Chapter 12

Frances could not sleep that night. She kept one hand glued to her lips, thinking of Christopher.

She had her first kiss. After marriage, mind you. Which was late for many people. But it did not really feel like they were married at all.

As he had said before, they were more like friends. Which made this feel all the more exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time.

She paced the length of her room, her fingers absentmindedly touching her lips. What did it mean? She had never imagined such a moment with Christopher, yet now she couldn't stop thinking about it.

The butterflies that erupted inside her stomach told her that something was brewing in her heart. The kiss had brought it to a boil, and it was threatening to tip over at any moment.

She had to contain it. Cool herself down.

Yet, that felt impossible.

Frances sank into a chair by the window, cranking it open to let the fresh air in. She needed it badly.

She closed her eyes, trying to push the memory aside, but it was impossible. The kiss had felt right in a way she couldn't explain, and it frightened her.

Why had he kissed her? And why had she kissed him back? It was so unlike her, the shy, reserved woman who had always dreamed of love but never dared to go looking for it.

She had married Christopher to provide a home for the twins, not to fall in love. Yet here she was, her heart racing, her thoughts consumed by him.

This was not going according to plan at all.

She wished at that moment that one of her sisters was nearby. She would run to them for advice. But at this hour, it was impossible to do. Still, she needed someone to talk to.

So, she called for her lady's maid. Only a woman could understand the feelings of another woman, and right now, she really wanted a listening ear.

"Is everything alright, Your Grace?" the maid asked, concerned at being summoned at such a late hour.

"Yes, yes." Frances gestured for Clara to sit beside her. "I hope that I did not ruin your slumber."

The maid shook her head. "I am available for you at whatever hour you require me. Please, let me know if there is something I can help you with."

Frances pursed her lips. Even though she really wanted to speak freely, she knew that she would have to be discreet. She had not known the maid for long, but she still felt that she could trust her.

"Well, let me start by asking you a question. Are you seeing anyone?"

The maid looked surprised by the question, and then blushed. "Well, there is someone from my village. We have known each other for very long, and he hopes to propose to me when he finds a proper job."

Frances nodded, smiling. "Perfect, then you perhaps have some experience in what I am about to ask…"

The maid nodded encouragingly. "I can try."

Frances hesitated. "Have you ever… Well, pardon me, it seems that I do not know how to phrase it well…"

The maid only blinked, waiting.

"Can you help me place this strange feeling I have in the pit of my stomach?" Frances blurted out finally.

"Is it something you ate?" the maid asked, immediately concerned. "I can have a look at the menu tomorrow. Maybe it was a specific ingredient…"

"No, no." Frances shook her head. "You misunderstand me. It has nothing to do with… well, food. More so, it has to do with what I feel."

The maid caught on, her eyes lighting up. "What is it that has you feeling like you have a funny feeling in your stomach, Your Grace?"

Frances pursed her lips. "I would much rather you call me Frances."

"Your Grace, I could not?—"

Frances sighed. She had always been very friendly to her maids. That was how she ended up being such great friends with Lydia. She disliked it when they called her by her title.

"Very well then, perhaps try not to use it as often then."

The maid nodded, hesitantly.

Frances rubbed her temples. "As to your question, I cannot say exactly what. But the feeling is rather… persistent."

The maid gave her a knowing smile. "That funny feeling in your stomach, it sounds like butterflies. They happen when you're in love."

Frances shook her head, her cheeks flushing. "No, that does not sound quite right."

"Does it not?" Clara asked. "I feel like you and His Grace are quite in love."

"What makes you say that?" Frances demanded immediately.

It felt like such a strange thing to hear someone say that to her.

"Well, for one, you have butterflies in your stomach." She smiled. "That ought to be the biggest sign."

Frances shook her head. "No, no. It is not."

The maid looked at her in confusion. "Your Grace, I do not wish to overstep, but I feel a bit curious now as to why this feels like such an undesirable outcome to you."

Frances racked her brain. She knew that she should not be divulging any details to the maid, especially one whom she had not spent so much time with. But she needed a friend, quite desperately.

"Can I trust you to keep a secret?" Frances bit her lip.

