Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It is just a picnic. It is not as if you are arranging a grand ball, Dominic scolded himself as he waited for Frances and Harriet to arrive for their outdoor luncheon.
He paced the sloping bank beside the fishpond, uncertain of his choice of location.
The weather was mild, the skies blue, the sun bright, the breeze pleasant, and there were not so many bothersome insects in the spring.
Still, he doubted himself, wondering if it was too late to move the picnic to the gardens or the orangery, even.
“You are an idiot,” he muttered, glancing over at the array of blankets and baskets that the staff had prepared.
It was supposed to be an extension of his apology to Frances, but now it all seemed like a terrible idea. He should have just accepted her forgiveness, kept his distance, and waited out the remainder of the four weeks until the lessons were over.
“What is all this, Father?” a cheery voice shattered the din of his racing thoughts.
Too late to undo it now.
Harriet raised her hand in a wave as she emerged from the small orchard that bordered the walled gardens and led through to the fishpond. A lake, really, but a bit too small for such a grand title.
Beside his daughter, their arms linked, was Frances.
His primary concern had been that she would not come, despite the maid informing him that his invitation had been accepted. Yet, there she was, in a simple dress of duck-egg blue, looking so radiant that he could not draw his gaze away from her.
“Luncheon,” he replied, realizing he had not yet answered Harriet. “It is a fine day, and you have been working hard. I thought you deserved something… suitable as a reward.”
Harriet beamed as she took in the quaint scene. “It is perfect, Papa. I have always wanted to have a picnic.”
“You have never had a picnic before?” Frances glanced at her, shock raising her eyebrows.
Harriet chuckled. “I have had a picnic before, but never here. I knew it would be the perfect place for one.”
“Yes, well,” Dominic cleared his throat, “sit and enjoy everything. I asked the cook to make your favorites, Harriet.”
Suspicion flickered across his daughter’s face, her eyes narrowed. A moment later, she seemed to decide that all was well, and dragged Frances toward the patchwork of blankets, where the staff immediately began to serve the pair.
Dominic held back for a short while, to observe the two women together.
Harriet was chattering about something and Frances was listening intently, humor brightening her beautiful face, her green eyes alight with merriment, her demeanor at ease with the entire situation.
No hint of the rigid apprehension he had witnessed in the garden, when he had first apologized.
Perhaps, this is not a mistake after all, he mused, as he finally approached and took his place on the picnic blankets.
An hour later, with bellies full and a pleasant atmosphere surrounding the trio, Dominic no longer had any doubts about his plan. He had never seen Frances more comfortable, and though he was still sorry to have behaved as he did, he truly believed that he was forgiven.
“Strawberry tart?” Frances asked, surprising him.
He looked at the neat, glistening pastry in her hand and shook his head. “It is the last one. I could not.” He offered a smile. “You seem fond of them. You should have it.”
“I cannot eat another bite,” she protested.
Harriet sighed. “Very well, if you insist.” She reached for the tart, plucking it from Frances’ palm. “If I am sick, I shall blame you.”
“You do not have to—” Dominic rasped a resigned laugh. “Never mind.”
“Well, the two of you were going to… insist you did not want it, and then it would be left… uneaten, so you gave me… no choice,” Harriet protested between mouthfuls, clearly remembering her lessons in dining etiquette. “You are both too well raised. Meanwhile, I am still half-wild.”
It was not much of an insult, and likely was not intended as one, but it struck a nerve in Dominic all the same.
“You have been raised well,” he argued. “You have had every opportunity and everything you could need. True, there are certain gaps in your knowledge of society, but that is being remedied.”
Harriet lay back on the picnic blanket. “In truth, I think I could enter society now if I had to, thanks to Frances.” She grinned. “I have been thinking about it, and I am not certain that all of my wildness should be ‘remedied’ after all. Society will appreciate something interesting for once.”
“What do you mean?” Frances asked, before Dominic could ask the same thing.
“Well, I must be talked about to be a success,” Harriet explained, igniting a sense of dread in her father.
“If I were to stuff a strawberry tart into my mouth and enjoy it wholly, without worrying about a bit of jam on my lip, then they will talk about me. And I know that gentlemen of the ton must be bored of the same debutantes, over and over. I shall be something different, something intriguing, something just a little bit untamed, less bothered about all of those stuffy rules.”
She grinned at Frances. “Though, I shall not forget the important things you have taught me; do not worry. Just the unnecessary things that were written in those dreary books, like… do not dance more than twice with a gentleman, do not smile too much, do not fix your dress in front of a gentleman, do not ask too many questions. All nonsense. All dusty information that serves no purpose in modern society.”
The comfortable atmosphere collapsed. Dominic bristled as that dread swelled within him, becoming a tide of unease, and he was not the only one. Frances no longer had a relaxed demeanor, sitting rod straight upon the blankets, her shoulders tense with something like fear.
