Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Dominic eyed the decanter of brandy on the side-table, tempted to pour himself a heartier measure than the one in his glass.
The clock on the mantelpiece read a quarter to six, but his nervous anticipation had him feeling like it was eight o’clock and he was still fruitlessly waiting for Frances to come to dinner.
“Mrs. Farrow!” he called out, entirely unaccustomed to such a lack of control. The sensation did not sit well with him, but there had been no other choice; he could not have commanded Frances to come and dine with him. It had to be her decision.
The housekeeper entered a moment later, a funny, strained look upon her face, as if she were trying very hard not to laugh. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Is everything prepared?”
“It is, Your Grace,” she replied. “Nothing has been moved since you asked ten minutes ago.”
“The flowers are still fresh?”
She nodded. “They haven’t yet wilted, Your Grace. I daresay it’ll be a couple of days at least before they do.”
He was painfully aware of his neurosis, his behavior wholly out of character.
The servants probably thought he had gone mad, caring so much about a simple dinner with one guest. He wished he had the means to calm his nerves, but the small measure of brandy was doing nothing to help, and if he drank too much, the evening would be a catastrophe.
“Everything is ready to be served when she arrives?” he pressed.
Mrs. Farrow smiled. “It is, Your Grace. We are all so pleased to welcome Lady Frances back, as I am sure you are.”
He cast her a hard look that told her she was stepping toward the edge of what he would tolerate. “And Harriet? Has she emerged yet?”
“Not since her bath, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said, her tone shifting from amused to concerned.
“She left an empty bowl outside her door, so she ate the soup at luncheon at least. I knocked and asked if she wanted some help preparing for dinner, but there was no answer. She must still be sleeping.”
Dominic sat back in the armchair, tapping his fingertip against the side of his brandy glass in perplexed thought. “Should I send someone for a physician?”
“I have seen it before, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said with a grimace. “These young ladies, they indulge too much; they don’t know how to be sensible until they are at least a few weeks into the Season.”
“My daughter does not imbibe,” he replied coolly, as he thought back to the night before.
He could not remember seeing Harriet with anything but lemonade in her hand, and she had not left his sight, save for a few dances with insipid young gentlemen. Then again, she had seemed rather out of sorts as the night had worn on, spending most of the night seated, and asking to leave early.
“Sometimes, people sneak liquor to the punch,” Mrs. Farrow said confidently. “The younger gentlemen make a game of it, or so I’ve heard. Harriet might not have known she was imbibing.”
Dominic dipped his head in a somber nod, for he could well believe that the ton’s sons might find such a thing amusing.
He had encountered plenty of their ilk when he was a young man, who reveled in the misfortune of others and toying with people.
He suspected it made them feel powerful, for it was often those of lower station: second and third sons, the heirs of barons and baronets.
“If she does not come down to dinner, make sure you take some more soup to her later,” he instructed. “If she is no better in the morning, I shall fetch the physician.”
The housekeeper nodded. “Very good, Your Grace.” She paused. “Can I bring you anything before—”
A bell jingled to announce the arrival of a visitor, and Dominic shot up out of his chair, knocking back the brandy in one gulp.
She is here… He glanced at the clock. And she is early.
Stifling a chuckle, Mrs. Farrow headed out of the room to answer the door.
Meanwhile, Dominic stood there without the faintest notion of what to do with himself, unsettled by Frances’ talent for throwing him into disarray.
Before he met her, everything had been stable and ordered, with no feeling to trouble him beyond mild annoyance at one problem or another.
Now, he appeared to be a vessel for feelings he could not name and had never felt before, each one altering the foundation of who he had thought he was.
“His Grace is in the drawing room, if you would care to join him?” he heard Mrs. Farrow say.
“I am here for dinner,” Frances’ lovely voice replied, her tone firm but polite. “I am only here for dinner.”
“Of course, my lady,” the housekeeper said, that same note of barely suppressed amusement in her voice. “In that case, allow me to show you to the dining room. His Grace will be along in a moment.”
“And Harriet?” Frances asked, as footsteps drew closer to the drawing room door.
“She is… unwell,” Mrs. Farrow replied. “She may yet come down to dinner, but we’re not sure.”
“Oh.” Frances stopped just shy of the partially open door. “Shall I go and tend to her? I do not mind. My own sister, Juliet, has the beginnings of a cold today, so it must be something catching among the debutantes.”
Those words soothed Dominic slightly, more satisfied that his daughter was not the victim of laced lemonade or a worse affliction, but the common cold.
“It’s to be expected, I suppose,” the housekeeper said. “Among so many people. But don’t worry yourself, my lady. I’ll tend to her in due course, while you enjoy your dinner with His Grace.”
Frances seemed to falter. “It will just be… the two of us?”
“And a couple of servants,” Mrs. Farrow assured.
She is going to bolt. Dominic could feel it in his bones. Harriet was meant to be the bulwark between them, so if she was not there, perhaps Frances would not feel comfortable enough to stay.
He stepped out and bowed his head to her. “Lady Frances, I am pleased you could spare the time.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Frances blinked at him. “I… Well, I… I mean, I should really…” She briefly closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Very well. Lead the way.”
She took his arm with some reluctance, her posture stiff as she walked the short distance down the hallway at his side. Indeed, she seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when they parted ways to take their seats at the dining table.
