Chapter Thirty-Six
Frances hadn’t intended on avoiding Nathaniel the following day, but their conversation on the dance floor, and his inviting her sisters for dinner, made it necessary for her to seek peace and solace in the garden.
She’d left before he woke, then he was off with her brothers-in-law by the time she returned.
She spent most of her day in the nursery, relieved her niece and nephews didn’t ask what was bothering her or offer useless advice as if they understood all her problems. Not that Mary seemed to mind, as Iris had arrived in the early afternoon.
Daisy, unfortunately, had vouchers for Almack’s with Mama, meaning Frances’ only ally at dinner would be Nathaniel, who was nowhere to be seen when she took her place in the drawing room across from her sisters.
“Now tell us, Franny, how is married life treating you?” Iris smiled sweetly.
“Wonderfully,” she said brightly, making sure her own smile matched the words. “Nathaniel is wonderful, I enjoy taking care of the house and the gardens, and his family is incredibly kind.”
“That’s wonderful, darling. We’re so happy for you.” Mary reached over and patted her on the knee.
“But just among us sisters, there’s really no need to pretend,” Iris added.
“Pretend what?” Frances kept her face polite, pleasant, but her heart was already pounding.
“You needn’t bother with the charade of everything being fine and sharing the same chambers out of anything other than his duty to produce an heir. It wasn’t like we had high hopes before, but as soon as the earl was forced to take you as his bride, well, we didn’t expect much.”
“Iris,” Mary warned. “She’s your sister. And, if nothing else, she’s the Countess of Lark, which means she deserves your respect.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” For a moment, Iris’ venom was aimed at their elder sister. “But we know he never truly intended to marry the likes of her, so once he gets his heir and casts her aside…well, you’re welcome to one of our pied-à-terres, Franny.”
Iris’ smile was as smug as it was cruel.
The anger in her boiled so strong that it turned into tears she was biting her lower lip to keep at bay. Which was not working. “Whether he intended to or not, he did marry me,” Frances pointed out. “So your concern, while appreciated, is unnecessary.”
“Ah, ladies, I hope you haven’t missed us too much?” The baronet walked in with a cocky grin to his wife.
“We were about to despair.” Mary’s relief was palpable.
“More from hunger than anything else. I haven’t had a crumb since lunch.”
Iris’ laugh was unpleasant, and Frances would have rolled her eyes and told her sister to speak up next time, but she was distracted when Nathaniel walked in and, instead of sitting with the gentlemen, or in any of the empty chairs, settled beside her on the loveseat.
After kissing the top of her forehead.
She’d been to many dinner parties, but had only ever witnessed Lord Wiltshire do such a thing before.
“Stevens, is dinner ready?” Nathaniel asked, resting his hand on her knee in a supportive but also possessive way.
“Yes, my lord. Shall we begin?”
“Please do,” he agreed. Nathaniel stood, then offered his hand to Frances.
“You heard,” she whispered when Nathaniel made a show of letting her sisters and their husbands go first.
He didn’t answer, but there was a moment their eyes met, and he looked at her not with pity or disgust, as she might have expected, but pure and terrifying rage. He was livid.
“Smells almost as good as Mrs. March’s, doesn’t it?” Iris asked her husband.
“Who makes your centerpieces? They’re exquisite!” Mary tried to diffuse the situation before Iris could elaborate on the superiority of her cook.
“Frances does,” Nathaniel informed them, as Frances noticed vases in the center of the table, each containing a few of the bunches of flowers she had scattered throughout the house at any given time.
“Putting her to work already?” Iris raised an eyebrow at Nathaniel.
“Franny was always exceedingly helpful towards the staff.” Mary gave her an encouraging smile.
“I fear they love her almost as much as I do, and far more than they do me. She has an incredible gift of making everyone she cares about feel special and appreciated. It’s a quality not many have,” Nathaniel said, with heavy emphasis on the final sentence.
The meal continued with her sisters making backhanded compliments, the kind Frances would normally ignore, but Nathaniel didn’t let a single one slide.
Nor did he show his anger and reproach them about it either, he simply responded to every attack by praising her.
Her kindness, her gardening, her drawing… even her singing.
“You’ve never heard me sing,” she argued while Iris reminisced with Mary about the time her cook had made some extravagant dessert far better than what was being served tonight.
“I’ve never let you know that I heard you sing,” he countered.
“The only time I sing is for children, and…last night?” She tried to remember if she’d had to soothe her nephews, but could only recall telling stories.
Nathaniel answered by softly singing what he must have heard her sing.
“You have a beautiful voice as well,” she whispered, remembering the afternoon she sang to Abigail back when they were in the country.
The guests at their table tonight were probably saying terrible things about her, but with Nathaniel smiling at her like that, she felt as if they were the only two in the world.
“Tell anyone and I will deny everything,” he warned.
Iris brought the conversation back to herself, and her superiority. Every game of whist, every song she played on the piano…it wasn’t enough to tell her she was wonderful, you needed to make it clear that however good she was, it was infinitely better than Frances.
Mary, for her part, defended Frances as best she could, but it was never on her merit; it was always that Frances was their little sister, and they should protect her. As if she couldn’t protect herself. But even worse, like she believed some, if not all of it, to be true.
