“Oh, I thought it was rhetorical,” she replied crisply.
“He must have been furious about the inconvenience you caused,” her father pressed. “I do hope you left on decent terms, for he might know people who can ruin Juliet’s chances of success.”
Frances took another aggressive bite of her toast while she held her father’s eye. “Youcaused the inconvenience, Father. I would have been perfectly happy to stay with the duke and his household for the rest of the Season. His daughter wanted me to, but your letter had already arrived, and the duke is reasonable enough that he did not want to leaveyouwithout assistance.”
Her father’s eyes flashed with annoyance, but she did not falter. The days of being afraid to put a toe out of line were gone, for that letter had proven that she was invaluable. It was not that she could simply do as she pleased now, but she also did not have to tolerate things she would have accepted before.
“Well, that is… very decent of him,” her father mumbled. “I hope this girl you were tutoring will not be competition for Juliet, though.”
“She is debuting at the same time. What do you think?” Frances replied.
Her father set down his newspaper and sat a little straighter in his chair, his expression haughty. “Frances, I do not think I like this new attitude of yours. Clearly, the countryside does not agree with you.” He paused, his frown deepening. “The sooner you return to normality, the better.”
“I am more concerned that the city does not agree with me,” she said, as she washed her toast down with a gulp of tea, channeling some of Harriet’s worst etiquette crimes. “Did you miss me at all?”
Her father scoffed and reached for his newspaper again. “I wrote in my letter that we needed you.”
“I did not ask if you needed me, I asked if you missed me,” she pressed. “Not my ability to hold this household together, not what I can add to this household through marriage, but me. Just me. Did you miss me?”
“You are being ridiculous, Frances,” he said behind his quavering shield.
“My sisters can say it,” she remarked. “Why do you find it impossible?”
He sighed quietly, as if he wished the conversation would go away. “Because once you start missing things, people, everything unravels,” he said, a moment later. “You can never be satisfied if you miss what is not there. You cannot… endure.”
His response knocked the air out of her, as she sat back in shock. Of all the things she had expected him to say, it had not been that. It was the closest to sentimental she had ever seen him, despite him being hidden behind his newspaper.
“Do you miss Mama?” she asked, emboldened.
“That is enough, Frances,” he said, a slight catch in his voice. “I am… grateful that you have returned to us, and now I should like to enjoy the rest of my breakfast in peace.”
Her next bite of toast lacked the same violence, chewing thoughtfully, trying to imagine her father’s expression behind his newspaper. He had not given her the answer she might have hoped to hear, but, from him, it was practically a confession, a confirmation that, in his own way, he missed her mother. Perhaps, he had even loved her, and the years of distance and disregard had merely been his way of surviving the loss of her.
As she sipped her tea, she imagined herself in the breakfast room at Alderwick, Dominic sitting across from her with that intense gaze of his. She thought of him smiling as she gently chided Harriet for some misstep or other.
I miss him already.
Unlike her father, she was not ashamed to admit it, even if it meant that her whole life began to unravel. Even if it meant that she would never be satisfied, so far away from Dominic, missing the daydream of what her lifecouldhave been if he had just asked her to stay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Three weeks passed by in a blur of stress and activity, running hither and thither to collect gowns, alter gowns, fetch a million things, write a thousand replies to invitations, at the beck and call of two anxious sisters and a father who had returned to depending solely on Frances.
She had not had a moment to herself since her return, her name echoing through the hallways of the Highbridge townhouse with grating frequency. She had accompanied Lucinda to bookshops and tea shops and on outings with her few close friends. She had walked through Hyde Park with both sisters, at different times, so often that, while bathing, she had noticed a new muscularity to her legs.
Companion, chaperone, lady’s maid, confidante, seamstress, tutor, housekeeper, host, scribe, decorator, modiste, disciplinarian, organizer, and general mistress of everyone’s schedules: she had lost track of all of the mantles she was expected to don.
Her sisters gushed with gratitude, of course, and let her know how much they appreciated her and had missed her, but that did not do much to alleviate the stress of it all.
“My lady, can I fetch you some tea? Draw you a bath?” Catherine urged, as Frances lumbered in from a vicious downpour, dripping water all over the entrance hall.
“I do not have time,” Frances replied, shivering. “I must make sure everything is in order for tomorrow. Goodness, I do not even have a dress for myself.”
She padded over to the staircase and sank down on the bottom step, hunching over as she held her head in her hands.
Catherine approached and crouched down to Frances’ level. “Why are you soaked through, my lady? I’m fairly certain you left in a carriage.”
“I went into Penwortham’s to order some cakes for next week, in case anyone calls upon Juliet or Lucinda,” Frances replied wearily. “By the time I emerged, the carriage was gone. My sisters had engagements to attend with friends, and I fear they misunderstood me. I think they thought I said that I would see them later, and perhaps they thought I had an engagement of my own. Maybe, that is what Ididsay; I can hardly remember.”
