Chapter Thirty-One
Frances was relieved when Nathaniel wasn’t at breakfast. She ate more than two helpings of everything, then got to work.
Until—or unless—Nathaniel dismissed her in favor of Margaret, she would avoid thinking of it, and keep making herself useful.
She took lunch in the library while reorganizing the shelves, before James came by and invited her to the British Museum.
That was when she discovered Nathaniel wasn’t avoiding her, but stuck in Parliament.
There was a display on flowers that the papers were raving about, and James thought she might enjoy it.
She suspected it had more to do with Nathaniel’s guilty conscience, but James never once made her feel the least bit like it was a chore for him to be there with her.
Or to leave, ever so promptly, when Miss Clara Hargrave arrived on the arm of a married marquess.
They picked up Rebecca on the way back to Sutton House, then spent the rest of the afternoon in the sitting room, where Frances couldn’t help but enjoy herself, in spite of the fear and pain building inside her chest.
Once upon a time she might have wondered how someone stayed married to a man who paraded his mistress around town like that marquess, but Frances was now painfully aware that she would rather keep whatever pieces of Nathaniel he was willing to give her than to lose him altogether.
“I’ll be right back,” she assured her guests when she heard the door, hopefully announcing her husband’s arrival.
Nathaniel looked lost and distracted before his eyes found her and he relaxed.
It brought a tightness to her chest, almost making her lose her resolve.
She’d considered putting her hands out to stop him a few feet away, so he wouldn’t be so close, and it would be easier for her to flee, but that felt cold and dismissive.
This was about mending fences, not putting up walls.
She sighed deeply, about to say what she’d rehearsed, but Nathaniel was on his way to her.
“Frances, I—are you well?”
“Of course, why would I not be?”
“You look— and after last night— I wanted to tell you—”
“May I go first?” She tried to put as much authority into it, make it less of a question.
He looked at her, filled with guilt, and relented. “Of course.”
She nodded for him to follow her to the bench along the wall, underneath the restored painting of his family.
“It’s silly, really, but I believe it needs to be said, all the same.”
She looked down at her hands, which she was wringing in her lap to build up the courage to say it.
“I wanted to tell you it’s fine.”
She made the mistake of looking up and found Nathaniel’s eyes fixed on her. She quickly turned back to her hands and took another deep breath.
He was leaning towards her, concerned. “What is fine?”
“That you have a mistress,” she said.
He stilled.
“I don’t—"
She shook her head and continued, because she couldn’t stand him lying to her about it. “I know you said you wouldn’t, and that was very kind, but I can’t expect you to do that. Unless you want to annul our marriage and be with her instead—”
“You are my wife.”
“Then I don’t mind if you…visit her. Or anyone else. You’re an excellent husband, better than anyone expected me to have, so if you need someone else…I don’t mind.”
“Frances—”
“Please apologize to your family, but I’m not feeling well.”
She stood, not wanting Nathaniel to see the tears that were about to fall, or how red her face had become. More importantly, she couldn’t stand it if he lied, or tried to reassure her, or worst of all, if he thanked her and told her more about the woman. Women? She couldn’t.
“Frances,” he tried again, but she turned and nodded, as if to say she would be fine, even if she was anything but. She pleaded with her eyes for him not to follow her before sprinting up the stairs.
It had been awkward. Heartbreakingly awful, but in the long run, it would be better for everyone.
Nathaniel had woken up exhausted that morning, certain that the guilt and regret were harder to deal with than the floor.
He’d tossed and turned, wanting to clarify things with Frances.
He’d said her name, softly, every time he heard her stir, but she never responded.
Which he assumed was because she was asleep, but he wouldn’t blame her if she was purposely ignoring him.
He’d neglected to tell her about Jo for too long, leaving her instead with even more secrets and uncertainty.
He had nearly skipped the House of Lords that day to speak with her, and probably should have, as he spent his entire day planning out what he would say once he got home.
Which went out the window the second he saw Frances.
She had thought Margaret was his mistress, and instead of yelling at him or reproaching him, as he deserved, she’d told him it was fine.
As if she wasn’t deserving of his faithfulness, and would take what she could get.
He wanted nothing more than to follow her up to the bedroom and rectify the situation, but she’d looked at him like it would destroy her if he followed, so he did what she asked.
He didn’t, however, stop Rebecca from going after Frances once he returned to the sitting room alone.
“I would have had no idea,” James said once it was just the two of them, pouring Nathaniel a tumbler of his own brandy.
“Of what?” Nathaniel let out a resigned sigh and took his seat, debating whether he should kick his siblings out and force Frances to listen to him. He couldn’t stand the idea of another misunderstanding causing her pain.
“Lady Lark is witty. And smart. And an excellent hostess. Becca teased me for preferring jelly tarts, and Frances immediately rose to fetch me some. Didn’t even send Stevens.”
“Perhaps you should have married her,” Nathaniel snapped, instantly regretting it for a multitude of reasons, notably that his brother didn’t deserve it. Especially not for praising his wife.
In all honesty, it would have been better if she’d been caught with James.
He would have been friendly and made her laugh and feel comfortable in those awkward early days.
