Frances’ hand moved to her tight chest, rubbing slow circles in an attempt to relieve the feeling. Her shallow breaths, as she drew them in, were shaky and barely able to fill her lungs.
The truth flared in her mind like a firework on a moonless night: she did not want to go back. She wanted to see her sisters, always, butasa sister and not the woman who had to solve every problem, perform every task, keep them safe, and nag them into obedience, for their own sake. They teased her for being overbearing at times, not realizing that overbearing was better than not caring at all, and that, sometimes, it was the only way to get them to do anything for themselves.
“When?” Catherine prompted.
Closing her eyes, Frances swallowed past the lump in her throat. “By the end of next week.”
“Lady Harriet will be more than prepared by then. She may not be the diamond of the Season, but she will surely be a jewel because of you,” Catherine told her, presumably to cheer her, but it missed the mark.
Despite herself, Franceshadbeen imagining a longer tenure with Harriet and Dominic. She had imagined hiding away from society in their London residence, helping Harriet in the lead up to her debut, and potentially sneaking out to see her sisters, without having to return to her family home. Spending more time with Dominic, to see if the muslin meant something, to teachhimthat he was not the terrible man he clearly thought he was.
It would have been the best of all worlds. Now, those worlds were crumbling, her foolish daydreams along with them.
“I should inform His Grace,” she said, rising from the chair.
What she really meant was,I should start saying my goodbyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Fine rain had begun to drizzle from the skies, cutting short Dominic’s pleasant afternoon ride. He had been riding a lot more in the past week, to give himself an excuse to be away from the manor, to be away from Frances.
In truth, he missed being around her.
Throughout the last few days, keeping to the solitude of his study, he had come to realize something: he had never been happier or more at ease than he had been since Frances came to Alderwick. He had not smiled so much in decades. He had not laughed so freely in just as long. All his life, he had never sought companionship, for his father had told him it was not necessary, but all he wanted was to be in her company: to converse, to wander, to jest, to express his sense of humor, to have a reason to give gifts, to feel… normal.
Not to mention, her presence seemed to smoothen the relationship between him and Harriet. He could speak to his daughter with greater ease, because Frances made it easy.
But what can I offer her?he mused as he handed his horse off to the stable groom and ran his fingertips through his rain-dampened hair.
She is the firstborn daughter of an earl; she is not some educated girl from Bath who would accept a lesser position than she is worth.
And if Harriet should find a love match in her debut Season, there would be no excuse at all to keep Frances around. He could not very well keep a tutor or a lady’s companion at Alderwick when there was no lady there anymore.
He took the long way around to the front of the manor and paused on the narrow stone terrace for a moment. The falling rain blurred the landscape, while the sound of the droplets hitting the leaves of the trees was surprisingly soothing.
I could just ask her to stay. An offer of a sanctuary. A hiding place, indefinitely.
That also presented its own array of difficulties. If anyone were to find out that the Earl of Highbridge’s unwed eldest was living at Alderwick with him, then Frances would once again find her name splashed across the scandal sheets. Harriet, too, might suffer for it. Frances’ sisters, in addition.
“Just for the Season,” he murmured to himself. “Just until Harriet no longer needs her… or I can figure something else out.”
Just until I no longer need her…He sighed wearily. By that standard, Frances would never leave.
For the greater truth was, he was beginning to feel like a better man with her around. Like a man whocouldbe good, if he just put in the right effort, and she was not someone who would allow him to be lax in that regard.
Tempted by the notion of a hot bath, for nothing aided in clearing and arranging his thoughts quite so well, he headed into the manor.
“Your Grace?”
He blinked, momentarily uncertain whether Frances’ voice was coming from his mind or if he had actually heard it.
“Your Grace?” she repeated, drawing his attention to the hallway on the left.
Frances stood there, framed by the archway, her head bowed and her shoulders curved, her hands clasped in front of her stomach. The very picture oftruecontrition, not the overzealous performance that Harriet had used to gain herself a trip to Bath.
It worried him.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, approaching.
