Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
“What is the matter?” Lucinda asked in a hushed voice, her eyes watchful behind her spectacles.
“With me?” Frances rasped, jabbing a finger into her chest. “Nothing. Not a thing.”
How could she explain that the orchestra were suddenly playing too loudly, the music like crashing waves against rock; the air was too stifling, the crush of bodies too overwhelming; the feel of so many eyes on her, judging her, threatening to make her break out in a rash.
She had been pretending to endure it before, ignoring the whispers and stares as best she could, but with the offer of ‘fresh air’ clamoring in her head, she was unraveling.
“Did that gentleman say something uncouth to you?” Lucinda wanted to know, her tone almost protective.
Yes, but it was entirely welcome.
“No, of course not,” Frances replied instead, her heart hammering wildly in her chest, as if it meant to smash its way out of her ribcage. “It was too loud, so I asked him to lean in to repeat his question.”
Lucinda nodded, her lips slightly pursed in latent suspicion. “Was he the Duke of Alderwick?”
“Indeed, and that charming young lady over there is his daughter,” Frances replied in a rush, while her gaze darted to the clock on the wall.
How long had it been since Dominic asked her to meet him outside?
Had she missed the chance? How long would he wait out there?
It was not a particularly warm night, and it had been drizzling when they left the townhouse a couple of hours ago.
In the cold and the potential rain, surely he would not wait long, especially as she had given no indication that she would meet him.
“Which one?” Lucinda asked.
“That one.” Frances gestured to Harriet, and allowed her racing thoughts and pounding heart to still for a moment.
The young woman moved about the dance floor as if she had always known how, with grace and aptitude and, best of all, a glowing smile upon her face. She was at ease, flowing with the music instead of concentrating too hard on the steps; Frances could see it in the girl’s entire demeanor.
Pride swelled in Frances’ chest as she watched her former student, and saw that she was not the only one admiring the girl’s talent.
All around the dance floor, handsome gentlemen gazed at Harriet, mesmerized by her fluid movements and elegant flourishes.
It was just as Lord Ainsley had said: the ton’s eligible bachelors would be fighting to dance with her next.
“Is that her uncle?” Lucinda said, frowning.
Frances shook her head. “I met him while I was at Alderwick; he is a friend of the family. Actually, now that you mention it, I have not seen Hugo tonight.”
“Hugo?”
“The Duke of Ravenvale,” Frances replied, distracted.
“Another duke?” Lucinda’s jaw dropped. “How can it be that you were surrounded by these eligible gentlemen and you returned without one?”
A strange pang caught Frances in the stomach. “I was there to teach, not to catch dukes.” She glanced at the clock. “If you will excuse me, I am in need of some… fresh air.”
“You are leaving me?” Lucinda protested, catching hold of Frances’ arm. “I have been trying to leave since we arrived, and you have not permitted it. Why are you now allowed to take in some fresh air while I must endure?”
Something akin to panic bristled through Frances’ veins as she attempted to pull her hand free. “Because I mean to have a temporary reprieve so that I do not faint, whereas you wish to go home, and your ailments are fabricated.”
With a huff and a faint half-smile, Lucinda let her older sister go. “Very well, you have caught me in my fibs. But, do you think you might fetch me a lemon ice on your way back? I think that would improve the situation.”
“A lemon ice. Of course.” Frances swallowed, her nerves rising like an ominous tide.
“Unless… Do you want company?” Lucinda asked and, for a moment, Frances could have cried.
It was the kindest offer that anyone had made to her in weeks, with everyone being so busy and having so many engagements to attend that there had been no time for the sisters to just be with one another. And it was spoken with such earnest intention that Frances was almost reluctant to refuse.
But he might be waiting…
“No, thank you,” she said with a small smile. “I shall not be long, and someone needs to ensure that the chaperones do not wander off, and to make up an excuse as to why Father has disappeared.”
Lucinda chuckled and pretended to salute. “A chaperone for the chaperones.” She paused. “Enjoy your fresh air, Franny. You have earned it.”
Does she know? No, she cannot possibly.
“I will be back soon,” Frances managed to blurt out, before she turned and began the arduous task of weaving in and out of hundreds of guests who had very little inclination to get out of her way.
