Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Icannot believe it; this is a success!
Frances fizzed with an excitement she did not dare to display too much, lest anyone accuse her of being prideful or in case it came back to bite her later.
It was still early in Harriet’s society education, after all, but to see how far the girl had come in such a short time was a wonderful thing indeed.
The rest of the dinner went by in a blur of amiable conversation, a great deal of laughter, exemplary food, and a liveliness that she realized had been sorely absent from her family home.
The congregated group had decided that, during every other course, they would resume their characters, but it had all transformed into something more than Frances could have anticipated.
The guests just being themselves was equally as beneficial to Harriet as them playing the characters that Frances had assigned to them.
She has not even noticed how well she is dealing with the real people, for the anxiety only comes when the characters appear.
Thrilled, Frances glanced in Dominic’s direction in the hopes of subtly gauging his reaction.
To her surprise, and partial dismay, he sat staring down into his wine, as if there were something very interesting at the bottom of it, some premonition to be found within the last measure of the dark red liquid.
There was no smile, as there had been in the gardens. There was no meeting of their gaze, though she willed him to look up at her. There was no mirth at his end of the table, though it radiated everywhere else. Why, it was as if he was at another dinner party entirely.
“Something wrong, Lady Frances?” asked the gentleman in the chair beside her: Peter Grantham, Viscount of Ainsley.
Pleasant enough, though he had the manner of someone who thought they were a great deal more charming than they were.
Frances put on a courteous smile. “Not at all, Lord Ainsley. I was merely thinking about the next part of the evening’s lesson.”
“A diligent tutor indeed,” the viscount replied, raising his glass. “To your success, Lady Frances.”
She hesitantly picked up her glass. “To Lady Harriet’s success.”
“Quite right.” He chuckled amiably and clinked his glass to hers. “Nevertheless, it is a noble deed you are doing. I know that my sister would be just as glad to learn from you.”
Frances paused, frowning. “Your sister?”
He nodded in the direction of one of the young women who were in attendance. A quiet sort of girl with hair so blonde it was almost white, and charming spectacles that she had a habit of pushing up her nose at regular intervals.
“My half-sister, in truth, though she is more like a daughter to me, now that our father is gone,” he said.
That certainly explained how a man who looked to be at least forty could have such a youthful sibling. The product of a second wife, no doubt.
I wonder if I would have more siblings, if my father had remarried…
“How old is she?” Frances asked, for she looked very young indeed.
“She will soon be six-and-ten,” the Viscount replied.
Frances nodded. “Ah, so a few more years until she debuts.” She paused. “How did you come to be here tonight, the two of you? Are you a friend of His Grace, the Duke of Ravenvale?”
The invitations had been rather troublesome, considering she knew no one in this part of the world.
As such, she had called upon Hugo’s sociable nature, asking him to invite anyone he thought to be suitable, be it gentlemen who would not mind playing along, or young ladies who would not be averse to making friends with Harriet.
“I am,” Peter said, as he sipped his wine. “He and I were at Eton together. We shoot together on occasion, though it has been a couple of years since the last time. Indeed, it was right here that we hunted last, for Alderwick has exceptional grounds for that sort of thing.”
Frances smiled but felt the stiffness in it. “I do not care much for the notion of hunting, whether it be with hounds or a rifle.”
“I would be surprised if you did,” he replied with a chuckle. “Ladies should not be witness to such violence. Although, they do not mind the pretty feathers of a pheasant to adorn their bonnets.”
“A fair point.” Frances took a small sip of her wine. “I did not realize that His Grace opened his house to hunting parties. He does not seem to like company much.”
Peter pulled an amusing face. “Heavens, no. He only permitted us to hunt here because Hugo begged, and we caused such a ruckus that I daresay there shall not be another occasion.” He sat back as a footman took his plate.
“It is why I am so very pleased to have been invited to your wondrous party tonight, Lady Frances. There is something so grand and marvelous about this manor. Would you not agree?”
Frances hesitated. “I think it is… very pleasant.”
She had grown accustomed to the interesting architecture, though the exterior still looked rather intimidating at night.
