“I know you can,” Catherine replied, awkwardly fidgeting with the cuffs of her sleeves. “But what of the duke? He didn’t seem very… welcoming.”
Frances shrugged and blew on her tea to cool it. “It is my belief—or my hope, perhaps—that he will keep his distance.” She took hesitant sip, wincing as the liquid burned her tongue. “He did today, so I shall take it as a good sign.”
“Well then, I’ll leave you to your tea and your rest.” Catherine smiled, her posture relaxing just a little. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Frances smiled back. “Goodnight, Cathy.”
“Goodnight, my lady.”
As the chamber door closed, Frances sat back in her chair and listened to the silence. She could not remember the last time she had heard such nothingness, for the city of London was never quiet. Even at night, the rattle of distant carriages could be heard, or the lamplighters whistling on their rounds, lords and ladies returning from one soiree or another, before dawn brought the next burst of activity.
Her father might be pacing his study; Juliet might have crept into Frances’ room, snoring softly and taking up most of the bed. The cook might be baking fresh bread, the scent drifting through the house; her father’s valet might be cleaning the silver to keep himself occupied until her father was ready to retire.
Here, it was just… silent.
She took her tea and went to the window, to see if the starlight might soothe her restless mind.
Oh…
Her heart jumped in fright as she saw a figure in a long coat, walking across the courtyard. His hair was tied up, his hands shoved into his pockets, his posture somewhat hunched against the night chill.
She would have known him anywhere.
“Goodness, he is handsome,” she whispered to herself. “Quite the most handsome man I have ever seen. If he were to smile, I imagine he would be even more?—”
Just then, he looked up.
With a yelp, she leaped back from the window and clamped a hand over her mouth, as if Dominic might hear the sawing of her startled breath.
Surely, he could not have heard her speaking of how attractive he was, all the way down in the courtyard. And she did not believe anyone could read minds. She might have considered the notion that he had seen her, but his head had been down, his chin to his chest, as if deep in thought.
So why did he look up?
CHAPTER SIX
Politely nibbling her way through a slice of toast, thinly spread with fresh butter, Frances forced down each mouthful. Nerves had gotten the better of her hunger, but she would regret it if she did not eat something now; it would be another long day.
The reason for her nerves had decided to join the teacher and the student at the breakfast table that morning, though Frances had deliberately timed it so they would not cross paths.
Apparently, Dominic had decided to enjoy a late breakfast… which even the servants had been surprised by, suggesting it was no mistake that he was right there, seemingly watching Frances’ every move.
Is he going to say something about last night? Did he see me in the window? Did he not?Her heart thudded erratically, a cold sweat prickling down the back of her neck.
“Am I doing it right?” Harriet asked with a hopeful smile, as she gently stabbed a piece of egg and raised it to her lips. She popped it into her mouth, just as she had been taught, and chewed demurely.
Her grasp on the knife and fork was still somewhat aggressive, but the reprieve brought some relief to Frances’ jumping heart and knotted stomach. A welcome distraction.
“I could not have chewed it better myself,” she replied, chuckling.
Harriet beamed. “Who knew a person could eat wrong? Indeed, who knew that learning to eat correctly could be so fascinating!”
With a slight raise of her eyebrow, Frances searched the face of the younger woman, looking for any sign of sarcasm or insincerity. To her amusement and heartwarming appreciation, she discovered none of either. Harriet reallydidseem to be soaking up everything Frances had to teach, eager to know as much as possible, to the point where it made Juliet and Lucinda seem like very naughty students indeed.
Harriet hesitated as she carefully sipped from her cup of tea, holding the handle delicately. “Although, you will have to take me through the purpose of all those knives and spoons and forks at dinner again. I did not even know we had so many. I have decided to bring a quill and ink and paper to the dinner table, so I miss nothing.”
“A wise idea,” Frances said. “Indeed, you should bring paper and a pencil to all of our lessons, then write out your notes in ink in the evening to practice your handwriting.”
Harriet nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course! That is perfect.” She looked at her father. “Do we have any pencils, Papa?”
