Witty, daring and with a secret knack for painting Frances Granville arrives at London with two convictions: one, that she is not interested in men, especially not in lords who parade impeccably around courting innocent young ladies at balls only to...
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Because a strange sense of self-torment has come up to her, Franny has decided to join her uncle and Lady Danbury, but before she could make her way to them, she spotted Benedict. He was frowning, his lips were drawn in a downward line of what seemed to be a pondering expression. Curious about what he was about to say, but not wanting to reveal herself, she settled close to them, with her back turned, at the ideal distance for eavesdropping. Over the years, she had accumulated considerable experience in gathering information while staying invisible.
"It's much too cold," he pointed out to Lady Danbury in a confident tone. Oh no, Franny thought because she knew that the painting they were discussing was her uncle's, not his best, but still good enough to make it to Somerset House.
"Where's any sense of the subject's spirit?" If you must know, Benedict dearest, the subject had little spirit and ever fewer wits. Well, Franny, if you are going to interrupt, this is your very moment because Lady Danbury, the devious troublemaker she is, is certainly not going to.
"And the light! Given the quality, I do wonder why the piece was not skyed with the other daubs." Oh no Benedict, that was way too harsh, the damage has already been done.
"Perhaps we should ask the artist," Lady Danbury suggested and Franny could almost see her mouth twitching in a sly smile.
"Now that would be something Lady Danbury," boy, you have walked right into the trap, willingly and confidently.
"Hmm, Mr. Granville, why was your piece not skied?"
"Mr. Granville, I," Benedict jabbered, shock audible in his voice.
"If you will excuse me, um, I must find my wife," Mr. Granville made his leave quickly. Franny breathed a sigh of relief as she judged from her uncle's intonation that he was not deeply hurt, a bit frustrated, but he knew his talent enough not to be thrown off by some criticism. Benedict, on the other hand, was stunned and painfully skunked by Lady D.
"You diabolical... How could you let me rattle on like that?" he accused Lady Danbury, who was famous for taking pleasure, and in most cases inciting, incidents like this.
"How could I not, my dear Mr. Bridgerton? It was riotously funny, you must admit," she commented proudly and left Benedict with his hands on his hips to ponder on how cleverly she played him.
Franny promised to herself that she would later console her uncle, but for now, Benedict looked as if he could use some kind words.
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