“Did your mother and father get along?”
Harriet sighed like she was bored of the conversation. “All I know is, I am glad that I shall not have a marriage like theirs. I shall be one of the lucky ones, marrying for love. I shall not live apart from my husband, andhewill be there to adore his children from the very beginning.”
“Your father was absent?” Frances prompted, still trying to understand why he thought he was not a good man.
A grim sort of laugh bubbled up from deep in Harriet’s chest. “I barely knew him until we came here and Mama died.” She paused, staring down into her lap. “Afterward, I do not think he knew what to do with me, and I just wanted my mother. I did not want to be here in this far away manor without her, in thecompany of a father who was a stranger. I shall let you imagine what that was like.”
A chill ran down Frances’ spine as she tried to picture two lost, confused souls, existing in the same house, uncertain of how to approach each other. A child would surely feel abandoned, while someone who felt ill-equipped to raise a child would retreat, making everything worse. It was how things might have been if Frances had not stepped up to take care of her sisters.
“But we are excellent now,” Harriet chirped, shifting so quickly between moods that it made Frances’ head spin. “It took us a while, but he is my papa now, not just the duke I am related to.”
Frances smiled back. “That is a fine thing, Harriet.”
The situation was beginning to make a little more sense. Of course, a father would feel tremendous guilt if he felt he had not done enough for his child. Of course, he would believe he was not a good man if he felt he had let his wife and daughter down.
But he cannot be that man anymore, if Harriet does not think he is.
She was about to change the subject to something altogether more pleasant, feeling she had inquired enough about Dominic’s past, when a knock came at the door.
A maid entered, carrying a small silver tray. “Lady Harriet, Lady Frances. There are letters for you both.”
Harriet nearly knocked over the vanity chair in her hurry to receive hers, while Frances did not move. There were only three people who knew where she was, and she feared the response from at least one of them. After all, it had been a fortnight since her arrival, and she still had not received word from her father.
She glanced at Catherine, who had gone rather pale.
“My lady?” The maid came forward and put the letter in Frances’ hand, while Harriet darted out of the room to read hers in private.
The moment Frances turned the letter over, her heart sank. Her father’s wax seal.
“What did I tell you?” Catherine said with a wince, as she approached. “A fortnight and he’d be begging you to come back.”
Frances considered casting it into the fireplace, so she never had to discover what it said. But her fingertips were already sliding beneath the fold of the paper, breaking the wax seal.
Tell me you never want to see me again. Tell me I am not welcome. Give me a reason to petition Dominic to stay here,she pleaded silently as she took herself to a nearby chair, fearing she might need the additional stability. Whichever way the letter went, it would likely not be something she wanted to hear.
With a shaky breath and shakier hands, she began to read:
Frances,
This silliness has gone on long enough. Society has forgotten all about your little misdemeanor. Indeed, I have heard from a trustworthy source that even Lord Sherbourne is laughing about it now, so there is no need for your dramatic exile anymore.
Your sisters need your assistance, and Mrs. Garstang does not, in fact, know everything that you know. Instead, it seems she knows nothing at all. It is time for you to return home, Frances. Juliet is beside herself with worry about her debut and she does not want to proceed without you. If you stubbornly remain where you are, gallivanting, then she will not debut at all, and you will be to blame.
However, I am not unreasonable, nor would I wish to invoke the wrath of a duke. Conclude your endeavors as courteously as possible; I expect you home by the end of next week.
Your Sincerely,
S. Whitlock, Earl of Highbridge.
No request to know how she was faring. No apology for his conduct in the aftermath of her scandal. No real confession that they were not coping without her, nor any gratitude for the tireless effort that had kept them all afloat. No informal signature to let her know that she was more than just an asset. No “you are missed” or “Yours Faithfully, Father.” Just a coldreminder that she was only worth the purpose she could serve to the family.
“You truly must be a clairvoyant, Cathy,” Frances said stiffly, unable to look at her friend and maid. If she did, she knew she would burst into tears.
Catherine settled a tentative hand on Frances’ arm. “He has asked you to come back?”
“He has.” Frances sucked in a breath and blinked rapidly to hold back those tears. “Goodness, this is silly. What am I sad for? I should be glad that I am welcome again. I should be glad that I am finally going home to my sisters.”
“Because you have been yourself here,” Catherine replied softly. “Yes, you’ve had to teach Lady Harriet, but the rest of the time has been your own.”
