“A lemon ice. Of course.” Frances swallowed, her nerves rising like an ominous tide.
“Unless… Do you want company?” Lucinda asked and, for a moment, Frances could have cried.
It was the kindest offer that anyone had made to her in weeks, with everyone being so busy and having so many engagements to attend that there had been no time for the sisters to just be with one another. And it was spoken with such earnest intention that Frances was almost reluctant to refuse.
But he might be waiting…
“No, thank you,” she said with a small smile. “I shall not be long, and someone needs to ensure that the chaperones do not wander off, and to make up an excuse as to why Father has disappeared.”
Lucinda chuckled and pretended to salute. “A chaperone for the chaperones.” She paused. “Enjoy your fresh air, Franny. You have earned it.”
Does she know? No, she cannot possibly.
“I will be back soon,” Frances managed to blurt out, before she turned and began the arduous task of weaving in and out of hundreds of guests who had very little inclination to get out of her way.
Soon enough, however, she found herself in the eerie quiet of the back hallways, where no one with any sense or propriety had any reason to be. Her footsteps echoed on the marble, eachclackmaking her wince: what if someone heard and came to investigate? The scandal with Lord Sherbourne would be nothing compared to the catastrophe that would befall her if anyone saw her going to meet Dominic in secret.
“What are you doing?” she whispered to herself, as she squinted at the signs that pointed the way to the winter garden. “This is madness. This is… the most foolish thing you have ever done.”
Yet, she found she did not care nearly as much as she probably should. The past three weeks had shown her what she could expect from life in London, and it was not enough. She loved her family, even her father, but it was not enough. What did she have that was just her own? Nothing. Even her bedchamber was a concourse that people flowed through at will, no one bothering to knock, just striding in with one demand or question or task or other.
Before Alderwick, she had not known anything different. But her time away had changed everything, and she missed that taste of freedom, when her life had mostly been her own.
Perhaps that was why she felt a little more daring, because the nerves and the doubt and the excitement reminded her that her lifewashers to do with as she pleased.
There is always a choice…
Just then, she came to the double doors that marked the entrance to the winter garden. The left-hand door stood slightly ajar, letting in a draft that made her skin prickle into gooseflesh. She had not thought to retrieve her cloak, figuring it would make her look more suspicious.
“This is so stupid,” she murmured, and slipped out into the chilly night.
In the gloom, a long path stretched ahead of her, flanked by laurel bushes that were just beginning to sprout their white spring flowers. At the farthest end, beneath the canopy of two cherry blossoms that had already shed their petals, stood a tall wooden gate.
She rested her hand on her chest, moving her palm in slow circles to try and ease the strain of her lungs, and walked toward that gate, imagining it was truly a gateway into a winter realm. A place of snow and fur-trimmed cloaks and red-breasted robins, where Dominic might take her hands and warm them in his.
The gate gave as she pushed it. Unlocked, as he had promised it would be.
You will ruin yourself,some still-sensible part of her mind warned, as she carefully set the gate back in the jamb, and squinted out into the darkness. Maybe, some not-so-sensible part of her mind wanted her to, so she could leave London and find purpose elsewhere. Alderwick, if Dominic would have her.
She took a few hesitant steps, her eyes slowly adjusting to the vague shapes of bushes and trees, and a structure a short distance away. A pavilion of some sort, judging by the slanted roof.
“I did not know if you would come,” a low, rumbling voice made her breath catch. “I thought, perhaps, Lord Ainsley had persuaded you to dance instead.”
She frowned, her heart racing faster. “Where are you?”
The thud of footfalls on wood drew her gaze back to the pavilion, where a shadow began to emerge from the darkness. Tall and broad-shouldered and unmistakably Dominic; she would have known him blindfolded, by sense alone.
Then, he was in front of her, his soft smile taking the raw edge off her nerves. In his hands, he held what appeared to be a blanket.
“I thought you might need this,” he said, stepping closer, bringing the warm, woolen blanket around her shoulders.
But he did not release the edges of the blanket, so it could drape over her. Instead, he held on for a moment, and pulled gently, her body stumbling forward. Worried that she might lose her balance, or at least that was what she told herself, her hands came to rest on Dominic’s chest, grasping his lapel for additional stability.
“She is dancing well,” Frances said breathlessly, relishing in the solidity of his chest, and the warmth that radiated from his powerful body. She would not have needed the blanket it all, if he would just hold her against him.
“Because of you,” he replied, his eyes shining in the low light. “You transformed her, Frances.”
She shook her head. “She transformed herself. I just encouraged her.” She paused, her thoughts drifting backward. “But why would you think I was dancing with Lord Ainsley?”
