Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Ishall never forgive him for this,” Harriet groused.
She stood sullenly on the porch with her arms crossed, glaring at the carriage that would soon take Frances and Catherine away.
There had not been much for either of the women to pack, though Frances had taken her time stuffing her carpet bag full of her worldly belongings, delaying the departure for as long as she could.
For at least half an hour that morning, she had simply sat by the window in her garret bedchamber and gazed out at the endless sea of greenery and woodland and countryside.
Savoring it, committing every detail to memory for when she was back in the city, with nothing but cobbled streets, uniform townhouses, and a small, private park outside her window.
“Who?” Frances asked, taking the bait.
“My father.” Heather sniffed. “I knew he would send you away. I hoped that, when he saw my progress, he would ask you to stay with us all Season, but I should have known better. He always does this. Whenever there is the possibility of change, good change, he just… changes it all back.”
Frances took a breath and held her arms out to the younger woman, who promptly walked right into them, squeezing Frances so tight that she thought she heard her ribs creaking in protest.
“It is nothing to do with your father,” Frances said gently.
“It is my father who commanded me to come back. I have taught you everything you shall ever need to know about society, Harriet, and I know that you will shine when you debut. You will not be able to help it. But, right now, there is someone else who needs me. My sister.”
“But she has had years of you teaching her. I have barely had any time at all with you,” Harriet protested, squeezing even harder, until a laugh popped out of Frances’ mouth.
“You did not need years because you were a dedicated student,” Frances explained, lightly stroking the young woman’s hair and wishing with all of her heart that Dominic would just stride out onto the porch and ask her to stay.
I would defy my father if you would just tell me you want me here.
Her heart sighed at the fantasy of it, and she wondered if she had read one too many of Lucinda’s favorite books.
Those things did not happen in real life, least of all to someone like her, whose future had already been decided by others.
Maybe, Frances could fend off her father’s desire to get her married off for another Season, with Juliet debuting and Lucinda now entering her precarious third Season without a match, but she would not be able to escape it when next year came around.
There was a chance he would not even bother with the organic method of meeting prospects at gatherings, but employ the services of a matchmaker for her instead.
“Is it because you do not like us?” Harriet lamented. “Did my father upset you at the fair? I saw you walking with him, and you were smiling, but when you came back, you looked so very sad. Whatever he did, tell me and I shall scold him terribly, and then you will not have to leave me.”
Frances squeezed her eyes shut and clung onto the dear girl a moment longer. “It is nothing that anyone has done, and I do wish that I could stay.” Her voice hitched. “Believe me when I tell you that. But I am the firstborn daughter, dearest Harriet, and I have a duty to my sisters.”
“For a moment, I thought that you and my father—”
“We should depart before the morning escapes us altogether,” Frances interrupted with a somewhat strained smile. “The journey is a very long one, after all.”
She could guess what Harriet had been about to say, and she could not bear to hear it. Not right now, on the brink of departure. It would be too painful and too confusing, to hear that others had also sensed what she thought she had felt between them.
Just yesterday, in the entrance hall, she had looked up into Dominic’s gray-blue eyes and had hoped, for a brief instant, that he was going to kiss her.
But then he had not, his face growing stony again, putting a distance between them that she could not overcome.
Then, he had told her that he had no qualms about her leaving as soon as possible and had not sought to stop her.
He still had not sought to stop her, and the longer time wore on, the more she understood that he was not going to.
Whatever that gift had meant, whatever his arm around her had meant, whatever their too-close dance had meant, whatever leaning in to pluck a cherry blossom from her hair had meant, it seemed it was all in her head.
“Good luck to you, dear Harriet,” Frances said in a softer tone, her eyes pricking with tears.
“Come and call upon me when you are in London. You shall be welcome any time, and I know that Juliet would be delighted to make your acquaintance. Write to me, too, if you have any questions about the lessons I have left for you.”
Harriet brushed something from her cheek. “I shall miss you terribly, and I do not know that I can be friends with your sister for some time, for she has stolen you from me.”
“I will miss you too,” Frances said with a fond smile.
With that, she pulled away from her most diligent student and began the short walk to the carriage.
She slowed her pace and listened for fresh footsteps, but when she heard none and she reached the carriage door, she understood: Dominic was not even going to wave farewell to her, though he knew roughly what time she intended to leave.
The dream was over.
“Ready, my lady?” Catherine said with a knowing, apologetic smile.
Frances nodded. “As I shall ever be.”
The two women climbed into the carriage with the aid of the footman and, just like that, the driver began to pull away from the towering, intimidating manor that no longer frightened Frances a bit.
“Goodbye! Goodbye!” Harriet’s voice called out desperately.
Feeling sorry for the girl, Frances pulled down the carriage window and stuck her head and arm out, waving. “Goodbye! Do not forget your lessons! You shall do so well, Harriet!”
“Thank you, Frances!” Harriet began to run, hitching up her skirts in a very unladylike fashion.
