“Then there can be no further objection. We are the completely un-scandalous Mr. and Mrs. Snowfeather for the rest of the week. It will be fun.”
“It will be… something,” he murmured.
The food arrived at that moment, curtailing the conversation.
As Tabitha nibbled at her cakes, she took the opportunity to regard Mr. Frampton from beneath her lashes.
Handsome? Such an inadequate word couldn’t begin to explain his effect on her pulse… and her breathing… and her heart.
The only thing better than gazing upon him would be if she could reach out and touch the softness of his hair, the hardness of his muscles, the warmth of his skin, the rough tickle of his stubbled jaw against the sensitive pad of her thumb.
This thought was immediately followed by a stab of guilt. Not because of her intended husband. Tabitha had been betrothed to him against her will, and Viscount Oldfield certainly showed no inclination to hide his own lust for all the other young ladies and debutantes.
It was that she was so far from her father. She had never disappointed him before. Part of her longed to be at his side now, on her knees like a child, begging for him to understand. Another part of her knew that returning home for even a moment would curtail her newfound freedom forever. Father would never let her alone after this. Nor would Viscount Oldfield. If she returned to London now, it would be as a prisoner.
Nonetheless, she hated to think she was causing her father any pain. He was already dying. Tabitha did not want to add to his suffering.
Mr. Frampton’s dark brown eyes locked on hers. “What is it?”
“What’s what?”
“Something’s wrong. Tell me, so that I can resolve it.”
“You can’t resolve it,” she said bitterly.
He leaned back. “I can remedy anything. Ask Viscount Oldfield.”
“You can’t remedy my father’s impending demise. Ask his physician, Mr. Collins.”
“Ah.” Mr. Frampton set down his fork. “You’re afraid your father will pass whilst you are… How did you put it? Gallivanting around town with a handsome bachelor?”
She clenched her teeth at the flippant characterization, but nodded.
“I distinctly recall Dr. Collins clearly stating that your father has another month or two of life left in him.”
“Even doctors can be wrong.”
“You won’t miss his last moments,” Mr. Frampton said quietly. “Not this week. I’ll handle it.”
“How?”
“Like I handle everything. Trust me.”
She did trust him, Tabitha realized. If anyone could make a ludicrous promise like, “Your father won’t die without you at his bedside” and have it come true… that man was Mr. Frampton.
“All right.” She took a deep breath. “I believe you. Thank you.”
Three men burst through the door bearing lutes. They glanced around the empty public house, then bounded over to Tabitha and Mr. Frampton’s table, beaming.
“Love birds!” they shouted, and launched into an energetic love ballad.
Mr. Frampton sent Tabitha a look of such absolute horror, it was all she could do not to dissolve into giggles.
Tabitha had heard of musicians serenading couples during the matchmaking festival. She hadn’t expected it to happen to her and Mr. Frampton. Now that she thought about it, it didn’t make sense that musicians like these would only work one week out of every year. They relied on vails for their income. A coin handed over directly after a serenade, or perhaps a passed hat if performing to a large gathering.
When the men finished their song, Tabitha reached for her reticule.
Mr. Frampton was faster. He placed a coin in each musician’s palm, politely yet pointedly communicating that their continued performance was unnecessary.
