Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
For an entire week, Dominic had made himself scarce, the manor so large and grand that it was not difficult for him to vanish. Frances had no doubt that she could have found him if she had wanted to, but his absence spoke volumes: he did not want to be found.
“When will my gowns arrive?” Harriet asked for the fiftieth time, catching Frances’ eye in the reflection of a tall, oval looking glass.
After so many tedious days in the library, going over the dreary rules and expectations of society, interspersed with hours of dancing and a few rehearsals with the dining room cutlery, Frances had seen fit to give the poor girl a more enjoyable task.
Namely, trying out the latest styles for her hair and teaching Harriet’s lady’s maid how to do them.
“Shortly before your debut,” Frances repeated for the fifty-first time. “I realize you are anxious, and that is to be expected, but Madame Jonquille will not let you down; I have complete faith in her talents.”
Harriet groaned. “But what if they are unsuitable? What if I change my mind about them? What if the color and style do not pair well with my hair and my jewelry? There will be no time to alter anything or place a new order, and I must look my best!”
“Much as I wish I had such power, I cannot change the date of the debutante ball,” Frances said with a sad smile.
If she could delay it a few months, then she would be certain of Harriet’s readiness and potentially be there to accompany Juliet through the stresses and strains of debuting.
Alas, it was little more than three weeks away, and she still had not figured out what she would do in that interim week, if Dominic decided that the agreed term of a month was enough.
Creep back to London with my tail between my legs, no doubt. Sneak into the house and hide until it is all over.
Harriet puffed out a breath that fogged the mirror. “I know; I am just so nervous. I did not think I would be, but the closer it gets, the more restless I become. I hope Father lets you stay longer, for I do not know how I will do any of this without you.”
She turned around sharply, much to the frustration of her lady’s maid, who had been trying to place a particularly stubborn curl. “Would you join us in London, if he allowed it?”
“No, dear girl,” Frances replied, her tone apologetic. “But I would stay here to help, right up until the moment you had to depart.”
Harriet tilted her head to one side, quirking her mouth in thought. “What if we snuck you into the townhouse? No one would know you were back in London; it would be our secret.”
“Let us concentrate on making sure you are entirely prepared before we think about that,” Frances urged, for she would not allow herself to even dream it was a possibility; the disappointment would crush her, otherwise.
Harriet turned back around. “Very well.” She smiled as if it was already a certainty. “It shall be so strange to be at the townhouse again. I have not been there in… yes, it must be nine years. Goodness, has it really been so long? I wonder if anything has changed.”
“Your father told me you were raised there, for the most part,” Frances said without thinking. It was not a subject she wished to return to, considering how the conversation had ended in the park.
Harriet nodded effusively, apparently not as averse to the topic. “We left here when I was one or two, I think, and I lived there until I was nine, just a few months before Mama died.”
Her eyes shone with the warm memory of a past that Frances knew so little about.
“My bedchamber looked out over the gardens, and I would watch the foxes at night when I was supposed to be asleep. Three of them. They would always come slinking around the lawns, and I remember, just before we came back to Alderwick, one of them had babies. The sweetest little darlings, fighting and playing with each other like puppies.”
“Perhaps, they will still be there,” Frances encouraged. “Grown now. Or, maybe, their children will be there.”
“I hope so,” the girl murmured.
Pretending to look over the combs and brushes that were lined up on a nearby side-table, Frances did her best to fight the swell of curiosity that rose up within her. But the wave of it would not be stopped.
“Did your father ever visit you in London?” she asked, grimacing at her weakness.
“Every few months,” Harriet replied with a shrug. “He does not like the city, so it is understandable. He would tend to business, we would sometimes have dinner together, and then I would wait until he came back a few months later.”
Both Catherine and the lady’s maid exchanged a pointed look, for the staff always knew more about things than they ever dared to let on.
“Sometimes, when I was much younger, my grandfather would be there,” Harriet continued, her expression hardening. “I know you are not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I did not like him at all. I do not think he liked me, either.”
“Why is that?” Frances prompted, hoping to fill in some blanks that Dominic’s story had left behind.
Adjusting one of the wavy locks of hair that framed her face, Harriet’s lips curved into a bitter smile.
“Because I was a girl and Mama and Father could not have any more children. I heard my grandfather once, hissing nasty things to my mama like a snake. Said that ‘promises had been made’ and he ought to receive recompense for the end of his legacy. She laughed at him and he stormed out.”
“Did your mother and father get along?”
Harriet sighed like she was bored of the conversation. “All I know is, I am glad that I shall not have a marriage like theirs. I shall be one of the lucky ones, marrying for love. I shall not live apart from my husband, and he will be there to adore his children from the very beginning.”
“Your father was absent?” Frances prompted, still trying to understand why he thought he was not a good man.
A grim sort of laugh bubbled up from deep in Harriet’s chest. “I barely knew him until we came here and Mama died.” She paused, staring down into her lap.
“Afterward, I do not think he knew what to do with me, and I just wanted my mother. I did not want to be here in this far away manor without her, in the company of a father who was a stranger. I shall let you imagine what that was like.”
