of her choice of dress for the occasion. She had chosen a simple dress since a picnic seemed to warrant it but she was horrified to confess that had she known Mr. Ashbourne would be there she would have been much more careful in her selection. It was an infuriating admission.

As she turned to face the door of the great house, Phillip, William, and Mr. Ashbourne appeared at the top of the staircase to join the party. Phillip had a friendly, open, pleasant face, but oddly, the close comparison with Mr. Ashbourne left him appearing wanting.

She now faced a social dilemma. Should she run up the stairs to greet Phillip and in the process be reintroduced to Mr. Ashbourne, or should she wait at the bottom of the staircase for them to come to her? Which would be the more dignified way to behave?

As she pondered this, Phillip noticed her and made the decision for her by running down the stairs to greet her and her parents. Mr. Ashbourne remained at the top of the stairs, Francesca noticed, surveying the guests as if he were watching an operatic production. How maddening that he did not come down with Phillip for an easy introduction.

After the greetings were accomplished, she was grateful that Phillip turned and called up the stairs, “Come, Langley, let me make the introductions.”

T

In truth, Phillip had been more than dismayed to arrive and find Mr. Langley Ashbourne one of the party invited to the picnic. He had hoped to find some private time to talk to Francesca and tell her of his discoveries, but upon encountering the subject of her interest, it became clear to Phillip that he would only be of secondary interest today. His spirits flagged, but he took courage and mustered up a good humor.

Unfortunately for him, he turned just in time to see the angelic anticipation upon Francesca’s lovely face as Ashbourne finally descended.

Ashbourne descended slowly and gave his attention first to Francesca’s mother. He made a great theater of lifting her gloved hand to his lips and saying, “But of course I remember the beautiful Mrs. Haversham, hostess of the memorable ball in Wiltshire. How could I forget?”

He then turned his attentions to her husband, and they spent a good while talking of the upcoming picnic.

Phillip kept his gaze trained on Francesca, who was failing in her attempts to appear calm and patient, shuffling from foot to foot and putting her hand to her neck compulsively. He had to hand it to Langley; he certainly knew how to play hard to get.

At length, Ashbourne recognized Francesca, repeating the same theatrical kissing of the hand and saying what a pleasure it was to meet the debutante again and how fine she looked. Francesca was just opening her mouth to respond to his greeting when he hastily turned and explained that he had promised the hostess that he would help her into her carriage. Francesca was left with her mouth open, her hand still raised in the greeting and a look of bewilderment on her face. It was comic indeed. As Ashbourne retreated, Francesca came to herself and let her hand drop to her side to smooth her dress.

“Well, what an extraordinary fellow!” chuckled her father, noticing the smudge of color upon his daughter’s cheek. “He appears to relish playing the mysterious character, does he not?”

“Oh, Father, you do love to exaggerate so!” she said, then hurried to greet Annabelle.

The picnic was to be at a hill, some five miles distant. The caravan of carriages, some covered and some not, made its merry way at walking pace so as not to upset the food hampers. Francesca had seated herself in her cousin Annabelle’s carriage with her aunt and uncle. Her parents were in their own carriage with Phillip and Mr. Doyle, who had arrived on horseback and had been looking for a seat in the caravan. Mr. Doyle was effusive in his praise. “What a fine family this is! I am honored to be invited to such an auspicious event. I remember fondly the ball I attended at your house. Most gracious hosts as I recall, and meeting dear Annabelle will burn it into my memory for evermore!” He smiled benevolently upon the occupants of the carriage, and the Havershams exchanged a look of mirth.

“Are your affections returned, sir?” asked Mr. Haversham pleasantly.

“I believe they are, I believe they are! In very fact, the invitation to this little party has given me courage to approach her father for his permission to profess my feelings to the lady this very day. I believe she will make me a very happy man!”

“Upon such a short acquaintance, how can you be so sure?” asked Emily Haversham in her gentle way. Mr. Doyle puffed out his chest and put his hands on his knees, “My dear lady, when feelings are this passionate, I believe one must act upon them as soon as may be! Life is short, and ‘carpe diem’ is my motto! I have not been long engaged in the law, but I can offer Miss Haversham, Annabelle, a comfortable home and a good income. She will want for nothing.”