She came all the way to the edge of the gravel carriage circle and stopped on the verge of grass, her hand raised to wave back.
They continued to wave until their voices could no longer carry and Harriet grew smaller, Frances’ heart so heavy she wondered how the draft horses could pull the carriage at all with such a weight aboard.
She was about to sit back and close her eyes, in a vain attempt to catch up on the sleep she had missed last night, too anxious to rest at all, when movement made her squint.
A chestnut gelding with a coat as sleek as its color’s namesake was charging across the grass, kicking up clods of mud, its elegant mane and tail tossed by the wind.
The rider was no less dramatic in his appearance, his powerful body bent against the whip of that wind, his head down, his long, dark hair flying backward, along with the length of his old coachman’s coat, flapping out behind him like a pair of wings.
Just before the gates, Dominic caught up to the carriage. He pulled his horse to a standstill beside the open window, his eyes feverish with the exertion of racing to meet her.
It was like something from one of Lucinda’s books, and Frances had to remind herself to breathe.
“The sheep got out,” he explained breathlessly. “I have spent all night catching them, and I lost all sense of time.”
Has he come to ask me to stay? Frances prayed, still unable to find her voice, still unable to believe that he had raced to catch up with her.
“Did I forget something?” she croaked as, behind her, she heard Catherine stifle a laugh.
Dominic shook his head. “I have no idea.” He paused. “I just… came to wish you well.”
“Oh… um… thank you.” Frances deflated, almost wishing he had not come to her at all.
If this was the last image she had of him in her mind, windswept and unfairly handsome, riding urgently across the lawns toward her, truly like something out of a novel or a daydream, then how on earth was she supposed to forget about him?
“I did not want you to think me ill-mannered for not saying my farewells,” he added, the wind catching the side of his open collar, revealing hard muscle that glistened with sweat.
So, a person can perspire elegantly… Although, ‘elegantly’ was not necessarily the word that Frances would have used.
She did not know if she had a word for the way it made her feel, all flustered and over-warm, like a walk out of doors in the very height of a London summer, where the streets seemed airless and murderously hot.
“And here I was, thinking you were riding over to beg me to stay,” she said, barking out an awkward laugh. “I should warn you, my father only survived a fortnight without me.”
Something flickered across his face, like cloud shadows sweeping over the hills; there one moment, gone the next. “We shall do our best to survive without you,” he said flatly, his expression unreadable. “Journey well, Lady Frances.”
“And you,” she replied, “when the time comes for you to leave this place for London.”
He sniffed. “Do not remind me.” A faint smile lifted his lips. “I am almost tempted to offer Alderwick for the debutante ball, so I do not have to leave. But then my house would be full of strangers, and that is a far worse thought.”
They stared at one another for what felt like an eternity, each slow second stoking Frances’ impulse to ask if everything had been in her head, until she thought she might explode.
“Well,” he said. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” she blurted out.
The driver seemed to take that as permission to continue, as he snapped the reins and the carriage rolled forward, passing through the gates. This time, Dominic did not follow, and she did not dare to look back, lest he see the silly tears that were beginning to blur her eyes.
Riding slowly back to the manor, Dominic braced for his daughter’s fury; he could feel it all the way from the gates and was in no mood for it.
If she could see into his overwrought brain, hear the clamoring thoughts that had besieged him all night, she would have known that nothing she said was worse than what his mind had already punished him with.
“You should have stopped her,” Harriet began immediately, before he had even dismounted.
“It was not my place to stop her, Harriet.”
His daughter narrowed her eyes. “You should have written to her father and insisted that she was needed here. I am supposed to have two more weeks of her lessons, and I am afraid I do not have the patience or discipline to do the lessons she has left for me.”
“She is needed there,” he said simply, as he slid down from the saddle.
He could not let her see how affected he was, not even a little bit, for then she would never cease. It would be intolerable enough here, but if she continued to harass him about this while they were in London, with Frances so close, it would be unbearable.
“You do not see it, do you?” Harriet shot back, with all the authority of a woman much older. Perhaps, she had learned that from her tutor.
“See what?”
She jabbed a finger toward the gates, though the carriage was long gone.
“She was waiting for you to ask her to stay. She came here with one single bag, yet it took her hours to ‘pack’ her belongings. And she walked so slowly to the carriage, like she was hoping for a reprieve.” She puffed out a frustrated breath.
“I could not very well insist on her staying, for I am not the one who can give that sort of permission.”
“Nonsense, Harriet,” he replied, hoping she could not hear the note of uncertainty in his voice. “You are angry because you wanted her to stay, but she has a life and a family to return to. Do not fabricate things that simply are not true.”
Harriet rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, stalking back into the manor. There, her voice echoed back, “You are a fool, Papa! A lonely old fool! And you always will be!”
Dominic sucked in a breath to shout back that his own daughter would not talk to him like that, and that she ought to display greater manners if she wanted her new gowns, but instead he blew out the breath and said nothing. After all, how could he argue with the truth?