“Which friend?”
“Amanda.”
“Amanda who?” Frances pressed, cringing inwardly, for she sounded so much like a mother hen again.
“Grantham,” Harriet replied with that same, suspicious speed. “Lord Ainsley’s sister. She and I have decided to be good friends. I suspect she may ask you to teach her everything you have taught me, when it comes time for her to debut.”
It was a reasonable explanation. Indeed, it should have cheered Frances, to hear that Harriet was making new friends. But there was something about Harriet’s manner, and the eagerness with which she was reading her letter, that felt… strange to Frances.
Or, perhaps, you have forgotten what it is like to be young and to have friends.She tried to imagine being so enthusiastic over a letter from a friend, but she could not. No one wrote to her, for her only friend was usually at her side.
“What does she have to say?” Frances tried again.
Harriet folded up the letter, a grin upon her face. “She was regaling me with what she had read in the most recent scandal sheets. It was our agreement.”
Another reasonable explanation, though Dominic would not like it. So, why was there a nagging feeling in the back of Frances’ mind that would not go away? Or was she just being tooinvolved, too overbearing, making the same mistakes she had made with her sisters?
“Sometimes, dear Franny, it is as if I cannot breathe without you questioning it,”Lucinda had once said, in a rare moment of outspoken frustration.
Frances could not recall what had caused the response, but she knew shewasoccasionally too much like a mother; the kind that society mocked for always fussing over their daughters. It came from a place of love and concern, but that was not always enough of an excuse for those burdened by it.
She has no reason to lie. Do not lose her trust now.
“If your father finds out, he will be rather cross,” she said, instead of the countless questions that trickled from that nagging suspicion in the back of her mind.
Harriet stuffed the letter down the neckline of her dress. “Then, do not tell him.” She walked back to the writing desk. “Please, do not tell him. I have so few friends; I should hate to lose one.”
Frances sighed, offering the girl a smile. “If you write your ten pages, I shall not say a word.”
The girl brightened and dutifully picked up her quill… only to realize she had snapped it. With a shrug, she selected another and resumed her work as if nothing had happened.
Frances knew she should not keep things from Dominic, but if it meant that Harriet continued to progress toward the grand objective of her debut, then perhaps she could make an exception.
“Oh,” the maid said, as she was about to leave, “His Grace also said I was to pass on a message.”
All thoughts of Harriet’s letter vanished from Frances’ mind. “What sort of message?”
“He’s asked if you’ll both accompany him for a picnic this afternoon.”
Harriet perked up. “Yes! Tell him that we will.”
Frances shook her head at her student, knowing full well why she was so enthusiastic; it meant at least one afternoon without having to practice her dances.
“It will be an opportunity to instruct me on picnic etiquette,” Harriet protested with a mischievous grin.
Aware that she would not win this, and finding that she did not truly want to, Frances puffed out a sigh. “Very well.” She looked at the maid. “Tell him that we will join him.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It is just a picnic. It is not as if you are arranging a grand ball,Dominic scolded himself as he waited for Frances and Harriet to arrive for their outdoor luncheon.
He paced the sloping bank beside the fishpond, uncertain of his choice of location. The weather was mild, the skies blue, the sun bright, the breeze pleasant, and there were not so many bothersome insects in the spring. Still, he doubted himself, wondering if it was too late to move the picnic to the gardens or the orangery, even.
“You are an idiot,” he muttered, glancing over at the array of blankets and baskets that the staff had prepared.
It was supposed to be an extension of his apology to Frances, but now it all seemed like a terrible idea. He should have just accepted her forgiveness, kept his distance, and waited out the remainder of the four weeks until the lessons were over.
“What is all this, Father?” a cheery voice shattered the din of his racing thoughts.
