“You could go to those same efforts again.” Leonora snapped her fan idly. “Did you ever consider it?”
“I have not seen him in a month and a half.” She exhaled slowly, willing away the mountain of hurt lodged inside her. “More importantly, I do not think he truly cared for me at all. I was a means to an end for him. He got what he wanted.”
She, on the other hand, had not. Instead, she had lost her heart.
“I did not mean him,” Leonora murmured quietly. “You could choose another.”
Frederica’s cheeks went hot. Of course he had been her first thought. Heronlythought. Duncan was at the edge of every thought, hovering in each moment, like a splinter lodged deep inside her heart. One she could not remove no matter how she tried.
She fanned herself with one of Mother’s castoffs—a bone handle, silk affair embellished with rose embroidery and sequins. “No, I cannot do it, Leonora. Once was enough.”
The notion of kissing any other man—of allowing him to touch her and take liberties—made her ill. She knew if she did not take action soon, she could not be able to avoid such a thing. She would become the Countess of Willingham, the earl’s chattel to do with as he wished.
“What shall you do, Freddy?” Leonora’s tone was mournful. “You are running out of time.”
“I do not know.” She attempted to keep the misery from her voice and failed. “I truly thought my father would send me away. I was hoping for my freedom though not depending upon it. I never imagined, however, that he would force me to endure the union regardless of my actions.”
These last few sennights had been intolerable. The only slight comfort she found was in the foolscap, ink, and quill she had smuggled into her chamber. She kept all carefully hidden beneath her bed, writing into the early hours of the morning each night. It was what sustained her, and she nearly had a completed manuscript for her efforts, though she bore purple smudges beneath her eyes as well.
“I wish there was something I could do to assist you.” Leonora sighed.
“Thank you for fretting over me, my dear,” Frederica said, a rush of affection making her throat go thick. If she had not had her friend during the last month and a half, she did not know what she would have done. “I shall find a way just as I have always done.”
Leonora frowned. “I do hope you are right, Freddy.”
Before she could respond, the Duchess of Whitley approached, ethereal in a yellow gown with silver net and embroidery. Her flaming hair was artfully styled, and she was undeniably lovely. It was said she and Whitley had a great love match, and watching the duke and duchess earlier, Frederica had been stabbed by a pang of envy.
To love so openly and to be loved in return.
“Lady Frederica, Lady Leonora,” the duchess greeted warmly. “I hope you do not mind if I seat myself here with you both for a moment? My feet are positively aching, and everywhere I turn, someone else is asking me to dance or holding me captive for dialogues and diatribes. Wellington’s latest victory is grand to be sure, but I would prefer to discuss it when my heels are not numb.”
“Of course not, Your Grace,” Frederica said. “You have found just the place to hide. Leonora and I have perfected the art of being wallflowers.”
The duchess seated herself with a sigh of contentment, but with rather a lack of grace. The punch she had been holding splashed from her cup and all over Frederica’s ivory skirts. “Oh, how dreadful of me! Lady Frederica, I fear I have ruined your dress, and the ball is only just underway. Pray forgive me, my lady.”
Frederica looked down at the growing stain, dark and red and ruinous. Rather a metaphor for her life at the moment, she decided. “Do not worry on my account, Your Grace. I shall use this as an excuse to avoid dances.”With my betrothed, she added silently, for it would not do to air her grievances before a woman she had only just met, regardless of how lovely and modest Her Grace seemed to be.
“I must make amends,” the duchess continued, her beautiful countenance pinched with concern. “Come with me, if you please, and I shall fetch my lady’s maid. She is a dab hand at removing all manner of stains, and I do believe she will have this problem solved in a trice.”
Frederica began to demur, but the duchess was insistent. “I must. I shall feel guilty all evening if you do not grant me this favor, my lady.”
She looked to Leonora, who was her usual, amiable self. “Do not worry over me, my dear Freddy. You know how I love to observe. I shall be most entertained.”
“Very well,” Frederica agreed.
“Splendid.” Her Grace rose to her feet. “Follow me. We shall find a discreet exit, and I will have you back in no time at all.”
Here, too, was another means of escaping Willingham, at least for the time it took for her stain to be removed. The allure was too tempting to resist. Frederica followed the Duchess of Whitley into the crush.
*
Duncan waited inthe hall outside the chamber where the Duchess of Whitley had led Frederica. For the last fortnight, waiting was all he had damn well been doing. Plotting, waiting, biding his time. He was not a patient man, and everything in him now screamed with anticipation.
His body.
His soul.
His heart.