“Then let us be the first to congratulate you,” said Mrs. Haversham, smiling. “You could not have chosen a better companion than my niece. She is the kindest child and will be an affectionate wife.”

Phillip shook his hand in congratulations.

“What of you, Phillip?” asked Mr. Haversham. “Have any young ladies turned your head?”

Phillip scrutinized John Haverham’s features to see if there was any hint of suspicion on his face, but his gaze was without guile. He decided to tell the truth. “I have recently met a very pleasant young lady, but I must confess there is another that may have already stolen my heart.”

Emily Haversham leaned forward in excitement. “My dear Phillip, do we know her? Pray tell us who she is.”

“I am not sure of the young lady’s affections, indeed I fear that she has given her heart in another direction, so it would be impolitic of me to name the lady.”

“Pooh! I admire your honor, and yet it is so irksome!” Emily laughed. “I hope you will discover her true feelings soon. Are you in an agony?”

“Yes, truly I am,” he confessed with full candor.

“Then I pray that you will be put out of your misery sooner rather than later,” she said, patting his arm. “Any woman would be blessed to call you husband.”

The picnic hill was a gently undulating meadow with shade trees at convenient locations and a brook at the bottom. The servants placed the picnic blankets under the canopies of leaves and all was very agreeable. Mr. Doyle had brought a yo-yo and was unusually proficient at it, which made for great entertainment and disposed Francesca to think a little better of him.

Francesca, Annabelle, Annabelle’s parents, and Mr. Doyle shared a blanket, though Annabelle’s parents sat on chairs brought for the occasion. Although he was clever with the yo-yo, Francesca soon began to find Mr. Doyle’s conversation rather tedious and she found his person unattractive with his receding hair line and hooked nose.

Annabelle, on the other hand, was hanging on his every word and laughing at all his rather pointless jokes. Francesca considered the possibility of them marrying and shuddered at the thought of having to endure his breakfast conversation whenever she visited. Still, she loved Annabelle like a sister, and she had never, in truth, seen her so happy and alive.

After the chicken and bread had been eaten, Phillip came to ask whether anyone would care for a stroll along the brook. Francesca jumped at the chance to escape the vapid comedian and lifted her hand to Phillip so that he might help her from the ground.

As soon as she alighted, straightened her dress, and opened her parasol, she approached Mr. Ashbourne and asked if he might like to join them. Phillip pulled at his ear in irritation and looked away, praying that the invitation might be refused.

“I fear I am a dashed lazy fellow who is rather in need of some slumber after such a sumptuous repast,” Ashbourne said, nodding in the direction of the hosts, who nodded back in appreciation.

Frustration flickered across Francesca’s features, and she turned abruptly for fear of giving herself away. Phillip offered up a silent prayer of thanks.

The two of them wandered down to the brook, bantering and reminiscing about childhood. When they were well out of earshot, Francesca touched his arm and looked earnestly into his face. “Have you discovered anything about our mysterious Mr. Ashbourne, other than that he likes his sleep?”

Phillip took a deep breath. “He is the only son of an aging Baronet, whose younger mother died while he was yet a boy.”

“Oh, the poor motherless man!” she gasped.

Phillip refrained from commenting. He continued, “He has admirers wherever he goes and enjoys being aloof and mystical. He considers young women a pleasant distraction, no more.”

“Oh.” She looked into the distance, pensive. Crestfallen.

“According to William, he was not a terribly serious student but hates to be idle, so he went up to college just for the fun of it.”

“Then he really must not like me since he made the pretense of being tired just now.”

“Do you really like him so very much?” asked Phillip.

“I cannot really like a man I do not know, but he presents an intrigue. And he cuts a very fine figure, don’t you think?”

“Alas, I am a poor judge of what a young lady might find attractive, Francesca.”

She glanced at him and then looked back at the picnic party. “I suppose I am annoyed that he does not pay me more attention, if I am to be totally honest. Perhaps I am not pretty enough to interest him.”

“That is most certainly not the reason,” he replied quietly.