When the ladies went to bed, Nathaniel purposely offered the gentlemen a nightcap, then downed his own the instant it was poured so he could excuse himself. He caught up to Mary and Iris as they entered the hallway leading to the guest bedrooms.
“Ladies.” He bowed, interrupting what sounded like a critique of the dated wallpaper he so loved Frances for keeping, as the flowers running across the middle were hand painted by his mother. Not that he remembered telling her as much.
“Lord Lark.” They curtsied in return.
“Did our husbands pass out on the staircase?” Iris asked.
“No, they’re enjoying a nightcap.”
“Of course. You would need alcohol after an evening with—”
“She’s my wife.” He stopped whatever insult Iris was about to make about Frances.
“But, more importantly, she is magnificent. I don’t know what happened in your childhood that makes you think she is lesser than you, or that gives you the right to treat her so terribly, but she is every bit the woman I would have wanted to marry, and I am lucky that she agreed.
She has been nothing but kind to every single person I have ever seen her interact with, no matter how they treated her.
The only fault I find her is that someone made her believe she wasn’t worthy.
Of love, of respect, of her family’s protection.
” Mary went to say something, but he put his hand up to stop her.
“Scolding someone else for saying it means nothing if you don’t make it clear that you disagree.
Especially not when you tie her value to her title or her relationship to you. ”
He was glad to find that, for once, Iris didn’t have anything to say.
“I am making it my life’s purpose to rectify these false beliefs, so while you are in my house, you will treat Frances with the love and respect she deserves, or, like your father, you will come up with a convincing excuse to keep your distance.”
“I…” Mary started.
“Goodnight.” He bowed and went to Frances’ chambers, aware they were watching.
Frances was lying in bed, facing the empty spot beside her when she heard the door. Her eyes were used to the darkness, so she saw Nathaniel’s outline as he crept up to the bed, took off his clothes, and climbed in. He hadn’t removed his drawers, but he didn’t wear his nightclothes either.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen his bare chest before, at least momentarily, but she was still grateful the darkness hid her blush as he lay on his back, not bothering with the covers.
She meant to let him know she was awake, but then she waited too long, and she wasn’t sure if he was in the mood for conversation, as he hadn’t tried to rouse her. They usually talked late into the night, but having her sisters under the same roof made all her insecurities come back.
“Thank you,” she said as quietly as she could while still making sound.
“I thought you wanted me to believe you were asleep.”
“How would you even know—”
“Frances, as wonderful an actress as I’m sure you are, you’re forgetting to breathe. You don’t snore,” he said before she could argue, “but I can usually hear you breathing while you sleep.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I rather enjoy it. It’s comforting to know the person beside you is alive and well.”
“That may be why I don’t hate your snoring.”
“I do not—”
“Of course, you do.” She smiled, because she truly didn’t hate it at all. She loved the constant reminder that she was not alone.
“That’s my menacing breathing, to ward off intruders.”
“Does it work on guests as well?” she asked without thinking. Even in the dark, she was sure she saw his body tense.
“As Lady Lark, you decide who gets an invitation. And when to rescind it,” he added. Tonight’s dinner had entirely been his fault. Frances, however, was the one who offered Iris a room, and declined his offer to escape to Wiltshire Manor and let her sisters dine alone at Sutton House.
“I could never.”
“‘I would love to invite you to stay with us, Lady Dodd, but we’ve been upgrading the bedchambers, and with the staff and the construction, I’m afraid we haven’t any room for guests at the moment.’”
“You’re a frighteningly good liar,” she warned, pretending it was a fun new development, but it also worried her.
“Luckily for my wife, I promised not to lie to her. I can’t promise I won’t lie to her family, especially if she needs me to keep the peace, but as long as we avoid bloodshed, I’ll consider it a success.”
“Well, thank you for doing it tonight. It wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate it all the same.”
“Keeping the peace? Or lying?” His brows knit in confusion.
“You know, the parts about me.”
“Which ones?” Nathaniel asked, shifting onto his side to face her, as if he didn’t know what she was talking about.
For the first time, she pretended to get comfortable as a ruse to turn away from him, not to get closer.
“Frances, I meant every single word I said about you tonight. I may be guilty of hyperbole, or misguided comparisons, but the sentiments were entirely honest.”
She glanced at his face, but he was looking at her so earnestly, that she believed him.
“I love you,” she said, the tears burning her eyes. “For that. For everything. You’re a good man, Nathaniel Sutton, better than you give yourself credit for.”
He reached across the bed to put his hand on her cheek, to look at her in the darkness, but she didn’t need him to see her tears, or tell her more lies she loved to hear.
This time, she rolled away from him and faced the wall, signalling that the conversation was over.
“Goodnight, Frances.”
She thought he was leaning close to kiss her on the forehead, as he had before dinner, but instead she felt his arms slowly wrap around her, giving her every chance to stop him, before he had her in a protective embrace.
He gently kissed her cheek, then settled to sleep, his breath warm on the back of her neck.
Her sisters would not come inside the bedchamber to determine whether they truly shared a bed.
She wanted to remind him how cruel it was to play with her emotions, to send him back to his side of the bed, but she felt so safe and warm in his arms, so loved, that before she could find her words, she was asleep.