Chapter Eleven
Daisy’s night at Almack’s was a success, or so Frances gleaned from the steady stream of callers interrupting their morning and saving her from having to explain to her mother why she was in such a poor mood yesterday.
Mr. Brooks had not resurfaced, but while there were no lulls, Frances got the impression that some of the new callers were more interested in future connections to the Suttons than her sister.
Now that Frances was being asked about whether the Sutton ball would return, and if the Plimptons were all attending the Wiltshire ball this year, she longed for the time when the men, and her family, ignored her on caller days.
“Lord Lark for Miss Plimpton,” their footman announced, handing a card to Mama.
“Perhaps bring in the next caller, so anyone in the hallway has a chance to see our guest,” Mama whispered mischievously.
“Parading him in such a manner reflects poorly on us,” Frances argued, though she was also eager to delay his visit.
The butterflies in her stomach were not the friendly kind, and as certain as she was that Nathaniel wasn’t the type to toss her aside without cause now that he’d given his word to society, she still felt her position was rather precarious.
“He has been waiting his turn for the past three callers.”
“Excellent,” Mama praised.
“We shouldn’t keep the earl waiting. Surely he wants to see Frances,” Daisy told their mother.
“It was his decision not to insist on precedence,” the footman mentioned before Mama nodded to bring the earl into the drawing room.
Men like Lord Lark didn’t wait their turn, not unless they were honoring a promise to come call and be seen doing it.
Which she’d asked him not to do, for Daisy’s sake, but she’d also spent years watching sister after sister entertain callers while she sat idly by.
A few days ago, she would have been touched by his thoughtfulness.
But today, Frances’ stomach was in knots.
“Lord Lark, I’m so pleased you were able to find time in your busy schedule to call on us.” Mama looked more like she was holding a victory over Lord Lark than pleased.
“Yes, I was hoping to have a moment with Miss Plimpton, if she would be so inclined.”
“Not out in the garden, I hope.” Mama smiled conspiratorially, and Nathaniel humored her by reciprocating it, but Frances saw the anger he kept contained beneath the surface.
No one noticed Frances’ unease, until Nathaniel locked eyes with her, and his expression softened.
“I was hoping we might go for a walk. Chaperoned, of course.”
“I would be delighted,” Frances lied, because she could see her mother trying to find a way to use the earl’s visit to her advantage.
She regretted it the moment she found herself outside with Nathaniel, her mother’s maid a few paces behind looking absolutely miserable.
“I’m afraid my chaperone dislikes fresh air and walking, my lord,” she stated after a few minutes of small talk about her family’s health and the weather.
“I’ve always preferred the outdoors,” Nathaniel told her. “The caller before me was the only one who seemed more interested in me than your sister. I know you asked me not to come, but your sister was right, and I needed a moment alone with you.”
They’d reached an intersection, so Nathaniel hurried their pace and pulled her into a doorway, hidden from anyone on the busier street, as well as her chaperone.
When Nathaniel came close to her, scandalously close, Frances thought for a moment that he was going to kiss her, which didn’t make any sense, but her brain took leave, filled with the rapid beating of her heart.
As nervous as she was, she didn’t mind the nearness of him.
To feel his breath in addition to the heat where his hand held her elbow.
“I heard about Miss Hargrave.”
And just like that, it was like a bucket of ice water poured over her. The more distance, the better, Frances thought, taking as much of a step back as the doorway would allow.
“I gather she is used to admirers bothering her at the modiste’s.” Frances shrugged like there was nothing more to it, with the kind of smile she was taking to using more and more these days.
“I’m sure even your mother knows better than that.” He had a self-assured smile he probably meant to be teasing, calling her out on her act, but she wasn’t smiling.
“Because she and Daisy read the society pages. I seldom do.”
“I wager someone explained it to you.”
She would have admitted that she’d asked his sisters about it and knew more than she wished about his previous affairs, perhaps with a tone befitting her hurt and embarrassment, but as terrible as Miss Hargrave had made her feel, Nathaniel had done nothing wrong.
“You don’t owe me an explanation, my lord.”
“I do,” he argued. “She was in my past, over before I was introduced to you at the Sampson ball.”
“But she was…”
“Yes.”
Frances swallowed. She’d known, obviously, but having him confirm it, even though theirs was not a true relationship, pained her more than it had any right to.
“I promised you many things, Frances, and I am very careful with my word, because I do not break it. Ever”
“I am sure Miss Hargrave disagrees, my lord.” She said it barely above a whisper, knowing they were close enough for him to hear, but not sure she wanted him to know she pitied the woman who thought she’d had his heart and lost it.
“Because she inferred, not because I made her promises.” He must have realized how it sounded, because he started over.
“I have always been careful to make my intentions clear, but I also occasionally treat people in a way that implies more or less than what I specifically told them I was offering. I try to rectify the situation if I see it, but I often don’t.
Not until it’s too late. I could see Miss Hargrave developing an affection for me, but instead of clearing the air, I avoided her, which was clearly a terrible idea, and I am sorry that you were involved. ”
“I’m not…you didn’t…”
“You will be my wife, as long as you’ll still have me,” he reminded her.
“So even if I would rather never discuss my past with you, or anyone,” he specified, “I wanted you to know that what happened yesterday had nothing to do with you. It was entirely my fault and will hopefully never happen again.”
“Thank you.” She wasn’t used to most people noticing her feelings or caring enough to comfort her if she’d been upset.
“I mean it,” he reiterated, and she knew he would do absolutely everything in his power to make sure she never felt as she had with Miss Hargrave again.
“I see that,” she said instead of the question front and center in her mind, long after he accompanied her home to her mother.
Why?