Regency Masquerade

Chapter Thirty Two

Morning sunlight shining in the window woke Frances to find herself spooned against her husband, his arm resting lightly across her breast. She turned to cuddle into him and looked into delighted brown eyes already widening in arousal, "Good morning, wife," he said, before kissing her. "How do you feel this morning?"

"Hungry!" came the prosaic answer. He laughed and was about to get reluctantly out of bed, when she pulled him back down with a teasing smile, "Hungry for you, my lord."

"I love it when you call me that," he groaned, taking her in his arms again. They were very late downstairs for breakfast that morning but no-one seemed surprised!

Their two servants and companions had already eaten and were packing their bags, and John offered to help Carleton with his boots if he wished it. Frances dressed herself in a sprigged muslin gown that Mrs Pearson had salvaged from her room at Lady Murray's; once settled at Chatswood, she would require the urgent services of a dress maker, for the second time in as many weeks. In a short time the party was on their way again, this time to Chatswood, Carleton riding again to give the ladies more space in the carriage. He hoped Fanshaw had already taken Mrs Madden to Theo.

The afternoon sun was glinting on the windows of Chatswood when they arrived, Williams braced on the steps at the front to greet them, a polite, if rather fixed, smile on his face. What bumble-broth had his lord got himself into this time? He was reassured to see Mrs Pearson's respectable figure descend from the carriage, and looked past her with an unexpected degree of optimism that his new mistress would not be too far beneath his master's touch. His first impression was hopeful, the young woman now descending was elegant and graceful and then he caught a good look at her face.

He froze. Surely that wasn't? No of course it could not be, a chance resemblance only. He gathered himself together as Carleton came towards him, his wife's hand on his arm. "Frances, this is Williams, Williams my wife Lady Frances, and her companion Mrs Pearson. I am sure you will serve my wife as well as you have served me."

"Welcome, my lady," he murmured, still staring after her as they all went into the house. He had almost convinced himself the resemblance was less strong than he had thought, when he caught sight of Fanshaw, who was waiting to greet his new mistress. He looked like nothing more than a stuffed pike, his mouth was even gaping open slightly. "Ah, Fanshaw," Carleton greeted him smoothly, "Let me present my wife to you, as I said earlier, she has recently come from abroad."

Fanshaw looked blankly at his master for a moment before understanding dawned on him. He gulped. "Of course, my lord." He looked at Frances and blushed involuntarily, "Welcome ... er ... my lady," he managed.

Carleton frowned at him but Frances drew him away to introduce her to the rest of the staff before he could say anything. "Richard, you will need to give them time to grow accustomed to me," she said quietly.

"I will dismiss anyone who is insolent to you!" He said angrily under his breath.

"Very well, but let's make allowances for a few days; you must admit it is quite a shock. Thank goodness we have Mrs Pearson with us to lend us some respectability!" She added with a wry smile.

The next few days went better than Frances had expected. There were numerous sideways looks when they thought she was unaware, but none of the servants were openly hostile to her as Mrs Madden had been. She thought the real test for Richard would be in his relationship with the squire. If Squire Herbert gave either of them the direct cut, not only would it bring home to Carleton that he was now on the outskirts of society, but it would be very uncomfortable for the whole neighbourhood, forcing the local people to take sides.