Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ishould have let her struggle.
The tailcoat gripped in his hand went some way toward easing the strange, tight feeling in his fingertips, like they needed to be flexed or clenched to ease overwrought muscles. It was as if, by accidentally touching her, he had brushed a nettle and now had to bear the sting.
It had been an accident, but he should have known the risk of gently removing his tailcoat from her. And now, rather than pleased by his daughter’s progress, he felt oddly agitated.
“Here you are,” he said, gesturing to the entrance hall as if Frances were a complete stranger who had only just arrived.
She tilted her head, a slight frown lining her brow. “Yes, I am well acquainted with Alderwick by now.” She barked a small, awkward laugh. “But… um… thank you for escorting me back. You did not have to.”
“We were walking in the same direction,” he replied stiffly.
“Were we?” she asked, in a soft voice that troubled him. “I thought you were going to help rebuild a barn?”
He could have smacked himself for his idiocy. “I must change first,” he replied, the excuse coming quickly. “One cannot do such work in clothes like this.”
“No…” She dropped her gaze, the faintest flush of pink dusting her cheeks, a new canvas for her pretty array of freckles. “No, I suppose you cannot. Not that I would know; I cannot say I have ever rebuilt anything before.”
I would not say that, necessarily. He held his tongue, though he thought of his daughter’s eager expression, and how well she had carried herself through that peculiar lesson. In terms of Harriet’s confidence, Frances was certainly bolstering the foundations.
What he had seen in the rose garden was unlike anything he had witnessed in his thirty-eight years of life.
Frances’ way of teaching was assuredly unorthodox and, at first, he had been ready to reprimand her for the ridiculous charade…
but then she had come alive, transforming into the character of so many ne’er-do-well society gentlemen.
The kind he had gone to Eton and Oxford with, the kind he had been glad to set aside once he retreated from society.
The kind Harriet would have to face when she debuted.
He had laughed, to his own surprise, because it had been so perfect, even with the oversized tailcoat.
Because of the oversized tailcoat. Frances had had the mannerisms and the dramatic bursts of speech curated in such realistic detail that he had not been able to help his amusement, laughing in a way he had not laughed in years.
Smiling with an ease he had not felt in just as long.
Now that the show was over, however, he was at a loss.
I should not have let my guard down, lest she believe that something has changed in our agreement.
“Well then,” he said, clearing his throat, “I shall leave you to those letters and whatever else you intend to do, until my daughter emerges again.”
He was about to head up the stairs to change his attire, when she called out to him, halting him in his tracks.
“Your Grace?”
He did not turn, for there was something in those summer green eyes and that blushing face that felt risky.
“What is it now, Lady Frances?” he replied bluntly, his agitated hand gripping the banister.
He heard her clear her throat with a few nervous coughs. “Do you recall me saying something about borrowing gentlemen, so Harriet can practice in a more accurate setting?”
“I will not lend you any footmen,” he replied.
“No, no, of course not.” The bottom step of the staircase creaked, as if she intended to come closer.
“But… I thought it might be of benefit to her if we held a small, pretend dinner party here at Alderwick? Your cousin could invite a few people, and you could invite anyone you think might be suitable.”
His grip tightened on the banister. “She cannot attend a dinner party; she has not debuted.”
“That is why it is a pretend dinner party,” Frances urged, as she suddenly appeared beside him on the stairs, a look of determination fixed upon her face.
“Every guest will be informed of the nature of the occasion before they arrive, and I shall write little cards for the gentlemen, with small scripts or characters that they must play throughout the evening.”
Dominic glanced at her as if she were quite mad. Then again, after what he had seen in the gardens, there was certainly method to her madness. A very successful method, in fact.
And it would be in Harriet’s best interests. The more informed she is, the more she can protect herself, the easier it will be for us all.
“Indeed, if there are other young ladies who have not yet debuted, who live nearby, perhaps they could attend too,” Frances continued. “It would not harm her to have some more friends to support her when she enters society.”
His jaw clenched, hesitation rising like an itch within him. It was one thing for her to use her strange teaching methods in the privacy of the gardens, but at a dinner party?
“Please, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “For her, so she does not end up slapping a man on a dance floor and ruining herself in a single moment.”
If Harriet slapped a man who insulted her, who grabbed her, she would have my utmost support. He did not mention that Frances, too, had his support.
“Fine,” he said instead. “But you must make all the arrangements. I do not have time to organize a dinner party.”
Frances’ face lit up and, for a moment, she stepped forward as if she meant to hug him. At the last second, she seemed to realize, and just hopped on the spot instead, her hands clasped, her smile wide.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said excitedly. “You shall not regret it.”
