Chapter Two: A Spot of Orange Paint

As the morning sunlight illuminated the room, it fell on Franny, who was already on her feet, with a brush in her hand filling the once white canvas with varying shades of orange and yellow. Completely immersed in the process, she lost her sense of time and place as she focused only on capturing the sunrise and missed the knocking at the door.

"We must get you ready for the opening ball at the Danbury house, after all, that is the most sought-after event of all," Mrs. Granville chattered as she walked into the room. Realising what Franny was up to, she stood behind her, watching her in silence.

"You have made excellent progress my dear. You must show this to Mr. Granville, he will be delighted to see that you took upon advice."

"Certainly so. Nevertheless, I shall start practising portraits soon."

"Should you finish your painting, and clean-up, come down to break fast with us. Then we will pay a visit to the modiste, it is high time for a new dress. A dress, in which you are not allowed to paint," on her way out, Mrs. Granville squinted at the spots of orange paint on her nightgown.

"A completely useless dress, then, I shall have," Franny muttered, as she finished the final touches.

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"Now remember Frances," Franny knew that she was about to receive a scolding. Her uncle rarely called her anything but dearest niece, or Franny, except when she was in trouble. In trouble, indeed she was, after last night's memorable introduction.

"This ball is a chance for you to make up for your rather... unruly debut. Whilst we share your concerns about marriage, our reputation is on the line."

"I understand, Uncle. And I apologise once more, it was not my intention to cause damage to the Granville reputation. You have been nothing but kind and supportive of me, and I am grateful for that," Franny replied with genuine regret.

"One could argue that there is not much of a reputation to be damaged," Mrs. Granville muttered, exchanging their characteristic, knowing look with her husband. "Nonetheless, you promise not to offend any of the high esteemed members of the ton, don't you, Frances?"

"Not even ambitious mamas?"

" ambitious mamas."

"This evening shall hold no fun for me then."

Mr. and Mrs. Granville sighed.

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As Franny entered Danbury Hall, arms locked with her uncle and aunt, she was captivated by the buzzing atmosphere, the crystal chandeliers glistening, the low murmur and laughter filling the room. Naturally, the spectacle of the evening was the impeccably dressed lords and ladies in sparkling dresses dancing to the vibrant rhythm of the violin. Whilst she disapproved of the lavish lifestyle the ton pursued, she was not impartial to beauty, on the contrary, as an artist, she was drawn to it, constantly on guard for new material to be captured, painted, immortalised. Speaking of immortality, muttering in excitement, the crowd gave way to new arrivals.

Franny's eyes, as everyone else's in the room, immediately fell on Daphne Bridgerton, the diamond of the first water, the season's incomparable. She couldn't help but feel jealousy rising in her. Whilst she was slender, with long, blonde hair that never seemed to behave as expected, she believed her appearance to be under par. The corset had almost nothing to elevate, she found her nose too long, her face too round, with almost no cheekbones which were particularly fashionable nowadays. She always felt inferior in the company of young ladies who radiated confidence and effortless beauty. Franny held that her value should not be measured by her appearance, yet she couldn't help but feel insecure. She was well-educated, as educated as a lady could be, observant and quick-witted, and on her better days, she could be endearing and amiable. Nevertheless, despite everything, she desperately longed to be glamourous and careless, to fit perfectly in, even for a day. Daphne Bridgerton embodied everything lacked: she was graceful, magnificent, with a polite countenance and impeccable manners, and, of course, a wish to be married. Daphne's flawlessness made her painfully aware of her own imperfections.

"She is perfect, is she not, Uncle," she inquired with a touch of sadness in her voice, still in awe.

"Without doubt, she is the very embodiment of perfection," Henry Granville replied, politely bowing to a group of gentlemen passing them. Franny's heart sank.

"Even so, we will never know her true self, I shall reckon."

"How do you mean?"

"What unfolds in front of you when you look at Daphne Bridgerton? Everything our society equates with the ideal lady: innocence, beauty, high breeding, a never-ceasing smile. A pretence, she must put up in every moment, every minute of the day, a role out of which she may never fall, lest her reputation be ruined. I find myself wondering how tiresome her life must be. Of how tiresome it might be to be a lady."

Franny glanced at her uncle, lovingly, as she hooked one arm in him, "You seem to understand the struggle I am in quite well."

"I do, to the fullest extent. I have probably never voiced this, but... You yearn to fit in, and yet, you cannot help but be yourself, even if it takes insulting royalties. That requires real courage, to subject yourself to the scornful gaze of society which is quick to judge and reluctant to forgive. I consider you immensely brave, Franny."

Franny embraced her uncle tightly. "Speaking of courage, I consider Daphne to be brave also. To face one's obligations, day by day, without a complaint attest to the greatest strength."

