Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The Duke of Alderwick thundered into the drawing room, and all of that luxurious warmth from the crackling fire seemed to excuse itself, leaving Frances shuddering on the settee.
No wonder no one else has sought out this position…
He would have been handsome if not for his grim scowl.
Very handsome, in truth. Even his unshaven face did not do him a disservice; rather, it gave him a rugged appeal that Frances knew her sisters, Juliet in particular, would have swooned over.
The antithesis of the well-kept, well-groomed, immaculately presented gentlemen of society.
Not at all what she had expected. Not at all unpleasant to behold, though she could not understand how he had a grown daughter of eighteen.
“Who are you?” he said curtly, as he sank down onto the opposite settee.
He seemed to dwarf the furniture with his staggering height and tremendous breadth, though all Frances could focus on was the tear in his trousers. She had her sewing things with her; it would not have taken long to fix.
Stop looking at his legs, for goodness’ sake! Her head snapped up, her breath catching as she met those steely blue eyes. They, too, would have been exceptionally beautiful if they were not narrowed at her in obvious distrust, shining with a warning that she had no choice but to ignore.
“I am Frances Whitlock,” she replied, surprised that her voice was not shaking as much as the rest of her.
He drummed his fingertips on the armrest of the settee, drawing her attention back to that fresh cut on his hand. “Whitlock… Why do I know the name?”
“I… um… well, you see…” She floundered, torn between the truth and the mild lie that was supposed to protect her, to hide her from scrutiny.
Yet, she had the feeling that he would see right through her if she tried to conceal her identity. Those blue eyes were already piercing straight into the very heart of her, setting her nerves on edge. An unusual, grayish shade of blue, with a freckle in his left iris.
“Who are you?” he demanded to know, his tone harsh.
She dropped her chin to her chest and sucked in a breath for courage. “I am Lady Frances Whitlock, eldest daughter to the Earl of Highbridge, and I am here to answer your request for a governess. Someone to teach your daughter about society, so that she may have the best advantage when she debuts.”
The words rattled out of her, for she feared she might not be able to speak at all if she hesitated a moment longer.
“I knew the name was familiar,” the duke said quietly, his full lips set in a grim line. “You are the one who punched Lord Sherbourne in the face.”
Frances’ jaw dropped, and she almost leapt up in indignation. “I did not punch him, Your Grace,” she protested, her face flooding with embarrassment. “I do not know where you heard that, all the way out here, but it is not true.”
“What happened, then?” he asked, his eyebrow raised.
Her hands clenched into frustrated fists. How could word of what she had done have reached this place so soon? How was it possible that he knew who she was? Panic began to rise up in a suffocating tide, as she realized that she might be cast out, her journey pointless, with nowhere else to go.
“He was discourteous and he had the gall to grab me when I was trying to walk away,” she replied, as she pulled her shoulders back and straightened her posture.
“I wanted a peaceable end to our unfortunate dance, but he thought he was entitled to speak to me and seize me however he pleased. So, I slapped him.”
Leaning over the back of the settee, apparently unafraid of this gruff and grizzled man, Harriet let out an excitable gasp. “How thrilling! Did you hit him very hard? Goodness, I do not even know the man, and I should like to hit him.”
“I hit him hard enough that everyone at the ball was aware of it,” Frances answered, refusing to apologize or make excuses for the Viscount’s abhorrent behavior.
She was not proud of it, not at all, but she was determined to defend herself. Her father might not have listened, but the duke would.
“Apparently, I hit him hard enough that news of it has echoed all the way to Bath already,” she added, shaking her head in irritation.
Harriet stifled a snort and tapped her father lightly on the shoulder. “I like her already, Papa. You have always said that it is vital for me to learn how to defend myself, so she is perfect!”
He seemed unmoved, his attention unwavering. “And you have come here to what—bring your shame on my household instead?”
Harriet glowered at him. “Father!”
“Stay out of this,” he retorted.
“Shame?” Frances croaked, finding her voice again. “With respect, Your Grace, the shame is not mine. The Viscount was the shameful one.”
“So, you are not sorry you struck him?” The duke’s expression hardened.
Breathing rather too quickly, Frances wished he would just turn his gaze elsewhere for a moment, so she might be able to gather herself. How was she supposed to answer him without getting flustered when he was looking at her with such intensity? No man had ever paid her such close attention before.
“I am sorry that I struck him in such a public place, but I am not sorry that he received due punishment,” she replied, glancing at Harriet.
“If your daughter had been in my situation, and there was no one to help her, I would hope that she, too, would not permit gentlemen to get away with uncouth behavior.”
“Does your father know you are here?” the duke asked flatly.
Frances winced, willing the housekeeper to arrive with the tea things so she might have a brief reprieve. “No, he does not. He will not care. It is better for him if I am nowhere near my family at present.”
Or Juliet will suffer…
“You have fled your father and your home, and you come here with the assumption that your station will gain you employment.” It was not a question.
“You assume that, because I am a duke and a father, I should feel some duty to protect the daughter of a fellow peer. You are mistaken. You are clearly old enough to know better.”
Frances sat back, her head swimming, her entire body feeling as if it had been pummeled by the insult he had just thrown at her.
A boiling blend of humiliation, frustration, anger, and despair had replaced the blood in her veins, leaving her with the same snapping sensation that had prompted her to smack Lord Sherbourne in the face.
Why did all these men, these supposed gentlemen, think they could speak to her however they pleased? Why did they think she would just tolerate it and bow her head? Did she radiate weakness, like a cornered rabbit?
“Father, how can you be so unkind?” Harriet jumped in, coming around to the front of the settee to sit beside him.
Frances watched in mild horror as the young woman balanced one foot on the opposite knee, sitting in a most unladylike fashion. If Harriet was to stand any chance of being successful in society, she certainly did need an education.
