“Yes?”
“Fan says you spoke to her about trust being a problem for all of us, because of Mother. We expect people to let us down.” She pleated the daffodil muslin of Fanny’s gown, which she had, of course, borrowed. Would her own never arrive? “You can appreciate what a major step I am taking, especially after such a short acquaintance. I think myself in love with Frank. But I have this horrible fear that it is all going to come crashing down and it will hurt so terribly that I do not know how I can survive it.”
“I was left in that position when Joshua died, Sophie. But I have never been sorry that I loved him.”
“What about Peter? Did he ever let you down?”
“I thought he was dead for two months, and that was fairly horrible. Then I found out about that egregious bet he made at White’s, and I was crushed and angry. He had to work his way back into my graces slowly. But our relationship was the better for it.”
“You are a stronger woman than I am, Elise.”
“I think just the opposite. You have your musical life as a resource. I have seen for years how you disappear into Beethoven or Mozart for days and come out tired but put back together.”
“Does your writing not do the same for you?”
“I am not as good a novelist as you are a musician, dearest. Although, I must admit, it is an outlet. But Peter’s love has been constant since we’ve been married. Of course, one person cannot fill that wasteland inside us where a mother’s love should have been. But having my own children is a help. And you and Fan mean more to me than you will ever know.”
“I guess no one can guarantee that Frank will really come up to scratch,” Sophie said with a sigh. “Or be faithful when he does, for that matter.” She rose and went to Elise’s window, noting that the climbing rose had reached the height of the first floor. Clenching her fists, she made a decision. “What we have right now is so wonderful that I guess I must quit looking for problems.”
“It is always a risk to give your heart, Soph. But from what you have told me, I think Frank is truly smitten. He is very poetic, our Frank.”
“Yes, Fanny told me he read English Literature. The Romantic poets seem to be favorites of his.” Examining her fingernails, she thought reluctantly of Lord Shrewsbury. “There may be another problem, and I have not the faintest idea how to approach it.”
“Tell me.”
Sophie ate a macaroon. “It is Lord Shrewsbury. He apparently does not know of Frank’s feelings. He thinks to court me, and I do not know what to say.”
“Mention it to Frank. He will take care of it.”
“Have you received your invitation to the dinner party Frank is giving tonight?”
Elise smiled. “I have. Are you to be hostess?”
“Yes. And Shrewsbury will be there. If Frank says nothing beforehand, it is bound to be awkward.”
“That is true. But you have no control over that, Sophie. Shrewsbury has my sympathies.”
{ 14 }
FRANK SPENT HIS MORNING SPARRING at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. He was full of energy and gave the Gentleman a run for his money. Shrewsbury was there, and after boxing a few rounds against one another, they departed for Brook’s, where they lunched together.
“I have recruited another volunteer for the school,” Frank announced over lamb chops. “Lady Melissa Aldridge, Kent’s daughter. Which puts me in the mind of a concern of Lady Kent’s. Because of its location, we must provide some protection for the school during the hours it is in session.”
“Yes, you are right, of course,” his friend said. “Along similar lines as the gentlemen who protect the safety of the ladies attending to the Duchess of Ruisdell’s soup kitchen, I suppose. I don’t foresee that finding willing gentlemen will be much of a problem. Did you know that the Duke and Duchess met at the soup kitchen?”
They discussed which of their acquaintances they might prevail upon to perform this task. Shrewsbury called for some paper, a quill, and ink, and they made a list. In another column, Shrewsbury listed the young women they had asked to teach. As of this moment, they had only Fanny, Sophie, and Lady Melissa.
“What we need,” announced Shrewsbury, “is to hold a picnic or rout where we can announce our intentions and invite young women to participate.”
“Are there really enough young women in London who are that concerned for the poor? I doubt it. I applaud your efforts, but the reality is going to be a shock to most well-brought-up young ladies. The orphans will be filthy and crawling with lice. Also, I think we must do something about filling their stomachs. That would be an added draw,” Frank said. “We cannot expect them to be interested in reading when they are starving.”