Henry Granville silently kissed his niece on the forehead, wondering whether it would be self-serving to share his secret with her. Franny's eyes followed Daphne around the room, her smile losing its genuinely little by little with each suitor her brother rejected. One cold, scornful look was enough to scare most people away. Although Franny still found it difficult to distinguish between the brothers, their expressions could set them apart. Anthony was constantly on edge, his countenance fearsome, eagle-like. Colin Bridgerton, the youngest, always smiling mischievously, a well-known charmer, was currently courting the season's most interesting new arrival, Miss Marina Thompson. Then, there was the third brother Franny found the most mysterious and yet the most drawn to. Benedict's handsome face resembled an open book, every time she stole a glance, she discovered a new emotion, a lopsided smile, a playful grimace, an amused grin. As if he could feel her watching, Benedict's dark blue eyes locked into Franny's grey-coloured ones. She felt a shiver running through her spine, as she lifted her glass to take a sip nervously. Benedict narrowed his eyes in curiosity, tilting his head. Franny's first thought was that he was looking at her card, but at a closer examination, she noticed a spot of bright orange paint on the inner part of her forearm, the remnant of the morning's painting. Refusing to be embarrassed by paint, she locked Benedict's eye, waiting for his response, daring him to make his move. However, his reaction remained to be seen, as an unknown figure emerged in her view, and the moment was gone as quickly as it came about. The intruder was a gentleman with stylishly set brown hair, dressed in a coal-black tuxedo and a delicate silk vest.

"Good evening Mr. Granville. You must introduce me to this charming young lady you have been guarding the whole night," his warm smile revealed beautiful white teeth and dimples in the corner of his mouth. Franny, although turned a blind eye to them, was not immune to the charms of men.

"Lord Wetherby, let me introduce you to my ," Henry Granville's face revealed no emotion, but he strongly emphasised the last word signalling the familial relations.

Lord Wetherby bowed deeply to her once again which, after a moment of delay, she reciprocated with a curtsy.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Wetherby."

"The pleasure is all mine. May I have this dance, Miss Granville?"

As soon as she had the chance, Franny shifted her gaze back to Benedict, only to find him gone. "I would be flattered," placing her hand on Lord Wetherby's, she stole a worried glance at her uncle whose straight face was impossible to judge.

"If I may be frank, Lord Wetherby, I would not have expected any of the gentlemen to ask me to dance," Franny commented as she was escorted to the dance floor.

"You would be surprised, Miss Granville. For better or worse, you have certainly captured the attention of the ton," he smiled warmly at her while spinning her around the room. Franny paid close attention to the steps since dancing did not come naturally to her. As their bodies and eyes were both locked in a close embrace, she wondered whether she should expect a magical feeling. Lord Wetherby was a wonderful dancer, with a never-ceasing smile, and with chestnut curls that gave him an angelic look. And yet, despite all his charms, Franny did not feel drawn to him.

"I myself rather share your sentiments about the façade surrounding marriage."

"I am delighted to hear that, my lord. Yet, you have the liberty of dispensing of marriage as a man, a liberty a woman cannot afford." Franny noticed that Lord Weatherby's smile lost its genuinity as they leaned forward. "Albeit, I am rather curious as to why an eligible, and if I may say so, handsome gentleman of your calibre with a bevvy of perfectly decent ladies of his disposal, is disinterested in marriage."

"You are rather curious, Miss Granville, are you not?"

"Naturally, I consider it to be one of my more appealing qualities."

"One of the many," Franny replied with a ghost of a smile and could not help but notice how his brown eyes sparkled in the light.

Turning her head sideways, she caught her uncle eyeing them closely, with what Franny identified to be a look of disapproval. The music came to a halt, so did the dancers.

"I must say so, you have rather cunningly avoided answering my question," Franny pointed out, as Lord Wetherby signed her card.

"My lady, let a gentleman have his fair share of secrets. Albeit, I must keep you pondering, lest I lose your interest," he bowed deeply and said his goodbyes. As soon as he left, Mr. Granville was by her side.

"Are you not happy, Uncle, that I have made acquaintances with your friend? He was kind enough to ask me to dance and keep me company. Not to mention that he is rather pleasing and a decent dancer," eager to uncover the reason behind his odd mood, Franny teased her uncle as she sipped a lemonade.

"Whilst I appreciate his kindness, his intentions might not be what they seem," Lord Granville commented, taking a big gulp of his champagne.

"I am quite aware that he is impartial to marriage. That much he told me," Franny's attention was only half focused on the conversation as she scanned the room in search of the Bridgertons but couldn't find any. Disappointed, she had enough of socialisation.

"Now Uncle dearest, I have paid my dues to London's high society, without causing havoc. May we go home now?"

"Certainly so, let me fetch Lucy."

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