“You should have sent word to me that Harriet was unwell,” she said, as she whipped out her napkin with a violent flourish and lay it across her lap.
“If I had done that, you would not have come,” he replied.
She stared at him. “No, I would not. That is the point.” A strained breath heaved her chest. “I really would urge you to read some of the books I left for Harriet, since it appears you have a very loose grasp on what is appropriate and what is not.”
“On the contrary, I likely have a greater knowledge of society’s rules and expectations than you do,” he said with a smirk.
“It was disciplined into me from childhood. Then, two years ago, I decided that I would no longer be bound by the strictures of a dead man, for I realized, certainly too late, that I did not want to be anything like him.”
Her jaw dropped, any retort she might have had interrupted by the arrival of the soup course: watercress, though he could not stand the taste. But he had been informed that it was quite the favorite among current society.
As the servants retreated to the periphery and Frances lightly scooped her spoon into the lurid green soup, she paused to stare at him, her brow creased in consternation.
“I would not have known that your father was strict,” she remarked.
“Exceptionally strict,” Dominic said, as he tasted his first mouthful of the soup and swallowed.
“It is part of the reason Althea could not bear to be at Alderwick. My father was alive when we were first married, and he was not kind to her. She was too spirited, too ‘disobedient’ for his taste, and he threatened to have Harriet sent away to some aunt or other when she was very young, so she would not become unruly. It was not long after that Althea absconded to London.”
Frances ate a few spoonfuls of soup before replying. “You did not challenge his unkindness?”
“No, and I am sorry for it,” he replied.
“I believed that his was the only command and opinion that mattered. I know different, now. In truth, it is because of Harriet that I finally realized what a despicable man he was. She was spirited, she was unruly, she was half-wild, and I remember thinking to myself… what a pleasant thing that must be. Why would anyone want to stamp that out of her? Why would anyone try? And I wondered what I might be like if my father had not been so cruel and strict.”
“But… she was in your care for years before that,” Frances said. “Why did it take until two years ago?”
Dominic shrugged. “She decided she wanted to spend more time with me. Before that, she kept her distance, and I kept mine. At first, when her mother died, I thought it would be easier for her not to have to share space with a father she barely knew, who did not know how to make her grief any better. That extended for far longer than I intended it to, as we both sort of… got used to it being that way. But then, one day, she came to find me and asked if she could sit with me. We have been building a new relationship ever since, where we are not so distant anymore.”
“That is why she had no lessons and no manners.” Frances nodded as if that made perfect sense.
A chuckle bubbled up from Dominic’s throat. “Indeed, that is why. Her mother left her in my care half-wild, and that is how she remained, with no one to temper her behavior.” He paused, smiling. “Until you.”
“She was an excellent student,” Frances said shyly, returning her attention to her soup. “The scandal sheets were favorable this morning.”
He nodded as he swallowed a grim mouthful. “I saw.”
“Pardon?” Her head snapped up.
“I saw,” he repeated with a smile. “After your severe chiding last night, I thought it prudent to know what is being said about my daughter. I despise it, naturally, but it is better to be informed. Besides, I thought there might be a chance of seeing our names written there.”
Her spoon clattered against the side of the shallow bowl, her cheeks pinkening as she hastened to pick it up again. “That is not funny, Dominic.”
I could hear her say that for the rest of my life.
He smirked. “Alas, it appears our heated conversation was not interesting enough. Perhaps, I should have put my arm around you or leaned in close to your ear to whisper something. Better yet, perhaps I should have kissed you for all to see.”
She froze, her spoon halfway between the bowl and her mouth, as though she had been replaced with a rather unique sculpture. “Are you quite mad?” she whispered, her eyes wide. “There are servants here!”
“All I know is, Frances, I have not felt sane since the moment I met you,” he replied, his tone softening. “You have turned my entire existence on its head, and I have never been gladder to have the world upside down. Frances, I—”
A chilling wail severed the sentence, his head twisting sharply toward the dining room door.
He was out of his chair in an instant, sprinting out into the hallway, hurtling up the staircase as fast as his powerful legs would carry him.
The echo of slower footsteps told him that Frances was not far behind.
At the end of the hallway, Harriet’s bedchamber door stood wide open, revealing Mrs. Farrow, who had sagged onto the writing desk chair. The old woman’s hand covered her mouth, her body shaking so vigorously that Dominic could see the tremors, even at a distance.
“What is wrong?” He strode forward, his narrowed eyes assessing the room. Everything seemed to be in its place, save for one glaring omission. “Where is she?”
The housekeeper shook her head but could not speak.
“Mrs. Farrow, where is she?” he barked, his temper flaring white-hot.
With a shaky hand, the housekeeper pointed at the open doors of the armoire. He marched straight to it and felt a terrible chill run through him as he saw that it now stood empty, cleared of every dress he had ever bought his daughter.
“Oh no…” Frances’ gasp made him turn.
She sat on the edge of Harriet’s bed with a letter in hand, as she, too, covered her mouth with her hand.
“What? What is it?” Dominic demanded to know.
Eyes glistening, Frances raised her gaze to him. “She is gone, Dominic.” Her voice hitched. “She has fled with Lord Ainsley. Lord have mercy; they mean to elope.”