Frances fizzed with an excitement she did not dare to display too much, lest anyone accuse her of being prideful or in case it came back to bite her later. It was still early in Harriet’s society education, after all, but to see how far the girl had come in such a short time was a wonderful thing indeed.
The rest of the dinner went by in a blur of amiable conversation, a great deal of laughter, exemplary food, and a liveliness that she realized had been sorely absent from her family home.
The congregated group had decided that, during every other course, they would resume their characters, but it had all transformed into something more than Frances could have anticipated. The guests just being themselves was equally as beneficial to Harriet as them playing the characters that Frances had assigned to them.
She has not even noticed how well she is dealing with the real people, for the anxiety only comes when the characters appear.
Thrilled, Frances glanced in Dominic’s direction in the hopes of subtly gauging his reaction.
To her surprise, and partial dismay, he sat staring down into his wine, as if there were something very interesting at the bottom of it, some premonition to be found within the last measure of the dark red liquid.
There was no smile, as there had been in the gardens. There was no meeting of their gaze, though she willed him to look up at her. There was no mirth at his end of the table, though it radiated everywhere else. Why, it was as if he was at another dinner party entirely.
“Something wrong, Lady Frances?” asked the gentleman in the chair beside her: Peter Grantham, Viscount of Ainsley.
Pleasant enough, though he had the manner of someone who thought they were a great deal more charming than they were.
Frances put on a courteous smile. “Not at all, Lord Ainsley. I was merely thinking about the next part of the evening’s lesson.”
“A diligent tutor indeed,” the viscount replied, raising his glass. “To your success, Lady Frances.”
She hesitantly picked upherglass. “To LadyHarriet’ssuccess.”
“Quite right.” He chuckled amiably and clinked his glass to hers. “Nevertheless, it is a noble deed you are doing. I know that my sister would be just as glad to learn from you.”
Frances paused, frowning. “Your sister?”
He nodded in the direction of one of the young women who were in attendance. A quiet sort of girl with hair so blonde it was almost white, and charming spectacles that she had a habit of pushing up her nose at regular intervals.
“My half-sister, in truth, though she is more like a daughter to me, now that our father is gone,” he said.
That certainly explained how a man who looked to be at least forty could have such a youthful sibling. The product of a second wife, no doubt.
I wonder if I would have more siblings, if my father had remarried…
“How old is she?” Frances asked, for she looked very young indeed.
“She will soon be six-and-ten,” the Viscount replied.
Frances nodded. “Ah, so a few more years until she debuts.” She paused. “How did you come to be here tonight, the two of you? Are you a friend of His Grace, the Duke of Ravenvale?”
The invitations had been rather troublesome, considering she knew no one in this part of the world. As such, she had called upon Hugo’s sociable nature, asking him to invite anyone he thought to be suitable, be it gentlemen who would not mind playing along, or young ladies who would not be averse to making friends with Harriet.
“I am,” Peter said, as he sipped his wine. “He and I were at Eton together. We shoot together on occasion, though it has been a couple of years since the last time. Indeed, it was right here that we hunted last, for Alderwick has exceptional grounds for that sort of thing.”
Frances smiled but felt the stiffness in it. “I do not care much for the notion of hunting, whether it be with hounds or a rifle.”
“I would be surprised if you did,” he replied with a chuckle. “Ladies should not be witness to such violence. Although, they do not mind the pretty feathers of a pheasant to adorn their bonnets.”
“A fair point.” Frances took a small sip of her wine. “I did not realize that His Grace opened his house to hunting parties. He does not seem to like company much.”
Peter pulled an amusing face. “Heavens, no. He only permitted us to hunt here because Hugo begged, and we caused such a ruckus that I daresay there shall not be another occasion.” He sat back as a footman took his plate. “It is why I am so very pleased to have been invited to your wondrous party tonight,Lady Frances. There is something so grand and marvelous about this manor. Would you not agree?”
Frances hesitated. “I think it is… very pleasant.”
She had grown accustomed to the interesting architecture, though the exterior still looked rather intimidating at night.
“Then,” Peter leaned in slightly, “perhaps you ought to think about turning the character on your card from tutor to duchess. You are in a unique position, Lady Frances. Every mother in society would be hurling their daughters at His Grace if he would but attend a single ball, yet you have him all to yourself, more or less. If I were you, I would not waste the opportunity.”
