Frankie flung herself onto her window seat with a huff and stared out over the streets of London, coaches rattling along the cobblestones, swirling through the perpetual smoke and haze. Her heart ached at the casual cruelty voiced by Mrs. Crawley and her daughter. Is that what everyone in society thought of her?

Frankie closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the cool, damp window pane. What was wrong with her? Why could she not find a husband as easily as her sister?

“I wish I could find a husband,” murmured Frankie. “If only to be obliging to my aunt.”

A slight rap at her door made Frankie jump in surprise. Was her aunt there to demand she come down to meet Sir John?

“Yes?” she answered in a small voice.

The door opened, revealing not her aunt but her favorite uncle.

“Uncle Grant!” Frankie rushed to him, forgetting to feign illness. “I did not know you were here.”

“Should say not. Hate to think you’d run away from me.”

“I was not…”

“Running away from Sir John?”

“No I—”

“I say, glad you’re not ill. Just didn’t want to be trotted out before Sir John and watch Aunt Hilde try to marry you off before supper, eh?” Grant smiled in a cheery, understanding manner that made continued denials impossible.

“Yes, you are correct.”

“’Course I am!” he declared with mock offense. “Though that Sir John isn’t such bad company.”

“He's not still here, is he?”

“No, no. Ran off on some errand.” Grant motioned to the chairs in her sitting area by the fire and they both sat down. “But look here, are you going to hide in a wardrobe for the rest of your life?”

“Only until Aunt Hilde stops trying to marry me off.”

“Hope you like the wardrobe.”

Frankie slouched back onto her chair with a sigh. She considered her dilemma for a moment then sat upright. “I do not suppose you could convince her that I am a lost cause?”

“Don't suppose I could.”

“But you can convince anyone to do anything,” she cajoled. Grant had such a pleasant disposition, it was hard to refuse him anything.

“You have a far superior view of my abilities, if you think I can get your aunt to stop trying to marry you off.”

“But you avoided her machinations for many years before you married.”

“Lost out in the end,” Grant said with a smile. He had married Eugenia Talbot a year ago and Frankie had never seen him happier. “Say now, what’s this about Frankie?”

Frankie gave another sigh. “I cannot do another season. It's too lowering. I'd rather serve as a governess than be put on exhibit again. Uncle Herman has asked me to consider helping with his children and I am thinking it might be a better situation for me.”

“Your Uncle Herman in Bavaria? The one with eight children?” Grant frowned in a manner quite uncharacteristic for him.

“Nine actually.”

“Even worse,” he muttered.

“I want to do something meaningful with my life. There must be something more than just waiting around for somebody to offer me marriage. I am tired of being hung in the window like some Christmas goose, plucked and waiting for some gentleman to make me an offer.”

“Want to be useful, do something here. Don’t need to go to Bavaria.”

“What can I do? I’m not allowed to do much of anything. I do not think I've done one useful thing since arriving in London.”

A slow smile crept over Grant’s face. “Why didn't you say so before? Take you down to the school directly.”

“The Eugenia Grant School?” Frankie sat straighter for a moment but then slouched again in a manner sure to win the reproach of her aunt. “But no, Aunt Hilde would never allow it. She says I ought not to involve myself in any charity work until after I am married.”

“You leave your aunt to me,” Grant said with a wink.

Ten minutes later, Frankie was being whisked down the cobblestone streets within Lady Devine's own town coach. Somehow Grant had turned his request to take Frankie to the school into a discussion as to whether Frankie would travel with him atop his racing phaeton or travel more securely in the town coach. Grant fought hard for the phaeton, but Lady Devine won the argument and insisted that they travel by coach. Grant acquiesced with a smile, successfully getting Frankie out of the house.

They traveled down the busy streets of London, the town coach swaying on its springs over the cobblestones, until they reached a modest three-story brick building squeezed in between a pub and a church in a working-class part of town. With the large influence of his wife, Grant had started the Eugenia Grant School in which all occupants were those from working-class or even more desperate situations and were provided with education and a variety of family supports. The only requirement was to show some aptitude for studies and a desire to better their circumstance.

Grant and Frankie walked up the cracked brick stairs into the school and were instantly assailed by chaos. Young children were running hither and yon, teachers were hustling after them, giving largely ignored commands, and everyone seemed to be talking at once.

“They're conducting a dress rehearsal for the Christmas pageant tomorrow,” commented Grant, surveying the general confusion with amusement. “Things are going about how I expected.”

“Would you like me to assist with the production?” asked Frankie.

“No, no you help with the scholarship applications. Need to have decisions before the end of the year. Best to help there.” As he talked he ushered her into a side classroom which was empty except for one gentleman, sitting at a worn teacher’s desk. The man looked up as they entered, his unruly dark hair falling over one eye. His face was tanned, almost weathered, with a hint of stubble about his jaw. He flipped his hair out of his face, revealing piercing blue eyes.

“Here now, you help Everett with the scholarships.” Grant gave her a little push into the room as he called out, “Yes, Mrs. Musgrove, I'll be there directly.”

The door shut and he was gone, leaving Frankie alone in the room with the most attractive man she had ever seen.