You see, Father. If it were not for me, all of your daughters might be as… uncivilized as this.
“Retire to your chambers, Harriet,” the duke commanded. “I would speak with this fugitive alone.”
With a brazen disregard that Frances would never have dared to show in front of her father, Harriet rolled her eyes, huffing as she lurched to her feet with all the grace of a tin miner.
“I do not see why I should,” she muttered. “She is meant to be my tutor. Whatever you have to say to her, you can surely say in front of me. But what do I know?”
The duke flashed his daughter a warning look.
“Very well.” Harriet groaned. “I am leaving. Heaven forbid I should be present when anything remotely interesting happens around here.”
She shuffled toward the drawing room door, the scuffing sound alerting Frances to the crumpled backs of the younger woman’s slippers, exposing bare heels.
Evidently, the task of preparing her for society would be a tremendous undertaking, for though the girl was spirited and had been welcoming and kind, society did not care about that.
Society cared about appearances, both physical and dispositional and reputational.
“And you,” the duke growled, as he tipped his chin toward Catherine. “Take your leave.”
The maid went rigid at Frances’ side, her face draining of color.
The duke furrowed his brow, his gaze returning to Frances. “Is she mute?”
“She is shy,” Frances replied stiffly, her hand reaching for Catherine’s. “And you are frightening her.”
His lip curled. “Take your leave. I shall not ask again.”
With a wild-eyed glance at Frances, Catherine hurried to rise from the settee.
Clutching her carpet bag of belongings to her chest as if it could protect her from this man, she mouthed, I’m sorry, and fled the drawing room.
Although not before she closed the door behind her, the act a habit after years of being a maid.
“Well?” Frances said thickly, uncertain of how to feel about being left alone with the duke. “There are no witnesses now. What is it you wish to speak to me about in such privacy?”
She could hardly believe such bold words had spilled from her mouth, yet there was no way to stuff them back in. Perhaps, it was Harriet’s brazen influence, or perhaps the years of being taken for granted and disrespected had finally caught up to her.
With her family, she would bear it, because that was her duty. With this man, this stranger, she was not going to beg for anyone’s approval anymore.
“And, actually, I am no fugitive,” she added with her finger raised. “I left a letter for my father. He will have read it by now, so I was mistaken when I said he did not know where I am. One can be forgetful when one has traveled a great distance with very little sleep and almost nothing to eat.”
She had not given details to her father, exactly, but she had informed him that she would send word of her whereabouts once she was situated. That was almost the same thing, as far as she was concerned.
“You should learn to speak less and listen more,” the duke remarked coolly, igniting a fresh blaze of anger within her.
“That is not what a good tutor does,” she shot back, shaking with fury.
If this man had any idea what her existence had been like before coming here, he would not dare to make such assumptions. She was tired of always being the listener and never being listened to.
“And your daughter needs a tutor, far more than I think you realize,” she continued with fervor.
“She is beautiful, she has character, she is a good judge of character, but it will not be enough. A rough diamond cannot be the diamond, but with some faceting and polishing and attention, I can make her sparkle in a way that will make the ton fall over themselves to know her.”
She was embellishing her ability, perhaps, but who had not stretched the truth in times of desperation?
Besides, Lucinda had been the debutante on everyone’s lips when she had entered society two years prior; she had just been unimpressed by the gentlemen who favored her, waiting for a love match.
And Juliet had been greatly talked about, admired wherever she went, with many whispers that she would be the diamond.
And I shall miss all of it…
“Lady Frances,” the duke said, standing up to his full, towering height. “I do not trust society, nor do I trust those it casts out.”
She crinkled her nose. “Then you must not trust anyone.”
“I trust those who prove themselves worthy of it,” he replied, as he eased his ragged coachman’s coat off his shoulders and draped the garment over the armrest of the settee.
Frances could not help but stare, half-wondering why he had seen fit to undress in front of her, half-wondering how shoulders could be so broad.
It was not just his shoulders that snared her attention, either.
Powerful arms bulged beneath his ruined shirt, so thick she doubted she could have put both hands around them and had her fingertips meet.
And, thanks to the rain that now pattered against the windows, she was privy to sights that she should not have seen: a muscular chest that spoke of brute strength, and the ridges of a work-hardened abdomen.
She found she had to remind herself to breathe.
“I would not have come here if I did not think I could help your daughter,” she said hoarsely, her throat refusing to cooperate.
“Yes, I sought to escape London, but I did not answer your advertisement with the assumption that you would accept me due to my father’s title.
If I had, I would have announced myself as Lady Frances from the beginning.
No, I answered your advertisement because I knew I could do it, and do it well, as well as it offering me a reprieve from society. ”
“What proof do you have?” he replied, standing there in that dirtied, drenched shirt and torn trousers.
She swallowed thickly. “I have trained my two sisters for this very thing. One has had countless proposals of courtship and two proposals of marriage, though she has not accepted any. The younger will be debuting soon and it is rumored that she will be chosen as the diamond of the Season, but… I believe I may have ruined that.”
The duke folded his arms across his broad chest and stared at her as if he meant to bore a hole straight through her. It took all the willpower that Frances possessed to hold that intimidating gaze, for she feared that if she looked away, he would cast her out.
In tense silence, they continued to stare at each other, the tick of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece sounding out the minutes of their wordless duel. And though she was squirming inside, flushed and awkward, she refused to be the first to break the quiet.
After what must have been an eternity at least, the duke expelled a strained breath.
“I will tolerate your presence if you prove yourself to be useful.” He grabbed his coat from the armrest. “You have one month to instruct my daughter, so she may debut with everyone else. If Harriet is not ready for the Season by the month’s end, you will be dismissed. ”
With that, he headed for the door.