“Pardon?” Her head snapped up.
“I saw,” he repeated with a smile. “After your severe chiding last night, I thought it prudent to know what is being said about my daughter. I despise it, naturally, but it is better to be informed. Besides, I thought there might be a chance of seeingournames written there.”
Her spoon clattered against the side of the shallow bowl, her cheeks pinkening as she hastened to pick it up again. “That is not funny, Dominic.”
I could hear her say that for the rest of my life.
He smirked. “Alas, it appears our heated conversation was not interesting enough. Perhaps, I should have put my arm around you or leaned in close to your ear to whisper something. Better yet, perhaps I should have kissed you for all to see.”
She froze, her spoon halfway between the bowl and her mouth, as though she had been replaced with a rather unique sculpture. “Are you quite mad?” she whispered, her eyes wide. “There are servants here!”
“All I know is, Frances, I have not felt sane since the moment I met you,” he replied, his tone softening. “You have turned my entire existence on its head, and I have never been gladder to have the world upside down. Frances, I?—”
A chilling wail severed the sentence, his head twisting sharply toward the dining room door. He was out of his chair in an instant, sprinting out into the hallway, hurtling up the staircase as fast as his powerful legs would carry him. The echo of slower footsteps told him that Frances was not far behind.
At the end of the hallway, Harriet’s bedchamber door stood wide open, revealing Mrs. Farrow, who had sagged onto the writing desk chair. The old woman’s hand covered her mouth, her body shaking so vigorously that Dominic could see the tremors, even at a distance.
“What is wrong?” He strode forward, his narrowed eyes assessing the room. Everything seemed to be in its place, save for one glaring omission. “Where is she?”
The housekeeper shook her head but could not speak.
“Mrs. Farrow, where is she?” he barked, his temper flaring white-hot.
With a shaky hand, the housekeeper pointed at the open doors of the armoire. He marched straight to it and felt a terrible chill run through him as he saw that it now stood empty, cleared of every dress he had ever bought his daughter.
“Oh no…” Frances’ gasp made him turn.
She sat on the edge of Harriet’s bed with a letter in hand, as she, too, covered her mouth with her hand.
“What? What is it?” Dominic demanded to know.
Eyes glistening, Frances raised her gaze to him. “She is gone, Dominic.” Her voice hitched. “She has fled with Lord Ainsley. Lord have mercy; they mean to elope.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Read it,” Dominic snapped, with a fearsome look upon his handsome face that made Frances shiver.
She glanced back down at the wretched letter, her trembling hands causing the paper to waver. “Papa, I am sorry that I will not be able to attend dinner, and I am sorry to miss Frances, but I have run away with the man that I love. My viscount.”
She wanted to crush the awful thing into a ball and toss it into the fireplace, but she continued as evenly as she could. “When you said I could not dance with him again and when I read the scandal sheets for myself, I knew it could be delayed no longer. We knew society would not accept us unless we made them accept us. Philip agreed that it was time. After…”
Frances trailed off, squinting in confusion, her heart sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of her stomach.
“What? What is next?” Dominic reached for the letter, but she pulled it away.
With a shaky voice, she forced herself to keep reading aloud, “After two years of loving him and being loved by him, he will finally be my husband. Please, do not try to stop us. We will come to Alderwick after our honeymoon, and I pray you will not be too cross. I love you, Papa. Your daughter, Harriet.”
“Two years?” Dominic rasped, his face pale, his hands clenched into fists. “What on earth does she mean, two years? Where has that cretin taken her? Does it say? Does it mention where they are going?”
Frances shook her head. “Nothing.”
He trembled from head to toe with a fury that both frightened her and reassured her in equal measure. Wherever Harriet was, this man would find her, no matter what it took. It was etched in the clench of his jaw and the flash of his eyes and the furrows of his brow.
A thought came to her. “Mrs. Farrow, where is the maid that seemed to be in charge of bringing letters to Harriet?”
Dominic’s eyes widened. “Miss Ingram. It is Miss Ingram.” His tone hardened. “Fetch her to me at once, Mrs. Farrow.”
The housekeeper rose unsteadily from her chair and dipped her head in acknowledgement, before rushing out of the room as fast as her shaky legs could manage.