A chill ran down Frances’ spine as she tried to picture two lost, confused souls, existing in the same house, uncertain of how to approach each other.
A child would surely feel abandoned, while someone who felt ill-equipped to raise a child would retreat, making everything worse.
It was how things might have been if Frances had not stepped up to take care of her sisters.
“But we are excellent now,” Harriet chirped, shifting so quickly between moods that it made Frances’ head spin. “It took us a while, but he is my papa now, not just the duke I am related to.”
Frances smiled back. “That is a fine thing, Harriet.”
The situation was beginning to make a little more sense. Of course, a father would feel tremendous guilt if he felt he had not done enough for his child. Of course, he would believe he was not a good man if he felt he had let his wife and daughter down.
But he cannot be that man anymore, if Harriet does not think he is.
She was about to change the subject to something altogether more pleasant, feeling she had inquired enough about Dominic’s past, when a knock came at the door.
A maid entered, carrying a small silver tray. “Lady Harriet, Lady Frances. There are letters for you both.”
Harriet nearly knocked over the vanity chair in her hurry to receive hers, while Frances did not move.
There were only three people who knew where she was, and she feared the response from at least one of them.
After all, it had been a fortnight since her arrival, and she still had not received word from her father.
She glanced at Catherine, who had gone rather pale.
“My lady?” The maid came forward and put the letter in Frances’ hand, while Harriet darted out of the room to read hers in private.
The moment Frances turned the letter over, her heart sank. Her father’s wax seal.
“What did I tell you?” Catherine said with a wince, as she approached. “A fortnight and he’d be begging you to come back.”
Frances considered casting it into the fireplace, so she never had to discover what it said. But her fingertips were already sliding beneath the fold of the paper, breaking the wax seal.
Tell me you never want to see me again. Tell me I am not welcome.
Give me a reason to petition Dominic to stay here, she pleaded silently as she took herself to a nearby chair, fearing she might need the additional stability.
Whichever way the letter went, it would likely not be something she wanted to hear.
With a shaky breath and shakier hands, she began to read:
Frances,
This silliness has gone on long enough. Society has forgotten all about your little misdemeanor. Indeed, I have heard from a trustworthy source that even Lord Sherbourne is laughing about it now, so there is no need for your dramatic exile anymore.
Your sisters need your assistance, and Mrs. Garstang does not, in fact, know everything that you know.
Instead, it seems she knows nothing at all.
It is time for you to return home, Frances.
Juliet is beside herself with worry about her debut and she does not want to proceed without you.
If you stubbornly remain where you are, gallivanting, then she will not debut at all, and you will be to blame.
However, I am not unreasonable, nor would I wish to invoke the wrath of a duke. Conclude your endeavors as courteously as possible; I expect you home by the end of next week.
Your Sincerely,
S. Whitlock, Earl of Highbridge.
No request to know how she was faring. No apology for his conduct in the aftermath of her scandal.
No real confession that they were not coping without her, nor any gratitude for the tireless effort that had kept them all afloat.
No informal signature to let her know that she was more than just an asset.
No “you are missed” or “Yours Faithfully, Father.” Just a cold reminder that she was only worth the purpose she could serve to the family.
“You truly must be a clairvoyant, Cathy,” Frances said stiffly, unable to look at her friend and maid. If she did, she knew she would burst into tears.
Catherine settled a tentative hand on Frances’ arm. “He has asked you to come back?”
“He has.” Frances sucked in a breath and blinked rapidly to hold back those tears. “Goodness, this is silly. What am I sad for? I should be glad that I am welcome again. I should be glad that I am finally going home to my sisters.”
“Because you have been yourself here,” Catherine replied softly. “Yes, you’ve had to teach Lady Harriet, but the rest of the time has been your own.”
Frances’ hand moved to her tight chest, rubbing slow circles in an attempt to relieve the feeling. Her shallow breaths, as she drew them in, were shaky and barely able to fill her lungs.
The truth flared in her mind like a firework on a moonless night: she did not want to go back.
She wanted to see her sisters, always, but as a sister and not the woman who had to solve every problem, perform every task, keep them safe, and nag them into obedience, for their own sake.
They teased her for being overbearing at times, not realizing that overbearing was better than not caring at all, and that, sometimes, it was the only way to get them to do anything for themselves.
“When?” Catherine prompted.
Closing her eyes, Frances swallowed past the lump in her throat. “By the end of next week.”
“Lady Harriet will be more than prepared by then. She may not be the diamond of the Season, but she will surely be a jewel because of you,” Catherine told her, presumably to cheer her, but it missed the mark.
Despite herself, Frances had been imagining a longer tenure with Harriet and Dominic.
She had imagined hiding away from society in their London residence, helping Harriet in the lead up to her debut, and potentially sneaking out to see her sisters, without having to return to her family home.
Spending more time with Dominic, to see if the muslin meant something, to teach him that he was not the terrible man he clearly thought he was.
It would have been the best of all worlds. Now, those worlds were crumbling, her foolish daydreams along with them.
“I should inform His Grace,” she said, rising from the chair.
What she really meant was, I should start saying my goodbyes.