Indeed, Oswald Keeton’s attitude appeared to have undergone another swift change as he glared after Lord Baxworth, muttering about the youth’s unfortunate drinking habits, weak character and general unfitness to be included in dinner parties at Scovell Hall.
“I have no interest in Lord Baxworth,” the duke stated coldly, now entering the small sitting room and taking up position beside the mantelpiece. “I learned all I needed to know at the Scovell Hall dinner.”
Falling silent and closing the door, Oswald Keeton followed him into the room and took a seat on the sofa.
“Well, then, here we are, just the two of us,” he with a smile, as though the last few minutes had been perfectly pleasant or had not occurred at all. “Won’t you sit down? Shall I ring for sherry and cake, Your Grace? Or perhaps you would prefer tea at this hour?”
These swings between one mood and another accorded well with the dual personality Ambrose had heard Frances describing to her sister. Lord Mulford seemed quite the kind of man who would make pleasant conversation with Lord and Lady Scovell one minute and have Frances fleeing his presence in distress the next.
“There is no need for refreshments on my account, Lord Mulford. I came here today only to deliver a simple message. You are never to contact my wife again in any way, shape or form. Do you understand?”
“Contact her?” said the blond-haired young earl with feigned puzzlement. “I have no idea what you mean. Frances and I have been friends since childhood and I know she is a very sensitive personality…”
“Do not insult my intelligence, Mulford,” growled Ambrose. “I know everything and I have excellent lawyers.”
Likely he did not know absolutely everything, but Ambrose believed he knew enough. Briefly, Lord Mulford looked minded to protest his innocence in some way but wisely decided not to. Or maybe not wisely, given the tack he took instead.
“I pity you, Your Grace,” Oswald Keeton said with a weird attempt at dignity, rising from his seat as he gathered that Ambrose was determined to remain standing as well as to reject every friendly overture. “You will never really know her. Not as I do.”
“Stay away from us,” Ambrose told Lord Mulford bluntly. “You will face consequences if you cross me. That is all I have to say to you and there will be no second warning.”
Turning on his heel, the Duke of Westall strode out of the room and out of the club, glad to emerge into the sunlight and warmth of the summer evening.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Will you be going out today, Your Grace?” asked Mrs. Betsworth, coming into the room as Frances began her solitary breakfast. “It would be a pleasant day for luncheon on the front lawn, if you are staying at Westall Park. His Grace wished you to know that he has already gone to London and will not be back until the evening.”
“Oh, I see,” Frances responded quietly. “I shall think on it, Mrs. Betsworth, and find you after breakfast.”
The atmosphere at Westall Park had been subdued in the days after the visit of Frances’ family. She had managed to recover her spirits alone in her room following that difficult afternoon, and felt that her mother and father had simply accepted Beatrice’s story of migraine. The Duke of Westall was another story, however, both that evening and afterwards.
While always polite, the duke’s mood seemed to have become distant and detached. He had been his normal self at dinnerwith Lord and Lady Scovell and Beatrice, or at least had put on a convincing act. Then, immediately after waving the carriage away, something had changed.
Why can you not leave me alone?
Oh, why had she hurled those words at him on the staircase? They had bubbled up from somewhere in Frances’ febrile inner mind before she could stop them. Now, she did not know how to take them back, and perhaps it was too late to try.
Seemingly preoccupied with his own thoughts, Ambrose no longer attempted to start conversations with Frances, beyond the most cursory exchanges about Winifred. He also spent much more time out of the house, either walking or riding alone, and twice passed full days in London without offering explanation.
Questions gnawed at Frances. Where was Ambrose going, and with whom? Why wasn’t he trying to talk to Frances anymore as he had done in the first weeks after their wedding? Did he think differently of Frances now that he knew so much of her past? Had Frances driven him away?
Today, after almost a week of mounting anxiety that she could neither entirely justify nor explain, such questions would not be silenced. They followed Frances through her morning of letter writing and household tasks, the suggested luncheon at a small table outside, and her long afternoon ramble with Winifred in the woodlands.
When Frances finally heard the sound of returning carriage wheels that evening, she knew that she could wait no longer for answers. Despite Burrington distinctly informing the duke of Frances’ presence in the library, Ambrose’s now-familiar footsteps crossed the hallway and passed onwards without stopping. Frances had an uncomfortable sense of having been abandoned although she felt also that she had no right to this.
Unable to sit still any longer with such feelings, she rose and went to the duke’s study, knocking lightly on the door so as not to take him by surprise. In tones of polite neutrality, he bid her enter, getting to his feet as she approached the desk.
“Are you well, Ambrose?” Frances asked tentatively, noting his slightly weary appearance, rumpled hair and loosened stock.
“Yes, I am well,” the duke confirmed, his tone still giving little away and his expression somewhat distracted. “I trust all is well here at Westall Park? Winifred certainly seems happy every time I speak to her.”
“Yes, she is,” Frances replied. “All is well.”
The second part of her statement lacked conviction even in her own ears. All was not well, certainly with her, but she struggled either to find the right words or the will to express such things.
“Is Winifred asleep?” the duke added. “I read to her last night and assumed it would be your turn tonight.”
“Yes, she fell asleep very quickly, an hour ago,” Frances responded, and then continued to stand there in rather lame silence, wishing that Ambrose would help her broach more weighty topics. “We had a long walk in the woods today.”
