The younger woman grinned. “Apologies, Franny. I am just so glad to see you again, and sofascinatedto find out where you have been. I cannot remember the last time you did somethingso exciting. It is about time, for you deserve an exciting adventure!”
“Slapping a viscount is no longer considered exciting?” Frances asked with a raised eyebrow, though she too could not deny that she was glad to be with her sisters again. “Goodness, you make me sound so very dull.”
“Not dull,” Juliet countered. “Just… dependable.”
From the drawing room down the hall, Lucinda’s sleepy voice groaned, “Juliet, that is worse!”
“How is it worse? Dependable is a lovely thing. Dull is not,” Juliet argued. “And do not start giving me synonyms and etymologies; I am not interested.Iknow that ‘dependable’ is a nice word.”
Tired and disheartened as she was, it took a great deal of effort for Frances to smother a smirk, as she caught the tiniest glimpse of how things might have been in this house without her.Shewas usually the mediator between her sisters, so it was a surprise to see that both of them appeared to be in one piece.
“Anyone who has been called ‘dependable’ would probably argue,” Lucinda replied, as she padded down the hallway to join the greeting. “Mules are dependable. Housekeepers are dependable.”
“If you are going to be like this, you can return to the drawing room and stay there,” Juliet muttered.
The three sisters could not have been more different: where Frances was rather short and somewhat plump, Juliet was of middling height and willowy figure, and unreasonably pretty; while Lucinda was the tallest of the three and of a sturdier build, with a classical beauty that any painter would have relished capturing. Where Frances’ hair was dark brown, the color lightened as the sisters got younger: Lucinda having the loveliest, thickest chestnut locks, while Juliet had an almost autumnal hue to hers. The eyes, however, were the same, though Lucinda’s were framed by spectacles that, unlike Frances, she insisted on wearing always.
With a pointed push of those spectacles, Lucinda put her arms around Frances. “It is good to have you back, Franny. You have been sorely missed, for you are the only person in this household who can hold an intelligent conversation.” She pulled back, casting a glare at Juliet. “You would think that Juliet is the only lady in the entire country who has ever debuted, and I cannot hear about it anymore.”
“Then stay in the drawing room!” Juliet repeated, pronouncing each word slowly, as she waved a hand down the hallway.
Frances put up her hands. “Now, now, if you cannot get along then I shall have to scamper off again to my friends in the countryside.”
The intended jest tapped on her heart, cracking it.
What would Dominic and Harriet be doing now? Were they dining together, wishing she was there? Had they quarreled, despite what Frances had said about it not being Dominic’s fault? Was Harriet poring over her notes and performing the tasks that Frances had left?
Is he thinking of me?
“We will be peaceable,” Lucinda promised with a frown. “You look tired, Franny. You should retire for the evening. I can have someone bring dinner up to you.”
Frances gave a weary nod. “I think I shall.” She forced a smile. “But it really is good to see you both again. I missed you.”
“Not nearly as much as we missed you,” Juliet jumped in. “Nothing works without you here. But when you are rested, youmusttell us everything about your adventure!”
And that is why I shall never be allowed to leave, because nothing works here without me,Frances realized with startling clarity. She did not want to behave like her father, ushering her sisters into marriages for her own benefit, but as long as they remained unmarried, she would always be here.
He would never admit it, but her father had clearly come to that conclusion too: that nothing in the household worked if she was not there. And that could only mean one thing. Spinsterhood.
“Goodnight, you two,” she choked out, as she hurried straight up the stairs and into the familiar surroundings of her bedchamber.
Rushing to the window, she drew back the drapes and looked out at the early evening scene: carriages trundling by, people walking in a hurry, a few servants walking dogs in the small, oval park opposite, the lamplighters whistling as they began to make their rounds. A sight she had once enjoyed. Now, she wished it were all green lawns and wild woodland, a place where hooting owls and shrieking foxes were the only sounds likely to disturb her peace.
Puffy-faced and bleary-eyed, Frances shambled into the breakfast room, feeling as if she had lost a brawl. She had bathed and slept the night before, but her dreams had been overrun by visions of a wild and windswept man on horseback, charging across endless lawns to try and reach her, but she had always, somehow, been too far away.
“Ah, there you are,” came a less than welcome voice. “I heard you had returned.”
She rubbed her dry eyes and squinted at her father, half-hidden behind the open pages of the morning newspaper. “You did not think to knock and welcome me home?”
“What?” Her father folded down a corner of the paper to look at her. “Why would I do a thing like that? I knew you were at home, and that is all that mattered.”
Shaking her head, Frances sat down in her usual seat and helped herself to strong tea and slightly scorched toast. As she took her first sip of the warming tea, she stared at her father. He had retreated behind his paper again, yet she continued to stare, willing him to meet her gaze and apologize, silently urging him to show one speck of gratitude.
“I trust you did not insult the duke?” he asked, a short while later.
She did not dignify that with a response. Instead, she took an aggressive bite of her toast, much to the wide-eyed astonishment of the footman who had the poor fortune of watching the household eat their breakfast.
Her father lowered his paper again. “Frances? Did you hear me?”
