“Harriet would be glad to have you to talk to,” he said with a half-smile. “And I would be glad of your company.”
Frances met his gaze, and hoped her expression was sterner than the feelings that whirled and crackled within her. “We shall see. I cannot make any promises.”
“I shall wait,” he replied.
Narrowing her eyes, she shook her head. “You should not, or the dinner may get cold.”
She walked off before he could say something else to confuse and infuriate her, but as her hand came to rest on her chest, where her heart pounded so viciously, she could almost feel the heat of the tiny flame of hope that his invitation had reignited.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Dominic eyed the decanter of brandy on the side-table, tempted to pour himself a heartier measure than the one in his glass. The clock on the mantelpiece read a quarter to six, but his nervous anticipation had him feeling like it was eight o’clock and he was still fruitlessly waiting for Frances to come to dinner.
“Mrs. Farrow!” he called out, entirely unaccustomed to such a lack of control. The sensation did not sit well with him, but there had been no other choice; he could not have commanded Frances to come and dine with him. It had to be her decision.
The housekeeper entered a moment later, a funny, strained look upon her face, as if she were trying very hard not to laugh. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Is everything prepared?”
“It is, Your Grace,” she replied. “Nothing has been moved since you asked ten minutes ago.”
“The flowers are still fresh?”
She nodded. “They haven’t yet wilted, Your Grace. I daresay it’ll be a couple of days at least before they do.”
He was painfully aware of his neurosis, his behavior wholly out of character. The servants probably thought he had gone mad, caring so much about a simple dinner with one guest. He wished he had the means to calm his nerves, but the small measure of brandy was doing nothing to help, and if he dranktoomuch, the evening would be a catastrophe.
“Everything is ready to be served when she arrives?” he pressed.
Mrs. Farrow smiled. “It is, Your Grace. We are all so pleased to welcome Lady Frances back, as I am sure you are.”
He cast her a hard look that told her she was stepping toward the edge of what he would tolerate. “And Harriet? Has she emerged yet?”
“Not since her bath, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said, her tone shifting from amused to concerned. “She left an empty bowl outside her door, so she ate the soup at luncheon at least. I knocked and asked if she wanted some help preparing for dinner, but there was no answer. She must still be sleeping.”
Dominic sat back in the armchair, tapping his fingertip against the side of his brandy glass in perplexed thought. “Should I send someone for a physician?”
“I have seen it before, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said with a grimace. “These young ladies, they indulge too much; they don’t know how to be sensible until they are at least a few weeks into the Season.”
“My daughter does not imbibe,” he replied coolly, as he thought back to the night before.
He could not remember seeing Harriet with anything but lemonade in her hand, and she had not left his sight, save for a few dances with insipid young gentlemen. Then again, shehadseemed rather out of sorts as the night had worn on, spending most of the night seated, and asking to leave early.
“Sometimes, people sneak liquor to the punch,” Mrs. Farrow said confidently. “The younger gentlemen make a game of it, or so I’ve heard. Harriet might not have known she was imbibing.”
Dominic dipped his head in a somber nod, for he could well believe that theton’ssons might find such a thing amusing. He had encountered plenty of their ilk whenhewas a young man, who reveled in the misfortune of others and toying with people. He suspected it made them feel powerful, for it was often those of lower station: second and third sons, the heirs of barons and baronets.
“If she does not come down to dinner, make sure you take some more soup to her later,” he instructed. “If she is no better in the morning, I shall fetch the physician.”
The housekeeper nodded. “Very good, Your Grace.” She paused. “Can I bring you anything before?—”
A bell jingled to announce the arrival of a visitor, and Dominic shot up out of his chair, knocking back the brandy in one gulp.
She is here…He glanced at the clock.And she is early.
Stifling a chuckle, Mrs. Farrow headed out of the room to answer the door. Meanwhile, Dominic stood there without the faintest notion of what to do with himself, unsettled by Frances’ talent for throwing him into disarray. Before he met her, everything had been stable and ordered, with no feeling to trouble him beyond mild annoyance at one problem or another.
Now, he appeared to be a vessel for feelings he could not name and had never felt before, each one altering the foundation of who he had thought he was.
