Simply Unforgettable

“You are home safe and sound, then, miss,” Keeble observed with almost paternal solicitude when he let Frances into the school so soon after her knock that she suspected he must have been standing in the hallway waiting for her. “I worry when any of you ladies are out after dark. Miss Martin has invited you to join her in her sitting room.”

“Thank you,” Frances said, following him up the stairs so that he could open the door for her and even announce her as if she were visiting royalty.

She had suspected that her friends would be awaiting her return, but even so her heart sank. She so wanted to creep off to her room to lick her wounds in private. Was it only last night she had made the bold and liberating decision never to spare another thought for Lucius Marshall, Viscount Sinclair? But how could she have known that by some bizarre twist of fate she would meet him again tonight? She never attended parties in Bath. She had not sung in public outside the school since coming here.

It was not just bizarre. It was cruel. When her eyes had alighted on him, she . . .

“Well?” Susanna jumped to her feet as soon as Frances stepped into the sitting room, and regarded her with eager face and sparkling eyes. “Need we ask if you were a resounding success? How could you not have been?”

“Were you as well received as you deserve to be?” Anne asked, smiling warmly at her. “Did everyone make much of you?”

“Come and tell us all about your performance,” Miss Martin said. “And pour yourself a cup of tea before you sit down.”

“I’ll do that for her,” Susanna said. “Sit, Frances, sit, and allow me to wait on Bath’s newest celebrity. After tonight I daresay you will be a star and invited everywhere.”

“And neglect my duties here?” Frances said, sinking into the nearest chair and taking a cup of tea from Susanna’s hand. “I think not. Tonight was wonderful, but I am very happy being a schoolteacher. I was a little worried about my choice of song, but it was well received. I believe everyone was pleased. Mrs. Reynolds did not appear to be disappointed in me.”

“Disappointed?” Anne laughed. “I should hope not. I expect she is congratulating herself upon having discovered you before anyone else did. I should love to have heard you, Frances. We should all have loved it. We have been thinking about you all evening.”

“And Mr. Blake was the perfect escort, I hope?” Miss Martin asked.

“Absolutely,” Frances said. “He did not leave my side all evening and was very obliging. He waited outside his carriage just now until Mr. Keeble had let me in at the door.”

“He looked very dashing this evening, I must say,” Susanna said, her eyes twinkling. “Anne and I peeped out from her window as you were leaving—just like a couple of schoolgirls.”

“And how was the rest of the soiree?” Anne asked. “Do tell us about it, Frances.”

“Betsy Reynolds played well,” Frances told them. “She was first on the program and was very nervous, poor girl, but she did not play any wrong notes or slow down noticeably as she went along as she usually does. It was a good concert, and there was supper afterward. Everyone was most amiable.”

“Were there many guests?” Susanna asked. She stole a mischievous look at Claudia Martin and winked at the others. “Were there any dukes there? I shall expire of envy if there were.”

“No dukes.” Frances hesitated. “Only an earl. He was very kind. He has invited me to take tea with him tomorrow.”

“Has he?” Claudia Martin said sharply. “In a public place, I hope, Frances?”

“An earl.” Susanna laughed. “I hope he is ravishingly handsome.”

“How splendid for you,” Anne said. “But you do deserve the attention, Frances.”

“On

Brock Street

,” Frances said to Claudia, “with his grandson and granddaughter in attendance, Susanna.”

“I am delighted to hear it,” Claudia said, “provided the grandchildren are not infants.”

“Well.” Susanna pulled a face. “There goes my notion of high romance, though even grandfathers can be handsome—and amorous, I suppose.”

“They are not infants,” Frances said. “Miss Marshall is a pretty young lady, not much older than some of our senior girls—or perhaps not any older at all. The viscount is to bring a carriage to take me to

Brock Street

.”

The very thought was enough to set her hand to trembling, and some of her tea sloshed over into the saucer.

“I suppose with a title like that Viscount Sinclair must be his grandfather’s heir,” Susanna said. “Perhaps my dream may be resurrected after all. Is he ravishingly handsome, Frances?”

“Gracious,” Frances said, forcing the corners of her mouth up into a smile, “I did not notice.”

“Did not notice?” Susanna rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Where did you leave your eyes when you went out tonight? But I daresay he is. And I daresay he will conceive a grand passion for you, Frances, unless he has already done so, and will sweep you off your feet, and you will end up one day as the countess of . . . where?”

“I have no idea.” Frances surged to her feet and set her cup and wet saucer down on the table beside her. “I