Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Well, you are certainly in one of your most cheerful moods,” Hugo remarked as he strode along at Dominic’s side, the two men on their way back to fetch their horses.
The carriage was already on its way back to Alderwick, the three ladies safely inside. Dominic was not keen to linger in order to have a pointless quarrel with his cousin when those who were dearest to him were in that carriage, about to travel upon night roads that might require an escort.
“Fairs usually improve a person’s disposition,” Hugo continued to prod, forever picking at just the right spot to goad Dominic into responding.
Sometimes, it was almost as if they were closer to brothers than cousins.
“Was it the bright lights? The music? The puppets? Do you have a headache from all the frivolity?” Hugo grinned. “I know how you despise frivolity.”
Dominic whirled around, his temper flaring as he cast his cousin a hard stare. “Do not provoke me today, cousin. I know it is an amusement to you, but you are right; I am not in the mood.”
He made to keep moving, but Hugo marched along right next to him, refusing to give him a moment’s peace.
“Did she rebuff you?” Hugo asked with a raised eyebrow. “Did you try to kiss her hand underneath the cedar tree, and your cheek learned how Lord Sherbourne’s felt?”
Dominic stopped dead in his tracks, his chin dropping to his chest, his hands clenched into knuckle-whitening fists as he fought to control his breaths.
He would not and could not lose his temper here, where there were too many witnesses.
Nor would he lose his temper with Hugo, when Harriet’s debut relied so heavily upon the man’s connections.
I scared her, you dolt. That is what I did, and it cannot be undone.
It was better that way. Better for her to imagine what sort of monster he was, instead of learning for herself.
Yet, her beautiful face pierced his fevered mind, those mesmerizing green eyes wide in something like awe as she had gazed down at his gift.
He remembered how tenderly she had brushed her fingertips over the gossamer fabric, and how protectively she had held it right to her heart, as if that was where it belonged.
“Dominic?” Hugo’s voice changed, colored with worry.
“What?”
Hugo’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, lightly squeezing. “What is wrong, old boy? You look as if you are in pain.”
“The only pain I am suffering is the thorn in my side,” Dominic grumbled in reply. “And you are that thorn. I have told you to leave this alone. I have told you my position on the matter. We agreed not to pester one another about these things and yet, here you are, breaking your promise.”
And making things more difficult than they already are, he neglected to add, for if he admitted that, then he would have to admit to far more. More than he was willing to say out loud.
“I meant no harm,” Hugo said quietly.
“Yes, well, let us keep it that way.” Dominic glowered at his cousin and trusted that the warning would be enough.
He had been an idiot to buy that square of muslin, when he knew what it might mean to Frances.
He had been an idiot to agree to let everyone visit the fair instead of returning home.
He had been an idiot to start talking about Althea, to start remembering all the things that he loathed about his past; the things that could not be undone.
Indeed, he had been an idiot to agree to let Frances stay, from the first moment that her spirit, her defiance had made him waver.
Hugo nodded. “I shall say nothing more about it.”
“You keep saying that,” Dominic pointed out, his tone sharp. “But London is where Frances will find her match, not here. She is worthy of… so much more. Even a prince would not be good enough for her.”
An annoying look of sympathy passed across Hugo’s face. “You have remedied your mistakes, cousin. How long will you punish yourself for?”
“My mistakes will never be remedied,” Dominic shot back through gritted teeth.
“I ruined lives, Hugo. It is a miracle that Harriet has the generosity of heart to even speak to me. Seven years, Hugo! For seven years I all but ignored her! And that is not counting the years before, where I was all but a stranger to her.”
He glanced around, conscious of his volume, but the streets were practically empty of passersby. Indeed, it seemed as if all of Bath had ventured to the fair to enjoy its garish delights… and he had been enjoying it too, despite himself, until the past had crept up to smack him over the head.
“It is what you were taught to do,” Hugo insisted, his hand still resting, determined, on his cousin’s shoulder. “It is what Althea asked you to do. You tried, Dominic. You tried to be a husband; she tried to be a wife. It did not work. It happens, cousin.”
“It is no excuse,” Dominic rasped. “And I did not try. I did not know her, or care to know her, enough to try.”
Hugo squeezed harder. “Because it was not your choice, for either of you.” He looked at his cousin in earnest. “Do you care to know Frances enough to try? Rather, do you care for her enough to try?”
