Chapter Thirty-Two
Frances spent the day in the garden. She considered going in for lunch, or for tea to warm her up, but the prospect of seeing Nathaniel was too daunting.
She truly appreciated him telling her the truth, but she wanted to move to the part, ten years from now, when they were amiable companions who did everything together as great friends without her being irrevocably in love with him.
Because that was the stage she was in. His confession had ripped her heart out, both from his pain and her own, so as much as she wanted to be pleasant and friendly and show him they were fine, she wasn’t sure she could look at him without crying.
She couldn’t, however, miss dinner without him fretting, so around five o’clock, she forced herself to leave her garden and go inside.
She made it to her dressing room before Sarah took one look at her hands and panicked.
“You’ve been in the garden? Outside?”
“Seeds arrived, and I needed fresh air.”
“You shouldn’t have done that. With respect, Lady Lark. I thought you went to your sister, or I never would have—”
“Let me?” Frances was curious more than upset. Sarah’s concern was touching, if misplaced.
“I could never prevent you from doing anything, my lady, but I beg of you not to let his Lordship know where you were.”
“I assume he knows.”
“He went to the club with his brother when he couldn’t find you this morning. A footman told us you’d gone to a carriage and went to visit your sister.”
“No, that was the delivery of seeds. Am I not allowed in the garden?” Her mother had forbidden her as much, but Nathaniel had told her to never let anyone stop her from doing what she loved.
Except loving him, of course.
“You’re the lady of the house, you may do as you please, but it would be most unfortunate if you caught your death out there and Sutton House was forced into mourning so soon after you brought the light back into it.”
Sarah drew her a bath to remove the dirt from her hands and, apparently, her face, but Frances didn’t realize how cold she was until she stepped into the warm water.
“I know, the draft is dreadful, but I’m told they’re almost done with the windows,” Sarah apologized while showing her dress options.
“Which windows?” Frances asked, sinking as low as she could without wetting her hair.
“In the earl’s chambers.”
At her blank look, Sarah went on to explain that there’d been an incident while they were in the country, and Nathaniel’s rooms were under repair.
“Where is the earl sleeping in the meantime?” Frances asked, though she felt she might know the answer.
“With you, ma’am.” Sarah looked confused. Or concerned. Maybe both. “Though he may have fallen asleep in his study last night. There’s a lot more correspondence now he is attending social functions,” she said carefully.
“Of course.” Frances had noticed the sheets she usually kept in her armoire were on the chest yesterday morning, but had not thought much of it. Did that mean he slept on the floor? “Did Stevens mention how long the repairs would take?”
“It should be a week, or two at the most.”
She chose a yellow dress for the evening, because she needed a reason to smile, then made her way to the dining room, braced for the sight of Nathaniel, preparing herself to be entirely unaffected by him and perfectly pleasant, to convince him he didn’t need to sleep in his study.
Instead, she found a room full of Suttons.
Grace spotted her first and ran over to wrap her arms around Frances.
“Can she breathe?” Rebecca asked, prying the girl off before hugging her as well.
“She is breathtaking, so it’s only fair she suffers equally.” Nathaniel smiled apologetically at Frances.
“The day was so grey I wanted to add sunshine,” she explained the overly bright color she wouldn’t have worn with such an audience.
“We’re sorry to intrude, but there’s a meeting of the elders, and I’m apparently not to be trusted with impressionable young women.” James’ pointed comment was aimed at Nathaniel, but he gave Abigail—who was giggling in his arms—and Frances only smiles.
“Lizzie is neither impressionable, nor—”
“Finish that thought and lose the ability to procreate,” Lizzie warned Nathaniel. “James’ cook is eager, but not nearly as good as Mrs. Mulberry, since cooking was the last thing on James’s mind when hiring.”
Frances made sure her mouth hadn’t dropped, because while she’d heard of men taking members of their household to bed, it wasn’t appropriate dinner conversation. Especially in front of the aforementioned young women.
“I believe dinner is served, and Mrs. Mulberry doesn’t enjoy people eating her food cold.”
“It smells delicious,” Grace exclaimed, hopping along to her seat.