Soon enough, however, she found herself in the eerie quiet of the back hallways, where no one with any sense or propriety had any reason to be.
Her footsteps echoed on the marble, each clack making her wince: what if someone heard and came to investigate?
The scandal with Lord Sherbourne would be nothing compared to the catastrophe that would befall her if anyone saw her going to meet Dominic in secret.
“What are you doing?” she whispered to herself, as she squinted at the signs that pointed the way to the winter garden. “This is madness. This is… the most foolish thing you have ever done.”
Yet, she found she did not care nearly as much as she probably should.
The past three weeks had shown her what she could expect from life in London, and it was not enough.
She loved her family, even her father, but it was not enough.
What did she have that was just her own?
Nothing. Even her bedchamber was a concourse that people flowed through at will, no one bothering to knock, just striding in with one demand or question or task or other.
Before Alderwick, she had not known anything different. But her time away had changed everything, and she missed that taste of freedom, when her life had mostly been her own.
Perhaps that was why she felt a little more daring, because the nerves and the doubt and the excitement reminded her that her life was hers to do with as she pleased.
There is always a choice…
Just then, she came to the double doors that marked the entrance to the winter garden. The left-hand door stood slightly ajar, letting in a draft that made her skin prickle into gooseflesh. She had not thought to retrieve her cloak, figuring it would make her look more suspicious.
“This is so stupid,” she murmured, and slipped out into the chilly night.
In the gloom, a long path stretched ahead of her, flanked by laurel bushes that were just beginning to sprout their white spring flowers. At the farthest end, beneath the canopy of two cherry blossoms that had already shed their petals, stood a tall wooden gate.
She rested her hand on her chest, moving her palm in slow circles to try and ease the strain of her lungs, and walked toward that gate, imagining it was truly a gateway into a winter realm.
A place of snow and fur-trimmed cloaks and red-breasted robins, where Dominic might take her hands and warm them in his.
The gate gave as she pushed it. Unlocked, as he had promised it would be.
You will ruin yourself, some still-sensible part of her mind warned, as she carefully set the gate back in the jamb, and squinted out into the darkness.
Maybe, some not-so-sensible part of her mind wanted her to, so she could leave London and find purpose elsewhere. Alderwick, if Dominic would have her.
She took a few hesitant steps, her eyes slowly adjusting to the vague shapes of bushes and trees, and a structure a short distance away. A pavilion of some sort, judging by the slanted roof.
“I did not know if you would come,” a low, rumbling voice made her breath catch. “I thought, perhaps, Lord Ainsley had persuaded you to dance instead.”
She frowned, her heart racing faster. “Where are you?”
The thud of footfalls on wood drew her gaze back to the pavilion, where a shadow began to emerge from the darkness. Tall and broad-shouldered and unmistakably Dominic; she would have known him blindfolded, by sense alone.
Then, he was in front of her, his soft smile taking the raw edge off her nerves. In his hands, he held what appeared to be a blanket.
“I thought you might need this,” he said, stepping closer, bringing the warm, woolen blanket around her shoulders.
But he did not release the edges of the blanket, so it could drape over her.
Instead, he held on for a moment, and pulled gently, her body stumbling forward.
Worried that she might lose her balance, or at least that was what she told herself, her hands came to rest on Dominic’s chest, grasping his lapel for additional stability.
“She is dancing well,” Frances said breathlessly, relishing in the solidity of his chest, and the warmth that radiated from his powerful body. She would not have needed the blanket it all, if he would just hold her against him.
“Because of you,” he replied, his eyes shining in the low light. “You transformed her, Frances.”
She shook her head. “She transformed herself. I just encouraged her.” She paused, her thoughts drifting backward. “But why would you think I was dancing with Lord Ainsley?”
“He makes you laugh,” Dominic replied, his tone rougher. “And he made it perfectly clear that he finds you appealing. He is likely searching for you right now, seeking out his ‘ravishing lady.’”
He is jealous. The realization struck a winding blow that, to her dismay, coaxed a snort out of her.
“Even when he is not here, you find him amusing,” Dominic said dryly, his grip tightening on the blanket, as if he thought that was the only way to keep her there.