“I said leave it alone!” Dominic wrenched away from Hugo, and did not stop, as he marched down the steep hill toward the theater, where the footman had hitched his horse before the carriage departed.
He climbed up into the saddle and wheeled his horse around, riding out of that peaceful city, taking all the chaos of his thoughts and troubles with him. He did not look back at his cousin, for he did not want to see the pity that he knew he would find there.
“There you are.” Catherine’s voice was a welcome interruption to the clamoring confusion in Frances’ skull.
The carriage had returned to the manor an hour ago, and both the offer of a bath and a tea tray had been politely refused by Frances. Meanwhile, Harriet had retired with the sleepy giddiness of someone who had just had a most wonderful evening: an enviable disposition.
Frances knew she should probably be in bed too, but restlessness had driven her from the comfort of her garret bedchamber, to sit on the drawing room terrace with her square of Dhaka muslin in hand.
“What are you doing on the ground?” Catherine asked, not hesitating to sit right down next to her on the cold flagstones.
“Hiding,” Frances admitted. “If I were to sit on one of the terrace chairs, I would be seen.”
Catherine nodded. “And that would be a grave problem because…?”
“Because I feel safer when I cannot be seen,” Frances replied. “This is my pergola.”
“Ah, I see.”
In the London townhouse where she had spent so much of her life, Frances had needed somewhere that was just for her.
As her sisters grew older and her father grew accustomed to relying on Frances, their demands had occasionally taken a toll, and she had required a hiding place where she could not be found for a while.
It was the cook who had taken pity on her in the end, showing her the overgrown pergola at the rear of the garden.
There, among unsightly bushes, hanging ivy, and climbing jasmine that smelled so fragrant in the summer that it brought on an instant headache, she had found her little corner of peace.
“Does this have anything to do with you promenading in the gloom with His Grace?” Catherine asked with a nervous smile. “If anyone asks, I was chaperoning you. I definitely wasn’t distracted by the fire-breathing dragon.”
Frances chuckled. “I am sorry to have missed such a beast.” Her soft laughter became a softer sigh. “He said he was not a good man, Cathy, and it felt like a warning. Yet, just before, he gave me this.”
She showed her friend the gift, the sea-green fabric catching the low light from the drawing room, so that each undulation on the surface resembled the ripple in a pond. It even seemed to change color, from green to silver and back again, with pinkish hues appearing here and there.
“The muslin…” Catherine stared at it in shock. “He heard us?”
Frances nodded. “It was such a sweet gesture, but I almost wish he had not done it.”
“Whyever not?”
Taking back the fabric and smoothing it out on her lap, concerned that the fine edges were already starting to fray, Frances shrugged.
“Because it… it… it makes me want to stay. It makes me hope that he will turn around and ask me to remain, when I know it is impossible.” Her throat bobbed.
“He has no reason to ask me to stay. I am his daughter’s tutor; when she is taught, my work is done. ”
“You’re fond of him?” Catherine prompted.
“Nonsense,” Frances replied, a note too quickly and far too insistently. “He is my employer. He is a duke. He is… uninterested in companionship or… anything of that ilk.”
“You’re fond of him,” Catherine repeated, though it was not a question this time. “And, forgive me, but a gift like this doesn’t speak of indifference to me. I know how much that one square cost.”
Folding the muslin back into the handkerchief and tucking it up her sleeve, Frances turned her gaze out toward the still night, surprised by how much she adored the quiet now.
She did not miss the constant bustle of activity in the city anymore, her mind and senses attuned to the serenity.
So much so that she was not sure how she was going to readjust when she had to return.
“Do not give me hope, Cathy,” she said, as she heard the familiar hoot of owls calling to one another. “There is none.”
“With respect, you didn’t see his face when he was watching you on that swing, soaring so high,” Catherine replied in earnest. “Now, I don’t profess to know too much about romance, but I know affection when I see it.
I know fondness when I see it. And I know when a man doesn’t want a woman to be too far from him.
If you’d have flown off into the sky, my lady, he’d have made wings to fly up after you. ”
Frances sniffed. “Then you must have been mistaken. It must have been too dark for you to see properly.”
And even if you are right, my dear friend, it would not matter. He had said he would never marry again; he had warned her that he was not a good man, and she doubted she could change his mind in either regard.