Before he could retort that he had better not, she was already halfway down the stairs, sprinting off into the hallway that led to the kitchens.
Shaking his head as he continued up the stairs, he wondered if he had just made a terrible mistake.
For if she learned that she could get what she wanted with a soft voice and an earnest ‘please’ and an imploring look with those beautiful eyes of her, then he would certainly be in a great deal of trouble.
“There you are!” Frances picked up her pace as she walked the last stretch of hallway, to where Harriet was just creeping out of her personal study.
It had been almost three hours since Frances had last seen her diligent student, though, in fairness, she had been rather occupied herself.
There had been menus to plan, decorations to arrange, flowers to order from the gardener, invitations to write, and drafts to prepare for the scripts and character cards that the dinner party guests would receive upon arrival.
Harriet smiled and slotted a key into the lock of her study door, before putting it around her neck, the key attached to a silver chain. “I was writing my notes in ink, as you advised. It is already helping me to remember.”
“That is excellent news, Harriet,” Frances replied, patting her ward lightly on the shoulder. “But I have even better news for you.”
Harriet raised an eyebrow. “You do?”
Frances nodded. “Your father has agreed to a dinner party, here at the manor.”
“What?” Harriet gasped, her eyes as wide as saucers, her hand splayed upon her chest.
“Now, do not get too excited; it shall be a small, sedate, private sort of thing, but it will give you the opportunity to practice everything you have learned so far,” Frances said. “I have opted for six courses, but you shall not know what is coming until it is set before you.”
For a while, Harriet did not move, apparently frozen to the spot with her mouth agape and her eyes unblinking.
Worried that she might have broken the girl, Frances gave Harriet a light tap on the arm as she searched her face with the worry of a true governess.
“Unless you do not want to?” Frances said. “It is not too late to abandon the entire thing; the invitations have not yet been sent, though they are supposed to be collected in the next hour.”
All of a sudden, Frances had the wind knocked out of her, crushed in a ferocious hug. Harriet squeezed her even tighter and danced a funny little jig, the girl’s giddy laughter rippling down the airy hallway.
“Do not dare abandon it!” Harriet cried. “Oh, it is happy news indeed! I just… I do not know how you have done it. How have you managed to get my father to agree to such a thing? Do you know the last time he had a dinner party here at Alderwick?”
Somewhat suffocated, Frances croaked her reply, “I am afraid I do not.”
“Neither do I,” Harriet replied, chuckling. “That is how long it has been! My mother would attend dinner parties, but she never hosted any… and, oh, how I loved to listen to the wondrous stories she would tell me of where she had been. To have stories of my own… Frances, I cannot wait!”
A rapid rush of sympathy swept through Frances as she held the girl in return, her chest swelling with a sense of pride that she had done the right thing.
She, more than anyone, knew what it was like to lose a mother.
And as there had been no duchess present at Alderwick, it had not taken much to put the pieces together.
“My mother relished a dinner party too,” she confessed.
Harriet pulled back, her smile tinged with sadness. “I have missed having… someone around who is on my side. It has been almost ten years, but I still feel as if something is missing.” She shrugged. “My father tries—more now than he used to—but it is not the same.”
“No, it is not,” Frances agreed, thinking of her own father.
He could never have replaced the affection and attention and love of her mother, but then he had also never tried to.
He loved his daughters in a… distant fashion, as one might love a cousin who lived at the opposite end of the country.
Which was, perhaps, why he was more concerned with getting his daughters married off instead of worrying about what they might want, or how they were.
More now than he used to… Harriet’s words dragged her thoughts back to Dominic.
There had not seemed to be any distance between father and daughter, but perhaps Frances was missing something. She might have asked outright, but she was still a relative stranger in this household; such things were not for her to know right now, while she was still gaining the duke’s trust.
I suppose a lack of attention would explain why she knows so little of etiquette and expectations…
“When is the dinner party to be?” Harriet’s broad grin returned with the welcome change of subject.
Frances relaxed too. “The day after tomorrow.”
“The day after tomorrow?” Harriet yelped. “Oh, but that is not enough time! I must choose a gown at once!”
She took off as if she had been informed that the dinner party was in ten minutes’ time, leaving Frances standing in the bright hallway, suddenly wondering what she should wear on such an auspicious occasion.
Especially considering she had only brought three dresses with her, packed in haste as she fled London.
Catherine… My Cathy will know what to do.
The woman was quite the magician with a needle, some thread, and whatever fabric she could get her hands on. Surely, Frances’ dearest friend would be able to turn one of the dresses into something worthy of a duke’s dinner party.