“I will decide after your month is done,” he replied, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“You realize that will be to her disadvantage? Next Season would be better.”
He shrugged. “It is not what she wants. She will not be pleased if she must wait another year. So, as I said, either you believe you can do it or you do not.”
Harriet is beautiful enough that the rest might not matter…After all, she was a duke’s only daughter. The trouble was, the ‘rest’ always mattered… and after what she had seen of Harriet’sdecorum and behavior, she was already at a severe disadvantage. The scandal sheets would relish tearing her apart.
Suddenly brimming with her own tingle of suspicion, she tilted her head and took a closer look at the duke’s handsome face. She had assumed he had no understanding of society, especially considering there had been no recent information about him at all during her brief bout of research, but perhaps she was wrong.
Perhaps, it wasbecauseof his understanding that he clearly had so little respect for the institution. Still, hehadput out that advertisement, so maybe he was making an exception to his disapproval for his daughter’s sake.
“Well… what are your objectives?” she pressed. “Do you want her to make a prosperous match or a love match? Do you want her to marry as soon as possible, or do you just want her to be in society as soon as possible?”
He stared at her as if she were speaking gibberish. “I have not thought about it.”
“Do you not think you should, as her father?” she countered, perplexed beyond measure.
If he was not interested in his daughter’s debut and did not care for society, then why place that advertisement at all? She might have suspected that Harriet was the one who had placed the advertisement, yet the duke obviously knew about it. So, why was he doing everything in his power to make it so difficult?
“Have you bothered to ask Lady Harriet whatshemight want from this?” Frances pressed, though it set her nerves jittering.
He was a duke; she should not be speaking to him so forcefully. But what choice did she have, if she was to have a hope of remaining here?
“All my daughter wants is to debut,” he replied flatly. “She is eight-and-ten. It is time for it.”
Frances dipped her head in a sharp nod. “Well then, that is something. A place to begin.” She paused. “Fathers have all sorts of expectations when it comes to their daughters’ debut. I… politely suggest that you consider what yours are, and inform me, so that I can bear it in mind as I prepare Lady Harriet.”
He took a half-step toward her, assessing her as if she were some strange creature who had just appeared in his drawing room. And when he took another half-step forward, she knew she ought to match his approach with a retreat of her own. Yet, she remained rooted to the spot, unwilling to sacrifice an inch of the ground she had gained.
The air thinned, her head swirling with dizziness as she struggled to take a full breath. He was so very close. Close enough that she could smell the rain and the earth on his skin, and better see the shape of the freckle in his eye: like one of the stars twinkling in the night sky. And on his cheek, a streak of dirt that she longed to wipe away with her handkerchief.
He said nothing, a frown knitting his eyebrows.
Evidently, he had been expecting her to leave, to look at all the pitfalls and problems of fulfilling this task and decide it was not worth it. Well, he did not know the dogged determination of Frances Whitlock when she put her mind to something.
At the very least, it means a month away from my scandal. Maybe, that will be enough time for everyone to forget…And, perhaps, she might return in time to at least see Juliet head out to her debut ball.
“I accept,” she said, in case it was not obvious. “I accept the position.”
His frown deepened, his gaze searching her face as if she were a book to be read. Her cheeks bloomed with a warmth she could not hide, though it was not the familiar heat of embarrassment or anger; it was more like shyness, without the sting of feeling awkward.
Perhaps, it was the blush of being seen, after so long stuck being invisible.
“You will teach her?” he asked, his voice carrying a dark note of distrust.
She nodded. “I will teach her as if she were one of my own sisters.”
Tension bristled through his rigid posture, the cords standing out in his neck as if he were trying to hold something back.He folded his arms behind his back, Frances gulping quietly as it forced his chest forward, for there was barely enough room between them for propriety as it was. He did not speak, his fascinating eyes simply fixed upon her, clearly trying to find some hint of deceit that he would not discover.
“Mrs. Farrow!” he barked suddenly, making Frances jump.
Footsteps clacked across the entrance hall, the familiar, friendly face of the housekeeper appearing a moment later. “Your Grace?” she said, bowing her head. “Are you ready for tea?”
“Find a chamber for the tutor and her companion,” he replied, as if Frances were not there. “Introduce them to the staff and show them around. I will take tea in my rooms when you are done.”
With no acknowledgement whatsoever, leaving her without the fierce gaze that she had just been getting used to, the duke walked out. But not without muttering the death knell of “one month” as he left.
One month. I can do that. Surely, I can do that. How hard can it be?She prayed that thought would not come back to bite her as she offered a weary smile to the housekeeper.