“You think you know about society, Harriet, but you know nothing,” Dominic said sternly. “If you debut with that attitude, you will be cast out before the end of your first ball.”
Harriet sat up, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “How would you know? You have not been in society since before I was born. Things have changed, Father.”
“That is the point; they have not,” Dominic retorted. “All those ‘dusty rules’ are still very much in place. I do not know who has told you otherwise, but if you are to debut, you must abide by those rules.”
“I think you are wrong,” she insisted, folding her arms across her chest. “I think society is waiting for someone interesting, someone different. Of course, I am not going to do anything too wild, but I have never been like the other daughters of the country’s peers, so why should I start now?”
Dominic’s jaw clenched. “Harriet, you will not debut at all if you behave like this. Believe me when I say that you are mistaken and you will make a fool of yourself if you follow this thought of yours.”
“We shall see,” she replied, her chest puffed with stubborn pride.
“He is right,” Frances said quietly.
Both Harriet and Dominic turned to stare at her, but no one could have been more surprised than him. Of course, he knew that Frances did not want Harriet to fail, but he had assumed she might take his daughter to one side later. He had not expected Frances to take his side where he could hear it.
“I have been remiss,” Frances continued, chewing her lower lip in consternation.
“I should have begun with the dangers of society and moved on to the rest once you were well-versed. Harriet, I do not say this to dampen your spirit, especially as I believe that your character is one of your greatest merits, but I know better than most how cruel society can be.”
Harriet’s brow creased, her lips pursed. “But your scandal will die down soon enough. You did not do anything so very bad.”
“Precisely,” Frances replied, sighing. “I defended myself against a wicked man, and I was reviled for it. Lord Sherbourne has not suffered any ill effect at all; I have no doubt about that. As for my scandal dying down, that may not be true. Society has a lengthy memory.
“I have seen and heard of the most upsetting things, Harriet,” she continued with fervor, her eyes bright with bitterness.
“Ladies I have known have been forced into exile because of the slightest misstep. One lady that I was friendly with was seen laughing on the terrace with a gentleman, and she was hounded so viciously by the scandal sheets that she fled to Scotland. Nowhere did it mention that she was with her chaperone, though I know she was.”
Harriet shifted awkwardly on the blanket. “Well, that is a lie, then. Someone should have said something.”
“Someone did,” Frances replied. “Many people did, but it did not matter.”
“But she did nothing wrong,” Harriet protested.
Frances nodded. “I know. Her crime was being ‘too lively’ and society did not like it. When they could find no weakness in her, they made one up. Please, Harriet, if you learn nothing else from me, learn this: the ton can be very cruel to those who do not follow their rules, who are too different. I stood up for myself. That was against their rules, too. And because of that, I cannot be there to see my youngest sister debut, and I shall likely never be welcome in London again.”
Her voice hitched with that last sentence, and something twinged in Dominic’s chest as he heard it.
He had not realized that her dismissal from society had cost her that.
She had told him, when she had given him the proof that she could teach Harriet, but he had not truly heard it then.
Rather, he had not seen the pain that it must have been causing her.
It appeared that Harriet was not immune to the emotion in Frances’ voice either, as she lowered her gaze and picked at a bit of leaf that had fallen onto the blanket. Even with her head down, Dominic could see that her brow was deeply furrowed in thought.
A few silent minutes later, the younger woman suddenly got to her feet, her eyes ablaze with frustration… and the shine of held back tears.
“Society is stupid,” she muttered. “Perhaps, I do not need any of it. Perhaps, I shall just… avoid all of it. I am sure that would make some people very happy.”
She shot a hard look at her father, letting him know who she blamed for this harsh reality, and promptly turned on her heel, marching across the grass to the orchard. It was still a bright day, the sky blue, the air warm, but it rather felt like a dark cloud had settled over the picnic.
“I should go after her,” Dominic said, rising to his feet.
But Frances’ hand shot out and caught hold of his, halting him with as much power as a cannonball to the chest. She had taken her gloves off to eat the lovely luncheon, and she had not put them back on, the shock of her bare skin as stalling as the fact that she had reached for him.
Her palm was soft and warm, her grip tight in an urgent sort of way.
“Leave her,” Frances said softly. “No good will come of speaking to her now. Let her mull over what has been said, for I think she will come to the right conclusion on her own. Right now, she is just disappointed… as anyone would be, to discover that they cannot be themselves and be accepted.”
She relaxed her grip on Dominic’s hand and withdrew her touch. But the feeling lingered as he glanced toward the orchard, then back at Frances, uncertain of which way to turn.
“Trust me,” she said.
And though he made a habit of not trusting many people, he slowly lowered himself back down to the picnic blankets. After all, when it came to his daughter, he was the one who knew almost nothing.
And I know nothing about you, Frances.
Perhaps, it was time to change that.