Chapter Seven #2
Once he was sufficiently warmed and presentable, Nathaniel walked across Berkeley Square. Word spread fast in the ton, and he would not insult the Montroses by making them hear it secondhand.
Nathaniel was nervous, like another time he’d made his way up the marble staircase, his hand shaking. This time, however, was very different.
“Lord Sutton,” Hanson, the Montroses’ butler, greeted him, opening the door before he even knocked.
“Are they home?” Nathaniel asked, looking around at all the changes he could see from the entrance. There were still a few vases, but half were empty, and the rest held flowers that died long ago.
“I’m afraid they’re travelling.” Then, because he couldn’t help himself, “We were instructed to leave them as they are. A potpourri of sorts.”
“Of course.” Nathaniel smiled. The butler had always taken great pride in the experience of being received at the Montroses’, but even Nathaniel knew dead flowers were not the same as potpourri.
“Lord Lark,” Hanson said suddenly. “My apologies for not using your correct title.” Probably because Nathaniel hadn’t gone past the front steps since he’d inherited the earldom four years ago.
“I didn’t mind,” Nathaniel assured him with a sad smile. “Things were much easier before.”
“Indeed, they were.” The older man sighed. “May I still be of assistance?”
“Do you know when they plan to return?”
“They tend to avoid the season.”
“Could I leave a letter then? I assume you can ensure it reaches them?”
“Of course, my lord. Though I do hope you will also call upon their return. It would make her ladyship quite happy, I believe.”
“Of course,” Nathaniel agreed, following the butler to a drawing room so he could draft a note, but he was certain his visit would have the opposite effect, as soon as they knew.
He struggled to find the words to explain what he needed to say in the note, but eventually gave up and simply signed his latest attempt.
“Please let me know as soon as they return.”
“Of course, my lord. It was good to see you.”
“You as well,” Nathaniel agreed. While it was nice to see such a familiar face, it also hurt that a simple interaction with her butler was enough to break his heart.
“It was a threat,” Mr. Plimpton stated once they got home, away from the prying eyes and ears of everyone at the garden party. “He danced with her to ensure the rumors would be believed and our daughter would be ruined if we tried to cross Lady Rochefort.”
“What happened?” Daisy asked in a whisper.
Frances was too terrified to speak. Terrified to do anything that would remind her parents she was there.
That she’d been on the dance floor with Lord Lark and could easily tell them what his intentions were.
But then she would have to say the words out loud, when she still wasn’t sure if she believed them, or if this was all some twisted farce she wasn’t witty enough to comprehend.
She shook her head to her sister and mouthed, “Later.”
Daisy nodded for her to follow her upstairs, but before Frances had a chance to decide if she was capable of standing, her father bellowed, “Don’t you move an inch.”
Frances froze. She’d never feared her father would use physical violence against her, but after the anger she’d seen in him today, the disgust and disappointment he’d looked at her with, she had no idea what he was capable of.
And apparently, neither did Daisy, whose eyes went wide, or her mother, who’d placed herself between her husband and her daughter, hands raised, urging him to think it through first.
“It wasn’t a threat.” Frances swallowed, her voice pathetic and meek.
“Then what in God’s name made him want to dance with you after his embarrassing display of bad manners?”
“He reconsidered his position.”
Frances should have refused. She had no interest in marrying someone who had no interest in marrying her, but she could only imagine how her father would react if he ever found out that she’d turned the earl down.
“What position?” Her mother sounded worried.
“He didn’t want to risk his reputation, or his family’s honor, so…”
“No!” Her mother exclaimed, her eyes going wide. “No, my darling Frances, you didn’t somehow persuade him…”
“I had nothing to do with it,” Frances insisted.
“Persuade him into what?” Daisy asked.
“But you did, didn’t you?” Her mother was beaming.
Frances had always imagined being equally thrilled and jumping for joy when it finally happened. If it ever did. As it was, she felt sick.
“What happened?” Daisy repeated, more confident now their parents looked excited.
“He’ll call in the morning.”
“To propose?”
Frances nodded.
Her mother clapped.
“Oh, Frances, this is so exciting!” Daisy exclaimed.
Frances would have been sick if her sister had looked the least bit jealous, or mocked her, but all she saw was Daisy’s happiness for her. And surprise, of course, but it warmed her heart the same.
“Well done,” her father praised, but she could see his mind working.
“Imagine, my daughter, a countess!” Mama’s as well.
“I’m rather cold, and tired, after all the excitement. May I go and lie down?”
“Of course, darling, we wouldn’t want you to look drawn out tomorrow, of all days!”
“I knew he understood.”
Her father’s smile convinced her she couldn’t stay in that room a moment longer. Frances rushed upstairs to her bedroom and collapsed on the covers. She was still wearing her muddy dress, but she didn’t care.
She didn’t feel like crying. It wasn’t despair that made her want to lock the door and never come out.
It was shame and guilt and disappointment and betrayal and so much heartbreak.
This was the way they’d been using Daisy, forcing her onto everyone with a title, regardless of who she actually had an interest in, but at least Daisy was always aware of it.
They focused on parading her and her qualities, not taking him unaware and tricking him into having no other choice.