Frances swallowed her mouthful of apple too soon and almost choked. “What do you want to know about him?”
“I am not sure.” Dominic cleared his throat as ifhewere the one who had some fruit stuck. “You have not mentioned a mother, though I can only assume you have one.”
“Had,” Frances said quietly, as she reached for a glass of cloudy lemonade and sipped away the discomfort. Both the literal and the figurative.
“Ah…” He nodded slowly. “And that is why you have been the one to care for your sisters?”
“It is.”
His brow furrowed at that, his gaze fixed upon the ripples that disturbed the lake’s surface. “Your father did not employ governesses?”
“I was twelve when she passed,” Frances explained, a different sort of lump lodged in her throat. “We had tutors and governesses for our education, but my father saw no need to employ anyone else to take care of us. I was old enough to take that role.”
Dominic turned abruptly, his frown deepening. “At twelve? That is no more than a child.”
She had no choice but to shrug, her mind drifting back to the first months after her mother was gone. She too had waited for someone more capable, more mature, to take over, but no onecame. And she had soon realized that it was up to her, or they would all flounder.
“I did not think about that at the time,” she replied. “Juliet, she is the youngest; she did not fully understand the situation, for she was but five years old. Lucinda was seven. She mostly just missed our mother and, though she understood what had happened, she struggled with the… permanence of it. All children, I think, struggle to comprehend how something, someone, can just be gone.”
Dominic averted his gaze. “Not just children.”
“No…” She saw the furrowing of his brow and wondered if he was thinking ofher. The wife he had lost. The mother Harriet still mourned. The woman who had left such an obvious void in her wake: her husband a relative hermit, her daughter woefully unprepared and untrained for a life in society.
“Butyouwere a child,” he repeated, his body turning toward her, that expression of sharp memory gone from his face. “That is too great a burden for one so young.”
Frances picked up another apple slice, just to give her hands something to do. “But I got more time with our mama. I suppose I felt I… owed something in exchange for that. And there was no one else to play mother to my sisters, so it had to be me.” She nibbled the apple and swallowed, taking a moment to settle her thoughts. “My father could not do it, and he did not want anyone replacing my mother, so he refused to consider nannies or anything like that.”
Another silence stretched between them, less awkward but more weighted than the first. There was more that Frances could have said but she held her tongue, hoping that Dominic might fill the quiet with a similar story about his daughter’s mother. His wife. The ghost who seemed to haunt these grounds.
Did you love her so much that she could never be replaced in your heart or home? Is that why you will never remarry?
They were questions she both wanted the answers to and was apprehensive to hear. Although, she did not know why. Why should she be anxious about hearing how much he had loved his wife? Why did she feel a faint tremor of dismay that he just might have loved his wife that much, and may love her still? What business was it of hers?
“He must have loved your mother,” Dominic said, his tone flat.
An unexpected laugh found its way to Frances’ lips and her hand moved to cover it, to hide her smile. “It is strange, but I cannot say for certain. I think they were dear to one another, and I think they had a wonderful friendship, but love? Romantic love?” She shook her head. “If youdidknow him, you would understand my doubts.”
“Then, he felt obliged to her.”
Frances’ laughter faded, her hand falling back down to her lap. “Was that a question?”
“A theory,” he replied.
Is that what your situation was? Obligation?She did not dare to hope, and he was too unreadable to know with any certainty. Of course, she could have asked, but to muster the nerve to utter those words tohim… No, it was impossible; they were not familiar enough for that sort of candor.
She ignored the fact that they had been familiar enough for him to put his arm around her in his study and stay, mostly alone, with her at a picnic. If she thought aboutthattoo hard, she would not be able to speak at all.
“Oh… well, I do not know if it was that, exactly, but he certainly had no desire to marry again. My mother made his life very easy, and I suppose he did not want to risk disruption. And he was five-and-forty; he probably could not stomach the effort it would take to court, marry, rebuild again,” she said instead, with a theory of her own. “I have a cousin who will inherit, and my father seems perfectly content with that. All he needs to do now is get at least one of us married off.”
She snorted involuntarily, her hand rushing to cover her mouth again. As the eldest, she knew she should have been the one to lead the marital charge, but all she could do was laugh about the hopelessness ofthatparticular outcome. Still, to snort like that was most unladylike.
“Do not do that,” he said softly. Strangely.
Embarrassment threatened to turn her cheeks as red as the strawberry tart that Harriet had gobbled down. “I did not mean to. It just… came out. I do not usually make such… um… uncivilized sounds.”
“That is not what I meant,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. “I meant, do not cover your mouth when you laugh.”
“Oh…”