“Then,” Peter leaned in slightly, “perhaps you ought to think about turning the character on your card from tutor to duchess. You are in a unique position, Lady Frances. Every mother in society would be hurling their daughters at His Grace if he would but attend a single ball, yet you have him all to yourself, more or less. If I were you, I would not waste the opportunity.”
A hard expression removed the polite smile from Frances’ face. “I shall assume you mean well, Lord Ainsley, but you go too far. I am here in a professional capacity, nothing more. When Harriet is prepared for her debut, I shall return to my own family.”
“And if your scandal has not gone away?” Peter asked, a surprising look of sympathy in his blue eyes.
“Then, I will find another young lady to teach,” Frances replied sternly, annoyed that even here she could not escape her ‘misdeeds.’
Did everyone in the country know? It certainly seemed that way.
Peter nodded. “An equally fine idea. I may even enlist your services myself.” He chuckled, and though she searched and searched, she saw no ill will upon his face. “For what it is worth, Lady Frances, I am envious.”
“Of what?”
“That you struck Lord Sherbourne instead of me,” he replied with a wicked grin. “He is universally loathed, Lady Frances, and I hope that you shall return to London unscathed.”
She had not expected that. Indeed, she did not know what to do with the odd compliment. But there was something in it that bolstered her, allowing in a flicker of hope that all would be well, in the end.
He raised his glass once more. “To your triumphant return to society.”
A little hesitant, Frances tapped her glass to his a second time. “To a peaceful existence when I return.”
“A fine thing to toast to,” he replied, and drank.
But Frances barely took a sip at all as her gaze drifted back to the only gentleman who interested her in the slightest.
Her heart jumped as she found Dominic staring at her with those intense, grayish-blue eyes of his, a peculiar look upon his handsome face: not smiling but not angry, not amused but not stern, more like he was in the midst of trying to solve a difficult puzzle.
Either that, or he was in some manner of pain.
Does he think that is why I am here, to seek out a duke for myself? It was a dreadful notion, her stomach writhing at the possibility. Marriage to a duke would certainly resolve her scandal, but if he thought her capable of that sort of deceit… She would not be able to bear it.
“Come, great governess!” Hugo suddenly called out, as the footmen removed the last of the dessert plates. “Tell us what is next for our evening of mirth and misadventure!”
Frances blushed as all eyes turned to her. “Well… we should part ways for half an hour or so,” she said, finding her voice. “The gentlemen to the drawing room, the ladies to the music room. After that, if my student is not yet weary of the evening, we shall continue.”
From across the table, Harriet looked as if she never wished for the evening to end, her cheeks the rosy pink of a glowing debutante, her eyes shining with complete contentment.
But, of course, it could not all be games and dinner parties…
and, soon enough, the young woman would have to face the one challenge she had been avoiding most fervently.
Indeed, Frances intended to get the girl to dance.
And if she cannot, then I shall just have to teach her that as well.
“And… one and two… and three and four… and around and around and around and—” Frances swallowed a yelp as Harriet’s foot landed hard on her toes.
The younger woman jumped back as if she had been stung, all of the easy merriment of earlier replaced with pale-faced shock and red-cheeked embarrassment.
“I told you!” Harriet cried, fanning her face with her hand. “I am a terrible dancer. I can play all the music to dance to that anyone could ever want, but when it comes to dancing itself… it is as if I know nothing of notes and rhythm and how it all flows together!”
Frances put her hands up in a gesture of peace… or surrender. It could have been either, in truth.
She felt rather guilty for spoiling Harriet’s evening so abruptly, but it was not as if there was anyone to witness the girl’s difficulty. The gentlemen were all enjoying port and cigars elsewhere, and the two other young ladies in the music room were as encouraging as anyone could be.
Catherine had arrived to offer help, too, and she would not judge anyone for any missteps.
“I cannot do it!” Harriet snapped, her eyes blazing with the fury of frustration.
Frances approached once more. “You are thinking too much. I can see it on your face: you are trying to get every step perfectly right and, in doing so, you are losing the music. The very thing you adore.” She offered a reassuring smile.
“Let us try again. This time, concentrate more on the music than the steps.”