Frances didn’t know how much of this was an impromptu visit, as opposed to Nathaniel making sure she wouldn’t be alone yet also not have to speak only with him after last night.
“What is this?” Lizzie asked, already digging into her food, while her daughter was mostly asleep on James, who looked disappointed when Sarah came to take the child up to the nursery. She couldn’t leave without each of them placing a kiss on the child’s forehead and wishing her goodnight.
It was jarring, how formalities were abandoned, but Frances loved it.
“Vol au vent,” Nathaniel answered.
Frances had been distracted by Abigail and didn’t look at her own plate until his words registered. The sight brought tears to her eyes, that she quickly tried to hide.
“Flies in the wind,” Grace translated with pride.
“Très bien,” Nathaniel praised.
“Still doesn’t tell us what’s inside,” Rebecca pointed out.
“Chicken in a cream sauce with carrots, peas, and corn. Served in a puff pastry,” Frances explained before taking a bite and closing her eyes at the taste. It was exactly like Mrs. Brown’s.
“It’s delicious,” James stated, then called out, “Mrs. Mulberry, this is magnificent.”
“It isn’t my recipe.” The cook appeared in the doorway as if she’d been waiting for their reaction and was slightly upset that they enjoyed it. “But I think I’ll keep it.”
“And give it to Ella,” James added.
“Mrs. Lane,” Rebecca, Lizzie, and Nathaniel corrected.
“Quite certain it’s Miss.” James was unfazed.
“Missus isn’t a marital status when it comes to house staff,” Lizzie warned. “It’s a reflection of her position. A sign of respect.”
“Mrs. Lane,” James called back to Mrs. Mulberry, rolling his eyes.
Frances ate without paying much attention to the conversation. She greatly appreciated the distraction of his family, but getting the recipe to her favorite meal and giving her compliments when she walked in were actually the last things Nathaniel should be doing for her.
By the time dessert arrived, another recipe from Mrs. Brown, she wondered if Nathaniel was aware how cruel it was of him to make her fall even more in love with him when he had no intentions of returning said affections, but then in the drawing room after, James teased Nathaniel that whenever he was sad, they all had to suffer through potato and leek soup because he needed his comfort food.
As misguided as it was, Nathaniel was living up to his promise of taking care of her, in whichever way he could.
As the Suttons took their turns going home, Frances and Nathaniel climbed the stairs in awkward silence, both pausing at the top.
“I heard about the leak. Did you want to…” Frances swallowed, trying not to sound nervous.
“I was going to stay in my old room, to not bother you,” Nathaniel rushed to explain.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she argued. “The rooms are all yours. If anything, I should—”
“No. This room is yours,” he stopped her. “If I stayed with you tonight, it would be as your guest—if you’ll have me.”
“It would be my honor.” She sighed. “Hopefully better than your study.”
“My mother used to nap in there sometimes, while my father worked, so it wasn’t bad. The first night, however, I slept on your floor. I didn’t want anyone to talk, but you were…indisposed.”
“Oh no, was I snoring?” she asked, hands raised, ready to cover her face in shame if she had been. The very thought reminded her of something else on her face she needed to cover extremely well tonight. Unless he’d somehow seen…no, surely he would have commented on it if he had.
“No. You were…” A look crossed over his face that she couldn’t quite decipher. “The picture of ladylike grace. It was dark and I didn’t want to bother you, so I set myself up on a rug.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she assured him.
“I don’t mind.”
“There’s no need to torture yourself. The bed is large enough, and we are friends, are we not?” She smiled as brightly as she could manage, then went to change before he could see how much that pained her.
Nathaniel got in on the opposite side of the bed and occupied the tiniest strip of space, while she carefully put on her sleep bonnet before doing the same on her end.
He stayed on his back, while she chose her side, facing away from him, towards the window.
She could see the moon, big and bright, but her entire body was on edge, in case he moved.
“I should stay on my back, but if I don’t, feel free to hit or kick me into place.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“I would deserve it,” he assured her. “My sisters wouldn’t hesitate.”
“But I am not your sisters.” Frances tried to keep the sadness in her words from giving them a different meaning. She wished she had their confidence, their self-worth, whatever it was that made them so kind and happy all the time.