“I think he said how sorry he is,” Dominic’s voice drifted in, heavy with regret. “I think he said he was sorry for not protecting you more, and for never telling you how adored you are, and how precious you are, and how much I love you. If you had known that, you would have known you could come to me, and none of this would have happened.”
Harriet gasped and shot up from her chair, whirling around. Fresh tears began to fall, her chest wracked with sobs as she threw her arms around her father. “I am so sorry, Papa. I have been such a fool.”
With a relieved smile, his eyes closing, Dominic put his arms around her in return, hugging her as if he had needed to for a very long time. “There is nothing to be sorry about,” he murmured. “All is well, sweet girl. The fault is mine. I should never have allowed you to essentially raise yourself, but I did notknow what I was doing, and I was afraid you would resent me, as I resented my father.”
Harriet sniffed. “I could never resent you, Papa.”
“I felt such guilt that I had not done more, and so I thought distance was the answer. You had lost your mother, you were grieving, and you seemed to want nothing to do with me, so I just left you to it,” he continued, his voice thick. “I shall regret that forever, but I hope that we shall continue to be better. ThatIwill continue to be better, for you, because I cherish you, Harriet. Truly, I do. You are the best half-wild, spirited, wonderful daughter any father could ever want.”
Harriet clung tighter to him and buried her face in his shoulder as she mumbled, “I cherish you, Papa. The best grumpy, disheveled, protective father and daughter could want.”
Dominic smiled, his eyes twinkling with moisture, as father and daughter held one another in silence for a while. Frances stood back in fond admiration, her heart so very full as she observed the sweet moment, and wondered if there would ever be a day whereherfather embraced her like that.
Probably not.She smiled, realizing that she was content with that. He had almost said that he missed her once, and that was enough. And maybe, if what Dominic had said in the stable yard was true, her father might soon have a greater reason to miss her.
“We can leave for Bath in the morning, if you want to?” Dominic said, as he pulled back.
Harriet nodded weakly. “What about Frances?”
His eyes met hers, Frances smiling sadly in understanding.
“We shall have to take her home first, and then journey on to Bath in more suitable transport than a curricle,” he said.
Harriet’s brow furrowed. “She cannot come with us?”
“It would not be appropriate,” he replied, his voice quiet. “Now, the two of you should rest. I can have someone draw a bath if you would like?”
Frances gestured to the hallway. “Do not worry about us. I shall tend to all of that.”
It would not be appropriate.The words circled in her head like crows, for though he was entirely correct, she did not want it to be true. Nothing would have made her happier than spending the rest of the Season at Alderwick.
“Very well,” he replied. “Goodnight to you.”
With an awkward nod of his head, Dominic stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him, leaving the two women alone with their respective thoughts of what the future now held.
Frances could not sleep. She lay on the uncomfortable bed, Harriet sleeping soundly beside her, and stared up at the rafters of this unfamiliar place. She had tried everything to coax her mind into drifting off, to no avail: it was too full of Dominic and uncertainty for that.
He will take me back to London tomorrow, and then what?She hoped Harriet would eventually find the courage to return to society, but what if she did not? What if they returned to Bath and then… that was it? What if Frances and Dominic parted ways tomorrow, and never saw each other again?
She knew what she had heard in the stable yard. She couldstillhear it, echoing in her head. And, if nothing else, she deserved an explanation before she drove herself insane.
Carefully, she lifted the covers and slipped out of bed, pausing every couple of steps to ensure that Harriet was still fast asleep. At the door, Frances winced and grimaced as the hinges creaked as loudly as a pistol shot in the silence, but Harriet slept on.
At Dominic’s door, Frances hesitated, her knuckles resting against the wood. She almost laughed out loud at herself, wondering how she had gone from the dutiful, sensible eldest daughter to a woman who kept taking perilous risks that could ruin her reputation.
Why stop now, if everything is going to go back to the way it was tomorrow?
With a breath, she knocked lightly and walked right in.
She froze, a gasp whispering from her mouth as her eyes fell upon a broad, muscular back, rippling as if his entire body could sense her. Dominic sat on a stool in front of the window, bare from the waist up, a damp cloth thrown over one shoulder.
“Is there nothing in those etiquette books of yours that says you should wait for permission before entering a room?” he said, a note of amusement in his voice, his blurry reflection looking back at her through the windowpane.
Her breathing quickened as he stood up and turned around to face her, her eyes widening as she took in the sculpted form of his powerful body. She folded her arms behind her back so the impulse to touch would not be able to get the better of her, her skin tingling with a feverish flush as she admired the ridges and contours and lines of a body that had been forged with hard toil. A body that could mend barns, catch livestock, cleave wood, and, perhaps, warm her up of a winter’s night.
“What you said in the stable yard,” she blurted out. “Why did you say that?”
He began to move toward her. “Because I love you.”
