Chapter Eight
February 21, 1818
Fanny smoothed a gloved hand along the front of her rose taffeta gown. Butterflies brushed through her belly, for though she was at yet another rout this evening, both Inspector Storme as well as Lord Wainwright were promised to attend.
From her side, her mother gently touched her shoulder. “It’s been a month since the viscount has started paying his addresses to you,” she reminded in a soft voice. “Are you any closer to figuring out if you’ll accept a suit from him should he offer?”
She paused just outside the drawing door. The rout was being hosted by one of her mother’s contemporaries, and the only reason they’d been invited was for another chance to throw her into the viscount’s company. Confusion slid through her insides like a hungry snake. “I’m not certain.” When she’d told William yesterday that she had to consider her options between them, it wasn’t a lie. Her future was nothing to sneeze at, and she’d be a fool if she didn’t align herself with a man who’d take care of her or any children they may have. “He’s attentive enough, but…”
But what? A sigh escaped. He wasn’t as dynamic or unpredictable as William, and he certainly didn’t kiss with any sort of authority. Heat slapped at her cheeks. Too bad one couldn’t choose a life partner based on a kiss.
“Oh, Fanny, it’s not a problem of the centuries,” her mother shot back with heavy frustration in her voice. “He’s a titled gentleman and a member of good standing in the ton. He’s handsome and near to your own age. What’s to dicker over? Your father continues to ask me if you’ve accepted him yet, for he wishes to have marriage contracts drawn up before his mind goes altogether.”
Most of that was true, and though she didn’t know how old William was, he certainly wasn’t near her own eight and twenty years. “Papa will have to wait, despite the urgency. This decision isn’t one I can take lightly.” To say nothing of the worry that Lord Wainwright had known both the dead women and had apparently flirted with them at various events. Had William interviewed him yet? Oh, how I would adore being there when that happens. Then hot guilt speared through her. How could she accuse the viscount of being untrue if she were doing the same thing by giving William her attention too?
Her mother frowned as she patted a wayward tendril of brown hair back into a pin. “Don’t tarry too long else he’ll grow bored and invest in a different woman.” She patted Fanny’s arm. “It’s not as frightening as you might think, this marriage business.”
An unexpected laugh pulled from her throat. “Oh, I’m not afraid of that. I just hope the man I choose is as interesting in the bedroom as he is a drawing room.”
Her mother’s eyes widened, and her eyebrows soared as shock came over her face. “Francesca! What has gotten into you?” She snapped open her fan and applied the accessory to apparently cooling her face. “You used to be such a docile young lady. Now, you’re given to flirting and speaking of things best left unsaid.” A shake of her head brought out a frown. “I fear it’s that society reporter position. It’s taken some of the proper manners from you.”
“Or rather it’s given me the freedom to be who I’ve always been meant to be.” With more than a little help from William. For that matter, Lord Wainwright had never once asked her how her journalistic endeavors were coming along or what her subject might be.
Telling, that.
A rumble of a masculine voice and the matching burst of laughter following caused her breath to hitch. William! Fanny glanced about the corridor, and her gaze landed upon him as he approached with a tall, red-haired gentleman she remembered from the Christmastide house party. The man was a surgeon as well as Lady Jane’s brother and apparently a close contemporary of William’s. “Oh, dear heavens, he’s so handsome tonight,” she whispered to her mother and clutched at her arm lest she sink into a puddle right there on the floor.
“Who is?” her mother asked, but then the men were upon them and there was no time to explain.
Both stopped just shy of the drawing room door. William let his gaze trail leisurely up and down her form, and Fanny shivered as if he’d touched her, while the other man grinned.
“Good evening, Lady Nattingly, Miss Bancroft.” He nodded at each of them. “It’s been an age since I last saw you, Miss Bancroft. I trust you’re doing well?”
“I am. Thank you, Doctor Marsden.” When the surgeon engaged her mother in conversation, she looked at William. “Inspector Storme, good evening.” Oh, why did her voice squeak so?
“Miss Bancroft.” Amusement flashed in his eyes. “What an unexpected surprise to find you here this evening.”
“Yes, well, one must fill one’s time somehow.” She lowered her voice, and while her mother’s attention was temporarily engaged, she asked, “Have there been any leads?”
“Not yet.” Those sensuous lips of his turned down in a frown. “However, tomorrow I plan to conduct all outstanding interviews.”
Excitement bubbled up in her chest. “Even of Lord Wainwright?”
“Of course. No one is above the law.” His jaw hardened, and she wanted nothing more in that moment than to press a line of feather-weighted kisses beneath it to see if he’d relax. “Not even him.”
“I admire the fact you don’t give deference to a man merely because he holds a title.”
“Thank you. I’d like to think you’d do the same.” One eyebrow arched in challenge. Did he fear that she’d choose the viscount over him for merely that?
The heat lingering in her cheeks intensified. “It certainly isn’t the only deciding factor,” she managed to choke out on a whisper.
“Good.” Then his attention shifted to the doctor. “Perhaps we should mingle, and you look like you could use some brandy.” He led the way into the drawing room. “My cousin tells me you’re doing interesting work with military veterans…” Their voices faded as they moved away from her position.
Her mother gave her a speaking glance. “Perhaps if the viscount isn’t a fit, you should set your cap for the doctor. He’s pleasant enough and is the heir to an earldom.”
“Oh, Mama, stop. He’s good friends with the Earl of Hadleigh and is close to Major Storme. I only know him because he’s Lady Jane’s brother.” Fanny quelled the urge to roll her eyes. “I don’t need more anxiety.” Then she entered the drawing room, not caring if her mother followed.
The crush of people in the room took the winter’s chill from the air. Scents from perfumes, powders, and pomades accosted her nose, causing it to wrinkle. Laughter and the buzz of conversation met her ears. Everywhere she looked, people had gathered in small knots and there was much gaiety within the crowd.