Theirs could have been a real marriage that gave Frances the children she so desired and all aspects of the life she wanted.
It would have been better for everyone—except that the sitting room suddenly felt unbearably hot, and Nathaniel had to loosen his cravat.
“I could have.” James shrugged. “I don’t think I would have minded. Now that I know her, of course. You could have done much worse.”
“And she could have done much better.”
“You’re an earl, Nate. And you’re you. I doubt there’s better.”
On paper, James was right. But in reality, Nathaniel was the worst person Frances could have married.
Though one of the things that bothered him most about Frances’ revelation, and the words he’d snapped at his brother, was that he didn’t want a mistress.
Not just because he needed to honor his vows and didn’t want to betray Frances, but he didn’t want to marry—or be with—anyone else.
Margaret was like a sister, but he hadn’t thought of Lydia or Clara or any of his past lovers in weeks.
Nor did he want Frances to be married to James, or anyone else, even if it would be better for her. It was selfish, but as much as he hadn’t wanted to marry Frances, he didn’t want to not be married to her. Other than Jo, there was no one in the universe he wanted more.
“Are you alright?” James looked at him as though these thoughts were all written on his face.
“I apologize if Frances invited you for dinner, but perhaps another time?”
“Of course. Grandmama invited us all, but I’ll make your excuses.
” He lingered in the doorway, debating if he should say something, before settling on, “I’m here to talk, if you need it, but whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll get through it.
Frances is wonderful, and I daresay she loves you at least half as much as our mother loved our father. ”
That was precisely what made everything worse.
As soon as James and Rebecca left, Nathaniel made his way upstairs, where the door to Frances’ bedroom was shut. He forced himself to knock instead of barging in, though he wasn’t sure he could stop himself if she didn’t answer, or if she turned him away.
“Please, Frances, let me explain.”
He looked around the empty hallway, but this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have through a door, regardless of who might hear.
“There’s really no need to talk about it,” she said from within.
“Can I please come in?”
The seconds felt like hours before the door opened.
Frances was already walking away from him, towards the bed, a red shawl covering her dress, as if she was freezing in spite of the fire.
“You should have gone to your grandmother’s.”
“Not until you understand,” he argued, and, not for the first time, he wished he was a blank slate who could have fallen for her without the baggage and trauma from his past. “I don’t have a mistress.” He swallowed tightly. “Nor do I want one.”
“But you…” Frances looked like her heart was breaking. Like a mistress was something she could force herself to live with, but him lying to her about it was the betrayal. So, he did what he should have done long before they said, ‘I do’.
“Her name was Jo.” He sighed. “Josephine Montrose. I saw her through the window when I was eight and I knew I would marry her someday. Told my parents and everything.”
Nathaniel smiled sadly at the memory, before continuing.
“Jo’s father insisted she have a season, and I wanted to graduate before we married. Jo teased me that he was hoping she’d land a duke, but I think he wanted her to be certain that she wanted me not just because I was familiar. He also wanted to set the bar high for her little sister, Margaret.
“I watched Jo enchant the ton her first season, then Lord Montrose waited an entire week after I returned from Oxford before he took pity and gave me his blessing. I proposed, Jo said yes, and I truly thought I would be that deliriously happy for the rest of my days, because nothing ever seemed so bad when I was with her.”
His vision blurred with tears, but he saw Frances had gone still. She was holding his hand, but he didn’t know when that happened.
“Then she died,” he said quickly, blocking out the memories of how suddenly his life had been ripped away from him.
“Before we’d even had a chance to announce it.
And my plans, all our hopes and dreams, they died with her.
I didn’t want to live, I didn’t—I ran away.
As far as I could go, not sure if I was trying to drown myself or my sorrows, but giving it my all.
The only reason I came back was because my parents died, and everyone needed me.
I took the title, but I warned Teddy it would be his, that he needed to get married and have the Sutton heirs, because I promised Jo that she would be the love of my life, the mother of my children, and—”
“And you don’t break promises.”
Frances said it so quietly, that his heart, which he hadn’t thought could take any more, broke completely. There was understanding in her eyes rather than the pity he’d come to fear, but it was the heartbreak all over her face, the one she was terrible at hiding, that made his whole body sag.
“You are an incredible woman, Frances. You are beautiful and kind, and if I wasn’t in love with Jo, I would be head over heels in love with you.
But I can’t be. And I can’t give you children, even if I know you would be the most incredible mother.
It’s not in me to give. To do that to a child.
I hate it, and I hate myself, but…I will never take a mistress, or love any living person more than I love you.
I swear. But I can’t stop being in love with Jo. I’d die.”
Frances took a moment like she was truly digesting this information and all its implications.
“I would hate for you to die,” she said softly, holding back much more.
“You have what’s left of my heart, Frances, everything I am. I’m afraid it isn’t much, but every piece of it is yours. And this has nothing to do with you, or the unconventional way we came to be.”
“Thank you for your honesty.”
It was colder than she usually was, but she made it a point to smile, which he took as a good sign. He got the impression he’d broken her heart, and not for the first time, but at least now she understood.
It did not make him feel any better about hurting her.