“Stay out of this,” he retorted.
“Shame?” Frances croaked, finding her voice again. “With respect, Your Grace, the shame is not mine. The Viscount was the shameful one.”
“So, you are not sorry you struck him?” The duke’s expression hardened.
Breathing rather too quickly, Frances wished he would just turn his gaze elsewhere for a moment, so she might be able to gather herself. How was she supposed to answer him without getting flustered when he was looking at her with such intensity? No man had ever paid her such close attention before.
“I am sorry that I struck him in such a public place, but I am not sorry that he received due punishment,” she replied, glancing at Harriet. “If your daughter had been in my situation, and there was no one to help her, I would hope that she, too, would not permit gentlemen to get away with uncouth behavior.”
“Does your father know you are here?” the duke asked flatly.
Frances winced, willing the housekeeper to arrive with the tea things so she might have a brief reprieve. “No, he does not. He will not care. It is better for him if I am nowhere near my family at present.”
Or Juliet will suffer…
“You have fled your father and your home, and you come here with the assumption that your station will gain you employment.” It was not a question. “You assume that, because I am a duke and a father, I should feel some duty to protect the daughter of a fellow peer. You are mistaken. You are clearly old enough to know better.”
Frances sat back, her head swimming, her entire body feeling as if it had been pummeled by the insult he had just thrown at her. A boiling blend of humiliation, frustration, anger, and despair had replaced the blood in her veins, leaving her with the same snapping sensation that had prompted her to smack Lord Sherbourne in the face.
Why did all these men, these supposedgentlemen, think they could speak to her however they pleased? Why did they think she would just tolerate it and bow her head? Did she radiate weakness, like a cornered rabbit?
“Father, how can you be so unkind?” Harriet jumped in, coming around to the front of the settee to sit beside him.
Frances watched in mild horror as the young woman balanced one foot on the opposite knee, sitting in a most unladylike fashion. If Harriet was to stand any chance of being successful in society, she certainlydidneed an education.
You see, Father. If it were not for me, all of your daughters might be as… uncivilized as this.
“Retire to your chambers, Harriet,” the duke commanded. “I would speak with this fugitive alone.”
With a brazen disregard that Frances would never have dared to show in front ofherfather, Harriet rolled her eyes, huffing as she lurched to her feet with all the grace of a tin miner.
“I do not see why I should,” she muttered. “She is meant to bemytutor. Whatever you have to say to her, you can surely say in front of me. But what do I know?”
The duke flashed his daughter a warning look.
“Very well.” Harriet groaned. “I am leaving. Heaven forbid I should be present when anything remotely interesting happens around here.”
She shuffled toward the drawing room door, the scuffing sound alerting Frances to the crumpled backs of the younger woman’s slippers, exposing bare heels. Evidently, the task of preparing her for society would be a tremendous undertaking, for though the girl was spirited and had been welcoming and kind, society did not care about that. Society cared about appearances, both physical and dispositional and reputational.
“And you,” the duke growled, as he tipped his chin toward Catherine. “Take your leave.”
The maid went rigid at Frances’ side, her face draining of color.
The duke furrowed his brow, his gaze returning to Frances. “Is she mute?”
“She is shy,” Frances replied stiffly, her hand reaching for Catherine’s. “And you are frightening her.”
His lip curled. “Take your leave. I shall not ask again.”
With a wild-eyed glance at Frances, Catherine hurried to rise from the settee. Clutching her carpet bag of belongings to her chest as if it could protect her from this man, she mouthed,I’m sorry,and fled the drawing room. Although not before she closed the door behind her, the act a habit after years of being a maid.
“Well?” Frances said thickly, uncertain of how to feel about being left alone with the duke. “There are no witnesses now. What is it you wish to speak to me about in such privacy?”
She could hardly believe such bold words had spilled from her mouth, yet there was no way to stuff them back in. Perhaps, it was Harriet’s brazen influence, or perhaps the years of being taken for granted and disrespected had finally caught up to her.
With her family, she would bear it, because that was her duty. With this man, this stranger, she was not going to beg for anyone’s approval anymore.
“And, actually, I am no fugitive,” she added with her finger raised. “I left a letter for my father. He will have read it by now,so I was mistaken when I said he did not know where I am. One can be forgetful when one has traveled a great distance with very little sleep and almost nothing to eat.”
