her maid, Maisie, on the possibilities of freshening up one of her gowns, when her butler came to the door to announce that Sir Alan Sherbourne had come to call on her.
“Sir Alan?” she repeated blankly. “Do I know him, Fenton?”
“I do not believe so, my lady,” he replied gravely.
“And do you think I should receive him?”
“He seems quite unexceptionable. A gentleman who spends most of his time in the country, is my opinion.”
“I see. Well, my curiosity is piqued. Show him into the drawing room.”
When Francesca entered the drawing room a few moments later, she saw at once that her butler’s description of Sir Alan was perfectly apt. Of medium height, with a pleasant face that was neither handsome nor unattractive, the man was not particularly noticeable, but was also not lacking in any regard. His carriage, speech and demeanor were clearly those of a man raised a gentleman, but there was no arrogance about him. And though his clothes were of a good quality and cut, they were not in the most up-to-date fashion, indicating, as Fenton had remarked, that he was not a man of the city, an impression reinforced by the plainness and open quality of his manner.
“Sir Alan?” Francesca asked a trifle questioningly as she stepped into the room.
He turned from his contemplation of the portrait above the mantel, and his eyes widened expressively. “Lady Haughston. Beg pardon…I did not realize…” He stopped, a faint line of color forming on his cheeks. “Excuse me. I am not usually so inarticulate. I am afraid I was unprepared to find that Lady Haughston was someone as young and radiant as you.”
Francesca could not refrain from smiling. It was always pleasant to hear a compliment, particularly when it appeared as spontaneous and surprised as this one.
“Oh, dear,” she replied, her tone teasing. “Has someone been painting me as old and haggard?”
The color in his cheeks deepened as he stammered out, “No. Oh, no, my lady. No one said anything like that. It is simply that everything I have heard about your influence and your considerable social skills led me to envision someone much older than yourself. A matriarch…a—” He stopped short. “I am making a hash of it, clearly.”
Francesca chuckled. “Do not fret. I promise you, I am not offended. Please, sit down, sir.” She gestured toward the sofa as she took a seat on the chair that lay at a right angle to it.
“Thank you.” He accepted her invitation, sitting down and turning toward her. “I hope you will forgive my intrusion. It is presumptuous of me, I know, not being acquainted with you, but a friend told me that you might be willing to help me.”
“Really? Well, certainly, if I can.”
“It is about my daughter. Harriet. She made her debut this year.”
“I see.” His mission here was becoming clearer to Francesca. She tried to remember a girl named Harriet Sherbourne, but she could not picture her. Of course, that was probably the problem: Harriet was not making an impression in her first Season.
“I am a widower,” her visitor went on. “It’s been just Harriet and me for six years now. She is a good, sweet girl. She’s been a wonderful companion to me, and she would make any man a good wife. Why, she has more or less run my household since she was fourteen. But she, well, she just doesn’t seem to be ‘taking.’” He frowned, obviously puzzled.
“It can be difficult for a young girl when she first comes to London,” Francesca assured him.
“It’s not that I am anxious to see her married,” he went on quickly. “Quite frankly, I know I shall be quite lonely when she’s gone.” He gave her a small smile. “But I hate to see Harriet not enjoying her time here. And how can she, always sitting against the wall and not dancing?”
“Exactly right.”
“Someone told me that you were known to work wonders with young girls who had been, well, left behind in the social race, so to speak. I know you have no reason to help me, not knowing us, but I hoped that you might consider favoring me with some advice. I was told you were most generous in that regard.”
“Of course I should be happy to help you,” Francesca assured the man.
She liked her first impression of Sir Alan, and, in any case, she could scarcely turn down an opportunity that had happened along so fortuitously. She should have been combing the ranks of the new marriageable girls, looking for those who could benefit from her expertise—and were willing to open their purses, of course, to achieve results.
“I am not sure exactly what it is that you can do,” her guest continued a little uncertainly.
“Nor am I,” Francesca admitted. “It would help, no doubt, if I were to meet your daughter.”
“Yes, of course. If it would be acceptable for us to call on you, I should be most happy to bring her to visit you.”
“That sounds like just the thing. Why don’t the two of you come to see me tomorrow afternoon? Lady Harriet and I can become acquainted, and I can get a better idea of the problem.”
“Excellent,” Sir Alan responded, beaming. “You are very kind, Lady Haughston.”
“In the meantime, perhaps you might tell me a bit about what you, um, would like to happen for Lady Harriet this Season.”
He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I find that parents often have different expectations. Some hope for their daughter to make a quick match, others a highly advantageous one.”
“Oh.” His face cleared. “I have no expectations of marriage, my lady. I mean, if Harriet were to meet a suitable young man whom she wished to marry, that would be very nice, of course. But she is still young, and I have not heard her express a great interest in marrying. I wish only for her to have a pleasant Season. She never complains, but the past few years she has had to take on more responsibility than a girl her age should. She is entitled to a little fun. That is why we came here for the Season. But, truthfully…well, I believe she is bored at these parties. She would like to dance and converse. My mother has been sponsoring Harriet, but she is getting up in years. It is a burden to her to take the girl about. And I sometimes wonder if the parties she attends are really, well, entertaining to Harriet.”
Francesca nodded, the picture growing clearer for her. “Of course.”
Sir Alan seemed a kind and pleasant man, one who wanted only the best for his daughter, which was certainly a refreshing change from many of the parents who had come to her. Most of them seemed more interested in an advantageous marriage than a happy one, and few expressed, as this man had, an interest in their daughter enjoying her come-out.
Of course, kindness did not necessarily translate into a willingness to spend money to accomplish his goals. There had been far too many parents who had expected her to work wonders for their daughter without purchasing different clothes, or to purchase an adequate wardrobe on a cheeseparing budget.
“I have found that bringing a girl out properly often demands adjustments to her wardrobe, entailing further expenses,” Francesca said, probing delicately.
He
