Chapter Forty-Three
“Frances!” Grace and Becca exclaimed, both girls rushing to her before she’d even removed her bonnet.
“Let her breathe,” Nathaniel warned, whispering something to Dustin before guiding Frances to the sitting room, which was set up for tea.
“We tried to go over with Lizzie,” Grace told her, taking the seat beside her on the couch that Nathaniel had been about to.
Frances hated that she was relieved, but she was starting to think distance was better than the proximity they’d been forced into.
Nathaniel was overly attentive to her needs, as far as being hungry or cold or tired, but completely oblivious to how painful it was to be his patient when she could vividly remember being his.
For a night, at least, she’d been a true wife to him.
“Nathaniel insisted he would take care of you,” Becca added.
“It’s very romantic, isn’t it?” Grace swooned onto the empty couch across from her.
“Very kind. And considerate,” Frances agreed with a forced smile. “I had excellent care.”
As if to prove the point, Dustin arrived with a blanket to go over her legs, and a shawl for her shoulders.
“That really isn’t necessary,” she started, but the look on Nathaniel’s face stopped her.
She had never been so utterly frustrated with someone, yet so overwrought with guilt for scaring him with her illness.
Nathaniel was being ridiculous. Anyone who spent more than five minutes with them noticed his harsh tones and outrageous demands regarding her health, but there was such fear in his eyes, like he’d come so close to losing her and couldn’t go through it again, that it made Frances acquiesce to his every request. “Thank you,” she said instead.
“What are those?” Frances asked after what felt like an hour of questions about her illness and subsequent recovery.
“Chocolates. From Belgium. Teddy brought them for us, though it was quite the feat to make sure we had some left for you to try.”
“Leave it to Teddy to bring a gift, then proceed to eat most of it himself.”
“Grandpapa is more of a problem. Teddy said the man who sold it to him claimed it held many health benefits, so Grandpapa calls them his daily tonic,” Lizzie said with a roll of her eyes.
“Try some.” Grace moved the plate closer to Frances. “To get your strength back.”
“Or because it tastes good.” Becca winked.
“Glad to see you about, Frances.” Nathaniel’s grandfather came in, closely followed by Theodore.
“Sister.” The young man smiled and took Frances’ hands for a quick kiss on the knuckles before taking his seat.
“You look well,” she commented.
His eyes went dark for a split second before their brightness returned. “The sea air does wonders to a man’s complexion.”
“Is that all it is?” Lizzie asked with an eyebrow raise.
“Frances, would you feel up to a walk in the gardens?” Grace asked. “We’ve been…oh!”
Nathaniel had been about to tell his sister it was too cold outside, Frances could see it all over his face, but Grace cut herself off with a terrified look. She turned to Nathaniel, eyes wide, then back to Frances, where she squinted, then let out a loud breath, relieved.
“Darling, what’s wrong?” his grandmother asked Grace.
“It’s nothing. Only I never noticed it before, and I thought the fever… But all is well.”
With sudden horror, Frances adjusted her hair, which must have moved with the shawl, the bonnet, and the constant fussing over her, making her mark visible.
“Oh, don’t worry, I was only concerned that you were unwell,” Grace assured her. She then turned around and lifted the hair off the back of her neck, revealing a large brown birthmark. “See, I have one too. I didn’t notice it, of course, but Harry did. Teased me mercilessly.”
“He was young and insensitive,” Lizzie said apologetically. “But knows better now.”
“I hid it as well, and was terribly upset. Didn’t wear my hair up again until Nathaniel bought me this beautiful hair piece, which I thought was quite mean, until he explained.”
“Explained what?” Frances asked, not daring to look at her husband.
“That she was absolutely beautiful, inside as well as out, and something like that, which she considered a flaw, only made her more beautiful and unique, and that some boys—”
“The immature ones,” Grace filled in.
“Might tease her for it,” Nathaniel resumed. “But someday it would be the right man’s favorite part, because it would be part of what made her her. The thing he saw in the distance and immediately knew, there’s the woman I love.”
Nathaniel had completely forgotten that day, other than buying Grace a gift to make up for Harry’s teasing, and to convince her not to be self-conscious anymore.
The mark had always been there; she’d just never been aware of it.
And when Grace went off with a group of little girls in equally fancy dresses, hair styled mostly the same, he’d been grateful for the indication of which one was his.
Frances’ mark was nothing like that. She didn’t show it in public, and it would be useless to identify her, as it was on her face, not her back, but so far, every time he’d caught a glimpse of it, it was like something infinitely private, something intimate, that she only shared with him.
The first time was unwittingly, of course, as he shouldn’t have been in her chambers without an invitation, but there was something about it that made him want to be in her confidence, to know all her secrets, every part of her.
Since that night, or rather since she’d recovered, she kept it so carefully hidden that it was taking more self-control than he had to stop himself from brushing her hair to the side so he could kiss her right temple and let her know how much he cherished every part of her.
But that would be cruel, to give her false hope and toy with her feelings. He deserved this penance, the agony of having her so close, yet unable to have her, because he would do anything to keep Frances safe, but she deserved to be happy. Unencumbered.
“What did you do?” Elizabeth found him in the library, hand on her hip, the reproach on every inch of her face.
“Just now?” he asked, playing ignorant and hoping that, for once, she would let it slide.
“You left the ball looking like…you know,” she said pointedly. “And now you’re smothering her with shawls, presumably because the looks between you are so glacial.”
“And your first assumption is that I did something? That I’m responsible?”
“You look resigned and determined, while she looks like her heart is breaking.”
“You think mine isn’t?” He tried not to raise his voice at Lizzie, but he wanted to scream, and she wasn’t helping.
“I can see it is. Hence the question; what did you do?”
“It’s none of your business, Elizabeth.”
“I’m only trying to help.”
“Forgive me if you’re not the person I want to take marriage advice from.”
He regretted the words as he said them, even before his sister looked at him like he’d slapped her.
“Perhaps I don’t know what a happy marriage looks like, but I am painfully familiar with a broken one like yours,” she said coldly.
It was his turn to feel like he’d been slapped, but his was utterly deserved.
“I’m so sorry, Lizzie, I didn’t mean… That was cruel, and I apologize.”
“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”
“You still don’t know what you’re talking about,” he insisted.
“Try me.”
“It’s better like this.” He sighed.
“For whom?”
“For Frances. I don’t give a damn about myself.”
“You should. You should realize that what would make her happiest is the exact same thing to make you—”
“Fleeting happiness means nothing if—”
“If what, Nathaniel? Why are you so opposed to allowing yourself to be happy?”
“Because she deserves better. Because if I am happy at the expense of her safety, at the expense of her, then it means nothing.”
“For a smart man, you are absolutely pig-headed. Jo never intended—”
“To die?” he cut her off.
“For you to stop living when she did. The only person who would wish that kind of torture on the person they claim to love is a cruel, jealous, possessive leech, and Jo was none of those things.”
“I know,” he reluctantly admitted with a heavy sigh. “I tried, but keeping my distance and not falling for Frances was damn near impossible.”
“She is quite spectacular.”
“I love her, Lizzie,” he finally admitted out loud.
“I know you do,” she said. “Tell her and be happy.”
“I can’t,” he said in despair. “The one time I convinced myself that I—that we—deserved to be happy, she caught a fever. Spent days in bed, suffering. Fighting for each breath, just like Jo. This is what my love does to people. Because I love her, Frances suffered.”
“That’s not—”
“You can’t convince me otherwise, Lizzie. I don’t care if it’s superstition or a self-fulfilling prophecy, I can’t risk it. I can’t risk her.”