“Are you in earnest, Phillip? Do you think me greatly improved? I am not sure of my beauty. Mother is so beautiful that I feel I am a mere shadow in comparison.”

Her honesty caught him off guard. Could this vision of loveliness really not see her own comeliness in the looking glass? She outshone her mother as the sun outshines the moon. Was it possible that she could be blind to it? He peered into her eyes to gauge her sincerity. What he saw were pools of liquid hope, devoid of guile. “I am in great earnest! You are greatly improved and can be confident in your own handsomeness, Francesca. Do not allow someone like Langley Ashbourne to steal your confidence.”

The intensity of his tone and stare were new to her, and she returned his gaze in search of something, but he turned his head quickly and resumed his walk along the brook’s edge, recommencing the light banter, and the moment passed. She reached up to put her hand through his arm, and they continued their gentle stroll. He asked her all kinds of mundane questions but did not repeat the earlier intensity of conversation, all the while, her mind questioning what, if anything, had just happened.

Of a sudden, a bird let out its sweet song, and she turned to catch a glimpse of it. As she did so, she saw Mr. Ashbourne approaching them. All previous musings fled in an instant, and she turned to Phillip. “Look! Mr. Ashbourne has come to join us!” They broke apart to make room for the newcomer.

“Enjoy your nap, Ashbourne?” said Phillip as pleasantly as he could.

“Too much jibber-jabbering from the ladies for a poor soul to get any sleep! I thought they would never stop! This looked to be the more relaxing pursuit, so I decided to join you.”

Phillip noticed that Langley looked deep into Francesca’s eyes and then, pointedly, at her lips. Subconsciously his hands clenched into fists.

“Indeed, you are most welcome!” gushed Francesca.

“What fun we had in Staffordshire, Waverley, did we not?” said Ashbourne.

“We did indeed.”

“I believe that you were particularly interested in a certain young lady there, a Miss Fairweather?”

Astonished, Francesca glanced at Phillip to gauge his reaction.

“The Fairweathers are a very pleasant family with delightful daughters, but I fear you are wrong in supposing that I was interested in one more than any other.”

“Oh, indeed I am sorry if I am mistaken, but Miss Verity Fairweather told William of her high regard for you, and I assumed the regard was mutual.”

“I do hold her in the highest regard, but then so do I all her sisters. They are very beautiful and accomplished and would be a jewel in any man’s crown.”

“Why Phillip, you have never mentioned them to me,” exclaimed Francesca before turning to Mr. Ashbourne. “Do tell me what she is like. It is high time Phillip found a wife, and perhaps I can play cupid if you think she is worthy of him.” She gave Phillip such a loving and agreeable smile that he died a little at the irony.

“Verity Fairweather can sing and play like an angel. She has recently returned from finishing school in Switzerland and can speak excellent French, or so I believe as my own French is ‘affreux!’ She can paint worthy of any London gallery and her needlework is exquisite.”

“I wonder that you are not interested in her, Mr. Ashbourne, such an accomplished young woman as that!”

“She is not my type, Miss Haversham. She is very short and remarkably fair of complexion with sunshine-colored ringlets. A fair Madonna to be sure, but, alas, my fancies tend to darker hair and a more olive complexion,” he said as he laid his gaze directly upon Francesca, who bowed her head under the weight of his gaze.

Phillip groaned.

To cover her confusion, Francesca said, “Phillip, did you not like Miss Fairweather? Are you not in search of a wife to share your life?”

Could she not know what torture her words were?

“I am focused, for the present, on establishing myself in the law so that I might have a stable home and income to offer a future bride. Who knows how long it will take to arrive at such a desirable situation.”

“But I understand that Miss Fairweather is blessed with a substantial dowry,” responded Mr. Ashbourne.

“It is true, but my fancies tend in another direction too. As lovely and accomplished as she is, Miss Fairweather is not my type either.”

“Then what is your ‘type’ Phillip?” demanded Francesca.

Phillip prayed for forgiveness as he boldly lied, “Auburn hair and a fair complexion are my preference.”

“Then I shall try to find you a wife,” said Francesca. “For I think you are very much in need of one.”