"Of course."

"I can't be in love with him. It wasn't supposed to be like this."

She felt like a weight was lifted off her shoulders as soon as she said the words.

The maid nodded, though it was clear that she did not quite understand."And is it bad that you feel that it is turning out this way?"

Frances groaned and then nodded softly. "It is unexpected, and I am not too apt in dealing with things that are."

The maid's smile remained gentle. "Love often doesn't go according to plan, Lady Frances. Sometimes, it finds you when you least expect it. The way you describe your feelings, it sounds very much like you're falling in love with His Grace."

Frances looked down, her thoughts in turmoil.

This is not what we agreed on.

"I cannot have that."

"From what I've seen, His Grace cares for you deeply. He is attentive, kind, and protective of you," the maid continued.

"But this complicates everything…"

The maid looked too confused now, and Frances felt bad for subjecting her to her own problems.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to put everything on you. You must be tired, too," she added, guilt seeping into her tone.

The maid shook her head. "It is quite alright. I have to say, I do not understand the exact reason for your predicament, but I am here to offer my advice anyway."

"Perhaps we can speak tomorrow. I can think about it for another night."

"As you wish, Your?—"

"Ah, ah." Frances waved her hand in the air.

"Then simply, as you wish."

"Much better." Frances smiled and then saw the maid out of the room. When she sank back into her bed, her thoughts once again drifted to Christopher.

Love was too strong of a word, she realized. She surely was not in love with him yet. But she was fond of him. She was infatuated with him.

And the kiss had only cemented her infatuation.

* * *

Luckily, there was one thing that could get a lady's mind off a distracting kiss. It was a new dress.

The maid knocked on the door and entered, carrying a large, beautifully wrapped box.

"Lady Frances, your dress for the ball has arrived," the maid announced, a smile playing on her lips.

Frances's heart skipped a beat, and she jumped up in excitement. "Oh, let me see it."

The maid carefully placed the box on the bed and began to untie the ribbon. Frances watched with anticipation, her excitement growing. The maid lifted the lid, revealing a stunning gown. It was a deep, rich shade of emerald-green, with intricate lace detailing.

It took Frances's breath away.

"Oh,heavens…"

"Was it your choosing? I must say, it is gorgeous." The maid nodded in encouragement.

Frances shook her head, unable to tear her gaze away. "It was the Duke's choice entirely. He did the entire process, from ordering to choosing each detail."

Well, she was sure that he must have had some help in the shop, but it was still very thoughtful of him.

"His Grace has impeccable taste." The maid smiled. "This dress will look magnificent on you."

Frances held the gown up to her body, turning to look at herself in the mirror. The color complemented her complexion perfectly, and the craftsmanship was exquisite. She could already imagine herself wearing it to the ball, gliding across the dance floor with Christopher.

"I can't believe he chose this for me," she murmured, a soft smile spreading across her face. "It's like he knows exactly what I would love. It's perfect," she added, her voice filled with awe.

The maid nodded approvingly. "His Grace certainly knows how to make a statement. And you, my lady, look absolutely stunning."

Frances blushed slightly. "Thank you. I just hope I don't trip over my feet at the ball."

The maid smirked. "Well, if you do, just blame it on the excitement of the evening. No one will be able to resist your charm."

Frances laughed, relieved at the injection of humor. "You seem to have the right advice. Quite sage and wise."

"That's what I'm here for," the maid replied, smoothing out a small wrinkle in the fabric. "I believe that you will be the best dressed lady in the ball."

Frances practiced her posture in front of the vanity mirror, smiling at her reflection. "You make it sound so easy."

"With a dress like this and a lady like you, it is easy." The maid smiled. "And if His Grace has any common sense, he won't let you out of his sight."

Frances's heart fluttered at the thought. Surely, that would only land them in a similar position to the one they had been in inside the closet.

She was simply not prepared for what would happen to her heart if she were to kiss him for a second time.

"Then you must make sure that I do not look so good," Frances instructed.

The maid sighed, thoroughly confused now. "My lady, you confuse me."

Frances smiled at her. "My sisters used to say the same thing. You will get used to it soon."