Chapter Four: The Art of Chasing Suitors Away

"Franny, pray tell, did something happen between you and your Uncle last night while I was away?" Mrs. Granville queried, after having spent ten silent minutes with her niece. Ever since she learnt to talk, Franny never let ten minutes pass without sharing her opinion.

"I assure you nothing happened, Aunty," Franny replied abruptly, in a cold, even voice. To avoid Mrs. Granville's quick-sighted eyes, she grabbed the sheet of paper closest to her, which happened to be Lady Whistledown's scandal sheet.

"The most noteworthy event that has unfolded last night is that apparently the Duke and Daphne Bridgerton fell madly in love. They shared not one, but two dances, the audacity! Can you fathom it, Aunty?"

"You shall not forget that I was not born yesterday."

"Oh, so two dances does not mean undying love? I should freshen up my knowledge on " Franny added sarcastically and Mrs. Granville could almost see her rolling her eyes behind the shelter of the paper.

"Did you have words with Mr. Granville?"

"No words at all,"

"Listen here, young lady," what Mrs. Granville's scolding entailed remained to be seen, as Everly announced the arrival of Lord Wetherby.

"Mrs. Granville, Miss Granville, as always, both of you look ravishing," walking in with a curious package in his hand, Lord Wetherby greeted the ladies, or rather a lady and a god-save-her-from-becoming-a-lady.

"Lord Wetherby, how delightful to see you," springing up Franny curtsied, her eyes shifting to the package.

"I was rather disappointed to find that you were not in attendance of the Vauxhall celebration, Miss Granville."

"My apologies. My... family had other plans for that night," she added in her head. "May I inquire what lies under that sheet?"

"Naturally, I reckoned you would like to paint something more vivacious than a bouquet of flowers. Please, my lady, take a peak."

Intrigued, Franny uncovered the sheet only to reveal a golden cage with a small, energised yellow canary, who expressed its displeasure of being hidden in high-pitched squeaks the moment it had an audience.

"It is also known for its wonderful singing voice, therefore this little creature might ease the burden of entertaining your guests, in lieu of the pianoforte," he cast his warm trademark smile.

"Most thoughtful of you Lord Wetherby," taking a closer look, Franny saddened for she could not imagine a greater injustice done to a bird, born free and created for the very purpose of roaming the skies, locked up in a cage, however pretty and gold. She found it a fitting analogy.

Before they could offer Lord Wetherby any refreshments, to both Lucy's and Franny's biggest surprise no less than nine callers were announced.

"How delightful! Do let them in, I am eager to tell them all about my needlework and watercolours! Lord Wetherby, please take a seat, you are in for a treat," Franny jolted up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Mrs. Granville wished that she had something stronger than tea within her reach.

Bombarded with various gifts and flowers under the sun, the Granville drawing room was buzzing with suitors. The sensation, however, was short lived.

As the door was closed behind the last caller efficiently chased away, Franny leaned back in her seat with a victorious smile on her face and took a bite of cake. Mrs. Granville walked in slowly, her face revealed no emotion. Franny was quite aware of, but actively ignored, the trouble she was in.

Lord Wetherby, the premier spectator of the show, sitting silently in his seat, his lean body turned sideways, smirking widely, sensed that the spectacle had come to an end.

"Miss Granville, with all likelihood these were the most riveting couple of hours I have spent in this month or so. I shall be on my way, but I thank you for your time, and I seek the next occasion when we might see each other."

"I thank you for that compliment, Lord Wetherby, and look forward to it. Goodbye," Lord Wetherby leaned to kiss Franny's hands, not taking his eyes off her for a moment.

Clapping slowly, and standing frighteningly in front of her niece, hands folded, brows furrowed, Mrs. Granville started her long overdue reprimand, "Beautifully done, my dear. You have managed to scare away not less than nine perfectly decent suitors. What an accomplishment!"

"Indeed it is, Aunty. Uncle will be delighted!"

Miss Granville took a deep breath, pointed one finger at her niece, but eager to extend the moment of calm before the storm, Franny quickly added:

"Some of those questions were perfectly legitimate. You cannot expect me to sit around all day and converse with my husband about the helpless animal he has shot, or God knows what other immaterial matters."

"Franny," deciding to adopt another strategy, Mrs. Granville settled next to Franny, put her arm on her knee, looking her deeply in the eye, "We have never properly addressed your... to marriage."

"I was under the impression that you and Uncle understand the distress I am in," Franny cut her off, despite clear in her voice.

"You can huff and puff all day, but we shall not be closer to the solution. Now we must address, is it bravado, denial, or even immaturity?"