“I have missed you.”
Chapter Seven
Her eyes hardened for the briefest moment then they were simply emotionless. Cold.
“I miss the person I thought I once knew.” Frances stood. “You are not him so therefore, there is no reason for you to call.”
“It is still me,” he whispered.
“No, you are not,” Frances argued. “You had me believing you were one person and even though you tried to warn me, I did not learn the truth until I came to London.”
That blasted reputation, that he did not bother to correct, had damned him in her eyes and polite Society. “I was young and foolish.”
“Perhaps in the beginning but when you walked away from what we shared, you were five and twenty, mature enough to know who you were or wanted to be and you chose to be a rogue.”
“I most certainly did not,” Seth argued.
“Then perhaps you should have altered your behavior.”
She was correct, but back then he had no desire to do so because it kept the matchmaking mamas and misses seeking a husband away from him until he was no longer forced to endure Society.
“Let me call on you so that we can discuss this matter in private.”
Frances glanced around, which made Seth do as well. They were surrounded by people but none of them were paying them any mind. Then again, they could be pretending to watch the horses and riders while listening to every word they shared.
“It is not necessary, Lord Seth,” she whispered. “You made a choice five years ago. If you miss me…well, you have no one to blame but yourself.”
“I know.”
Frances tilted her head and studied him. “Tell me Lord Seth, do you enjoy breaking hearts?”
“No, of course not and that was never my intention.”
“Your actions speak otherwise.”
The audience erupted in applause as the entertainers took their bows.
“Good day, Lord Seth.” Frances then stood and marched away. He attempted to go after her but a crowd came between them.
Blythe grasped his elbow. “Was that not enjoyable?”
He'd not seen his sister this happy since the day she married.
“Yes, it was.”
“Did you enjoy your conversation with Miss Hawthorn?”
“We spoke little.”
“I cannot recall. Were the two of you acquainted when we all lived in Laswell?”
“We were, but she is also two years younger than me.” He still marveled that nobody ever learned of their decade long friendship, and grateful that nobody had or they would have been intrusive, much like gossiping matrons in a ballroom.
Blythe studied him for a moment. “For some reason I was under the impression that you had at one time been close.”
It is not possible that Blythe knew of the past he shared with Frances. “Why would you think so?” he asked slowly.
“Because she does not seem to like you.” Blythe laughed.
